#tristanseger

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier understood his brother’s meaning, but the way he saw it, every single person who worked in this facility was a threat.

Leslie’s magical lock picking saved them the trouble of teleportation but it was just as well. The now cognizant lab tech would likely be sounding the alarm at any moment, evading detection was no longer an option.

Especially given the chaos that erupted the moment those doors opened.

With the main threat pinned to the ceiling, Xavier scanned the rest of the room for any potential others.

Ramsay was quick to react and pick up the gun. He planted himself in the doorway and aimed toward the hallway in case more guards came running. The second gun, the one he’d taken from the guard in the parking garage, was held at the ready at his side.

Charles/Haine: "What the fuck?" Haine swore, unknowingly echoing his guard's earlier sentiment. The room's other inhabitants shouted their own shock as the doors banged open. A technician took refuge behind the nearest machine while the nurse ducked where she stood, hands moving to protect the back of her neck.

The doctor could see nothing beyond the havoc that had broken loose almost as soon as they'd powered on the amplifier. His thorough research had not mentioned the professor being telekinetic... was he?

All semblance of kindness gone, he grabbed the nearest tech by the back of his neck and all but flung him toward the machine. "Shut it down!"

Charles stared blankly up at the ceiling, mouth open in a silent scream. Far from the intoxicating rush of Cerebro, this was agony. Invisible claws scraped at every drop of his power, pushing it out farther than he could ever reach on his own.

Mason: The guard was pulled from the ceiling, dangled mid-air, and thrown across the room onto the loudmouth American. As much as he wanted to split their bodies in two, the horror of Charles' condition stayed his hand, rushing to his husband's side to remove any and every device attached.

It couldn't be like this. He needed Charles to see him. To do more than feel his presence. He was not alone, and this would never happen again.

The spell was broken as the silk and gold braid was yanked from his wrist.

Xavier/Ramsay: With Mason focused on Charles and the guard now freed from the ceiling, Xavier’s black-eyed laser focus shifted to him and the man Mason had thrown him onto.

If they thought to move or to reach for anything, they’d both find themselves pinned.

Ah, but first.

“John, shoot the machine,” Xavier said almost pleasantly, no longer bothering to whisper.

“Yep.” Wasn’t really any point in staying hidden anymore, was there?

Ramsay used his teeth to tear the silk off his wrist and aimed three consecutive shots at the machine.

Haine: Not quite an off switch, but it was certainly effective. The thrum of the internal gears whined to a stop, the unit smoking from the holes blasted into its facade.

Even with the needles being pulled free from his skin, it took a several moments for Charles to return to himself. Mason's face was the first thing his eyes latched onto and he released a soft sob. The hand that reached out to touch him was stopped short by his restraints.

Haine recovered from the blow as well as could be expected. It took some effort to push Ian's limp form off of him, but he managed. Not bad intel, then. A rescue. Well, he wasn't going to stick around for the aftermath. He made to get to his feet and bolt, only to find himself rooted to one spot.

Not similarly restrained, the nurse made a scramble for the doors on hands and knees.

Mason/Leslie: “It’s okay. I’m here, baby.” He leaned into that outreached hand, letting Charles cup his jaw while unfastening his restraints. Adrenaline argued with compassion, being gentle took willpower. There was no one else, nothing else in the room except his husband.

Until turning his attention to Charles’ ankles, expecting a strap and finding his angel, his beloved broken, swelling, and bleeding. It was impossible for his eyes to turn black, but impossible to tell the difference in the dim lighting.

There was already so much anguish, so much rage. What was one more drop of acid in the Stygian pit?

Leslie had no idea what Mason was seeing, having dropped to a knee to catch the nurse mid-crawl, covering her mouth and nose the same as the guard, pulling her to lie safely against the wall.

“Which –“ Mason didn’t need to ask. He would see for himself. Caress his mind against Charles’ memories, and find himself facing the lump on the floor beside the doctor.

There was no sense in beating a dead guard, which just left Haine.

“You motherfucker.”

Xavier: Although Xavier had merely kept the man who appeared to be in charge rooted in place, Mason’s sudden shift in demeanor and the venom in his voice told Xavier that a different approach was required.

Jaw twitching, the demon would flick his hand, intending to telekinetically toss the man against his ruined machine and pin him to it so his brother could do with him as he pleased.

As for the others in the room, they weren’t spared a thought. He’d leave them to Ramsay and Leslie.

Charles/Haine: His world had narrowed down to that steady presence. Whatever went on around them was secondary to the face in his hand. Mason was here, and they had time to sort out the rest.

He braced himself for his husband's reaction to the worst of his injuries. The rage was expected, but it stole his demon away too soon. With a wince and a groan, he forced himself into a seated position. "Mason."

Haine's pulse was practically visible, hammering through him as he desperately sought a way out. He yelped as he was moved, eyes wild with terror. Urine dampened the front of his slacks. Those eyes. These were no mutants. What could he say to stave off the attack? Nothing came to mind. "I..."

Mason: Mason offered his hand to the sound of his name and gently squeezed.

"Right here, baby." But he knew what his name meant. Knew Charles wanted this man alive. For some fucking reason.

"He can live with a broken fuckin' leg." It would be a mercy, wouldn't it? Charles loved his mercies.

His free hand outstretched, eyes directed at the doctor's leg as he squeezed his fingers into a fist, taking his right femur and breaking it in two with a crack of his knuckles.

Charles: Charles took the offered hand and held it firmly. He wouldn't deny Mason this small release and he forced himself not to look away. He suppressed a flinch at the sickening crack of bone.

He waited for the doctor's screams to die down to whimpers before speaking. He did not let go of Mason's hand.

"His psionic blocker, my love." He needed it out of the way. "The tech raised the alarm. There are guards on the way. You're going to call them off. And make sure no one leaves this building."

Xavier: "Please, allow me," said Xavier, taking a very twisted pleasure in approaching this mess of a monster with only his voice and the smell of sulfur to signal his presence.

Haine would feel the ghostly touch of unseen hands removing that ridiculous device from his head before watching what, to him, would look like the air crushing it in its grasp.

Mason/Leslie: It wasn't death, but it remained to be seen whether he would live to see the sunrise.

Leslie occupied his time under invisibility to cover the faces of those remaining conscious, pulling them into the corner with the nurse. As much as he wanted to make himself visible to Charles, remaining unseen had its advantages.

He brushed past Ramsay, fingers patting his shoulder as he muttered, "Behind." A chef's habit.

He needed to stand in the hallway. He couldn't look at Charles like that. He could fix him. Down to his bones he knew he could fix him, but he also knew this wasn't yet over.

As Charles said, there were guards on the way. The only evidence of his existence was the shadow he had forgotten he created.

"I'm gonna pick ya up," Mason said, softly. "Put your arm 'round me."

Charles: At this point, the horror was mild in comparison to his preternaturally snapped femur. He sniveled as the one defense he had against that bastard telepath was taken from him by a phantom, but said nothing. What was there to say?

Charles nodded. Deep breaths would only add to his discomfort, so he took shallow sips of air to brace for the pain of moving. His cracked ribs twinged as he slid an arm behind his husband's neck. For Mason's sake, he suppressed a flinch.

"Will you set him on his feet for me, Xavier?" As much as he didn't deserve Charles' kindness, he needed Haine clear-headed to stave off the coming attack. Already, boots could be heard slamming against tile. He muted the throbbing in his leg partially with a touch to his pain receptors.

"Pull yourself together, Haine. We don't have time for this."

Xavier/Ramsay: “As you wish.” Xavier moved Haine away from the machine and put him on his feet, standing him straight as a soldier. Moving, if attempted, would be impossible. He was still firmly within Xavier’s telekinetic grasp.

The soft, eerily calm tone of Xavier’s voice did not sit well with Ramsay at all. But what could he do? There was still a threat to deal with and they didn’t have the luxury of taking a moment to check in.

“Leslie, get behind me,” said Ramsay, moving out of sight of the door. “Can you use a gun?”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie already had his back to the wall on the other side of the hallway. By now, those footsteps were just out of sight. Too late to say anything. He was better off remaining still, out of sight, he assumed. If anyone was getting caught when shit hit the fan it would be everyone without a shroud.

Slowly, the witch rubbed his hands together, ready to charge up an inertia spell.

Charles had become a careful bridal-style bundle in Mason’s arms. “There’s others? More children?”

Charles: He wanted to so desperately to nuzzle into the crook of Mason's neck and purge all of the emotion he was bottling. He settled on holding him more tightly than was strictly necessary. A scowl settled onto his features at Mason's question. "Yes. Young adults, as well. We'll need to find some way to transport them to the school, but I'm getting ahead of myself."

He reluctantly turned away from his husband to look at where Haine "stood."

"Xavier, position him in the hall, please. If they plan to shoot first and ask questions later, I won't put anyone else at risk."

Xavier: “With pleasure.” Another small flick of Xavier’s hand and his little toy soldier was placed in the hall as requested.

Smiling, he came up behind Haine and whispered, “Although I must confess, I’d really rather they didn’t shoot first and ask questions later. You and I need to have a little chat, Mr. Haine. Your behavior has left much to be desired.”

Haine: If Haine could have bolted, he would have. He trembled with pain that had only dulled enough to be bearable. Or, perhaps, from the chill that ran down his spine at those hushed words. Either way, he was rooted to the spot. A human shield for Charles and his pet monsters.

Booted feet grew louder as half a dozen guards rounded the corner at a jog. Their assault rifles were raised against any apparent threat. But it was their boss that stood before them, pale and shaky but seemingly alone. If they noticed the stench of sulfur in the air, they had nothing to tie it to.

"Where's Ian?" the guard in front asked, peering around Haine to try and get a peek at the chaos inside the room.

The doctor very seriously considered telling the truth, but he could feel the telepath in his mind. As well as the heat radiating from the invisible threat behind him.

"I-inside. Everything is fine, here. The... the amplifier malfunctioned. Secure the exit and make sure that everyone on staff is present and accounted for."

Unconvinced, the first guard shifted his forefinger to the trigger of his weapon, prepared to move past Haine and into the room behind him.

Xavier: Six guards, all armed. Mason had his hands full with Charles. Ramsay was armed but visible. Leslie was unarmed but invisible and with magic at his disposal.

Xavier raised Haine's arm to stay the guard and leaned in close to his toy solider again.

"Put more authority into your voice and I'll have you healed and let you walk away from this with your life. Do not let those men into that room," he added, very slowly. Xavier was doing his damnedest to do this the way Charles wanted but this monster wasn't making it easy.

"Call. Them. Off."

Mason/Leslie: Leslie didn't know which caused the tremble in his hand, his blood sugar or terror in his veins. Only Xavier would see the rise and fall of his chest. Hands at the ready to cause chaos, the likes of which no sleeper could fathom. He had the upper hand, but his eyes told a different story.

Mason's stance shifted, Charles held steady as dusty colored wings slowly broke free from hiding.

They couldn't just leave. Their work wasn't finished here. What energy they had, had to remain in reserves.

Which was why two massive wings overlapped Charles' view, prepared to shield his husband from the potential threat outside.

Charles/Haine: He'd been reduced to little more than an oversized marionette. Fear was too weak a description for what Haine felt. He was chilled to his very core, beyond anything he'd experienced in his fifty-eight years. The hand that rose without his prompting trembled with it.

In Mason's arms, Charles rolled his eyes. The doctor was past threats, now, frozen by his terror. He seized control of Haine's mind, imbuing the coward's voice with his own steely resolve.

"That's enough, Tom. And the rest of you. I said to secure the exit and check on the staff. Now."

It was an air of command that might have stayed his hand, had the guard not seen past his employer and into the room beyond. Ian's corpse. A friend, and a damned good one. He'd been disarmed, and a winged...something stood in view. The entire area radiated malice.

He opened fire.

Xavier: Not even with his life on the line could Haine steel his resolve. And this was the man who had pretended he could pull off something of this magnitude?

Please.

Xavier left Haine exactly where he was while the head guard opened fire, hoping he'd at least have use as a shield for the moment or two it took him to get out of the line of fire and come to Leslie's side. Only then would he let Haine drop like a limp doll and turn his focus toward that gun.

The demon would flick his hand again, intending to snatch the weapon from the guard's hands and throw it as far away as possible. He trusted that Mason could safeguard Charles and that Ramsay could protect himself, and take a shot if he had it.

"Leslie, we need to remove the guards," he whispered urgently.

Mason/Leslie: Moments like this required trust Mason couldn’t have given even in recent years. Trust in his brother and trust in those his loved ones cared for. To open his wings for counterattack would be certain death for the fragile life in his arms.

Again, Lawrence begged for release, and again he was denied. It was only their combined strength keeping Mason’s legs strong as he pushed forward to keep the guards contained in the hallway.

His wings would hold. It wasn’t his Grace, but it was Grace enough to withstand human means.

Leslie’s intended spell was charged, whispering a Nordic spell under his breath as he stepped forward. There was no time to explain. Mere seconds as the remaining security raised their weapons to the doorway.

"Ef ég sé örvum varpað harðlega að hjörðinni minni; þó ég sé fljót á flugi, þá handtek ég þær í loftinu."

The tattoo in his palm warmed and glowed with vulgar magick. His arms spread wide, sending a wave of heat in a 10-meter dome. A ward to rob the motive force of missile weapons, so long as he harbored the energy to maintain it.

Charles/Haine: The lead guard had lost his weapon. The remaining five were quick to press forward to defend him. They sent out sprays of bullets that suspended in midair, inches from their target.

Haine's mind had snuffed out like a candle light, the pain of landing on his snapped leg too much to bear. Charles cursed at the lost connection. Once again, he'd been rendered blind. This time, by the protective barrier of his beloved's wings.

The sound of gunfire drove his heart into a frenzied pace.

Mason.

He was acting as living shield. And no amount of knowledge on demonic strength could chase away the instinctive panic. There would be no convincing Mason to look after himself when Charles was at risk. He clung more fiercely to his husband.

'Their helmets!' he projected into Xavier's and Leslie's minds. 'Try to remove their helmets!'

On the cold tile, Haine stirred. The pain in his thigh was nearly blinding, but the entire hallway had erupted into action. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to take advantage of the chaos. He set off at a slow, desperate crawl.

Xavier: Leslie’s spell may not have stopped the guards in their tracks, but it bought them precious time.

Time for Xavier to fling his arm and fling their weapons away in the process. Time for Xavier to register Charles’ voice in his head and begin to plan the best course of action.

The helmets had straps so they couldn’t merely be flicked off. Not without decapitating them all, which…wasn’t the worst solution…

‘I can’t do it without taking their heads as well,’ he thought to Charles and Mason.

Mason/Leslie: It was the heat of the moment. Hearing Charles in his head so clearly as though beside him. Just as he so often did when hearing the professor's voice, telepathy didn't stop him from speaking aloud what he thought.

"Can't move," but he considered breaking the spell after Xavier took action. There was every possibility someone had backup. A handgun out of his line of sight.

He was scared to let go, but only just realized the doctor was making a feeble attempt at escape. He had to choose one or the other.

Mason was staring upwards was at nothing, forcing his mind outwards to peer through Xavier's eyes in a flash. Only then did he shift his wings back behind his shoulders.

Charles: "No!" Charles' shout rang out both physically and mentally. He'd feel shame for it, later. But six headless corpses was more than he could bear, under the circumstances. He shut his eyes against the visual. This did nothing to chase it away.

He had to focus, find another solution. His telepathy unspooled in search of more unshielded minds.

Assault weapons rendered useless, and then flung down the hall, the guards were forced to think on their feet. Indeed, four of them did carry handguns in their belts. The remaining two pulled out blades. Anything to defend against a threat they could not see. The lead guard could at least take a shot at the one he could.

Xavier: Charles could not possibly know the weight his ‘no’ held in that moment. It would’ve been so simple, so easy to neutralize the threat then and there and not have to worry about elegant solutions.

But Charles said no, so the guards would be thrown back with an impatient wave of Xavier’s arm instead.

Time and cover were what they needed. Time and cover.

“Come,” the demon said to Leslie. “We don’t have but a moment. We need to get back into that room, I’ll keep the doors closed behind us.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie's hands trembled. Fear in his alert and glossy eyes. At last he remembered to breathe, afraid still of dropping his spell when Xavier snapped him out of it.

"The doctor," he gasped, lowering his arms. Nausea swept over his entire being as the bullets raced forward by another foot, dropping off like metal rain on the tile.

Mason backed up, giving passage as he glanced down the hallway, allowing Charles to do the same.

"Who d'ya feel?" he asked, retreating back inside.

Charles: He shuddered his relief at carnage avoided, still too shaken to be properly grateful for Xavier's restraint. He looked, when presented the opportunity, but his mind was elsewhere.

"Frightened kids, mostly. Still locked in, but they can tell something is amiss. It's the middle of the night, so they aren't fully staffed. I can feel... three, without blockers. There are more, but I can't reach them. Some might make a run for it."

Outside, the guards were getting to their feet.

Charles shifted his focus to only the minds within the room. "Is everyone inside? Is anyone hurt?"

Xavier/Ramsay: “I’ll deal with him later,” said Xavier, the thought of that feckless coward making his blood boil. He wouldn’t get far on that leg and wouldn’t be hard to find.

“We’re fine, prof,” said Ramsay. “Don’t worry about us, you’re the one who needs lookin’ aft—“

“Mai, you have to take Charles out of here.” Xavier spoke calmly, and although Leslie was the only one who’d be able to tell, his eyes were still pitch black. “The same goes for the two of you,” he added to their pair of mages. “It’s no bother if Mason or I take a hit, they’re not equipped to kill us. The same cannot be said for the rest of you. Charles is already injured.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie leaned himself against the wall near Ramsay, watching each person before remembering his invisibility. After some hesitation the silk was unknotted and pocketed.

"You shouldn't be here alone. Charles said something about children. We need to get them out."

Mason pressed his forehead to Charles' and sighed.

"We'll get them." He looked between the witches. "Y'all aren't leavin' Charles' side. Hear me? While I'm gone, same fuckin' room."

Leslie nodded without a second thought.

"Of course."

Charles: "Absolutely not. You are sorely mistaken if you think I'm leaving this facility for even a minute wi--" He cut himself off as Leslie appeared. Good to see that the witch was still standing. He nodded his agreement.

"They're terrified. We can help release them, once the guards are dealt with."

His eyes shut at that gentle contact, and he stroked a thumb over Mason's cheek.

"I'll be fine. We'll barricade ourselves in the room, if we have to. But you be careful. Neither of you has unlimited energy."

Xavier/Ramsay: “I fuckin’ agree,” said Ramsay, crossing his arms. “I told you I’m not letting you go into the heart of bloody darkness by yourself.”

Their concern fell on deaf ears. “How would you have us deal with them, Charles?” asked Xavier. In his view there was only one way, and Charles had already made his aversion to it quite clear.

As he had said, Xavier and Mason didn’t have unlimited energy. Whatever route they chose to take, it needed to be swift and effective and that which was swift and effective was very rarely palatable.

He sighed. “Why deal with them at all? If we know where the others are, we can go in and get them before the guards have a chance to rally. Ramsay could transport them once we gather them all.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie managed a smile, but it was obvious something was pulling at his features. Exhaustion between physical and mental. The voices outside and the clatter of human bodies, body armor, and retrieving of weapons. A trembling hand reached for a chocolate bar. Not at all hungry, but he had to do something about his blood sugar before he started slurring words. No need to call attention to himself if he could help it.

"How much energy do you have left?" Leslie asked Ramsay. Fuck it, a small bar of chocolate was offered.

"I can't carry ya n'carry a child. Ya need t'be someplace safe," Mason whispered. I cannot lose you again, was a chant he didn't mean to give.

Charles: "I'd have them incapacitated! A broken leg is quite an effective obstacle. Obviously."

He shook his head.

"How? Teleport from room to room? They aren't being kept in a collective cell. This is a hospital. Or a farce of one, anyway. You'd both collapse before you collected half of them. Which is to say nothing of keeping them safe from attack."

His lips brushed the corner of his husband's mouth, heedless of their audience. He dropped his own voice to a murmur.

"You won't have to. I'll be safe here. They're keeping mutants here, love. They used... they tried to use me as a bloody weapon. I can't leave until it's shut down."

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay shook his head at the offer. “You eat it. You need it a hell of a lot more than I do.”

As to Leslie’s question? Ramsay rubbed his ring and sighed. The metal was getting cold.

“Not as much as I’d like. I could probably make one more big leap. Two at a push.”

A broken leg…

“I’ll be back in a moment.”

Under the cover of his remaining invisibility, Xavier popped out of the room. His telekinesis would hold the doors firmly shut while he assessed the situation outside and went in search of what he was looking for.

If he had to push the guards back again, he would, but his main objective wasn’t them. And it wasn’t far. It was terribly hard to make significant progress on a broken leg.

“Where do you think you’re going, little toy soldier?” He froze the coward Haine in place and crouched down beside him.

“I’m not done playing with you yet.”

Mason: Ramsay was studied across the room. Fingertips lightly brushing along his husband’s arm. Charles wasn’t willing to leave, and right this moment, Mason was willing to accommodate. The look on his husband’s face when that machine was running… he never wanted to see that again, and yet it was all he could see with every blink.

“Ya need t’sit with Charles. If this goes tit’s up, ya leave with him.” Barking orders was as easy as breathing. A different time. A rank on his shoulder. A gun in his arms. Only to dissolve into the Pit snapping orders between experiments. Ramsay’s loyalty lay with Xavier, not Charles, but he would have this no other way.

Charles was returned to the bed, positioned to sit over the edge.

“Ramsay, you’ll do that?” Only with a downward inflection in his tone. “Say yes so I can find my brother.”

Charles/Haine: Charles didn't want anyone burdened with him, but he knew to pick his battles. He gave Mason a final squeeze as he was set down.

'Thank you.'

Haine could have wept when he heard that sinister voice at his ear, again. Did just that, in fact.

"Please," he begged, almost grateful that he couldn't put a form to that voice. "I'm trying to save people."

Xavier/Ramsay: It was precisely because Ramsay’s loyalty laid with Xavier that it laid with Charles.

The witch nodded. There was so much he wanted to say but it simply wasn’t the time.

“I will but you don’t have to look for him. He’ll be back in a bit.”

Xavier tsked. “My dear Mr. Haine.” Mocking sympathy dripped from his voice as he grabbed Haine’s arm. “You can’t even save yourself. How can you possibly think you could’ve saved anyone else?”

Without warning, Xavier’s return to the room would be heralded by the sudden reappearance of Haine, followed by Xavier’s voice saying, “But fear not. You may yet be of use tonight.”

Mason/Leslie: Mason was already turning his attention to Leslie by the time Ramsay spoke. He needn't say a word. The fact that he looked to the Verbena at all made him feel a certain way, but Leslie had no intention to open his mouth. Only cross the room and wrap his arm around Charles' shoulders.

"Where all are you -" Leslie's eyes drifted as he answered his own question with skin-to-skin contact.

"He said that," but Ramsay harbored as much concern as Mason felt.

No sooner did Haine appear did Mason outstretch his hand. Telekinesis not for the doctor but for his brother. Forcing his arm into his grasp, he felt for the delicate thread on his wrist. In the heat of the moment, he couldn't say whether or not this spell altered behavior, but he wasn't taking a chance on literal blind trust.

Charles/Haine: Charles looked up at his friend with a weak smile. He hadn't had a chance to give the witch his due consideration, yet. "Hello, Les. How are you feeling? You're looking a bit pale. You didn't come here on an empty stomach, did you?"

Before he could glean an answer, Haine reappeared. His smile darkened to a scowl in an instant.

Between the pain and the teleportation, Haine heaved from his place on the ground. He forced himself to swallow the bile. "How?"

Xavier: Haine’s question would go unanswered for the moment, as Xavier almost immediately got the unpleasant surprise of being yanked to Mason’s side.

“Oi!” There was no need to ask what his brother was doing; Xavier could surmise it for himself and would very much be resisting.

“Don’t you dare,” he said with more annoyance than venom. “Do you think I have an infinite supply of this silk? Doing what we need to do is going to be a thousand times harder if we’re visible. I have exactly one other cloaking method on me and we need it for Charles and the others.”

Mason/Leslie: Judging the distance of Xavier's voice, Mason made a grab for his jaw; a conscious decision, rather than his throat.

"There's gonna be children hearin' a voice without a body. I ain't gotta tell ya they're already scared shitless. Guards already know we're in this room if ya can't fuckin' tell. Let me look at ya."

Let, he said, with one hand on his jaw, the other on his wrist. His baby brother could argue all he wanted against that strength. This was not the first time holding Xavier down.

Leslie was making an effort to ignore them.

"Came here with a granola bar and chocolate," he forced a smile. "I can try and heal some of this now, or I can take the pain away..."

Charles: Charles could not do the same. This was his family. This was his fault. He looked to his husband with a grimace, and then back to Leslie.

"Is making this leg useable going to put you on your back, Les? Be honest. I won't have you passing out on my behalf." But he wanted to be useful.

Xavier: Xavier couldn’t dodge in time. His attention was on his arm and not on Mason, which had given his brother the opening he needed.

Suddenly the silk on his wrist was the last thing on his mind. He wasn’t fighting its removal and if it was he wouldn’t try to stop it; he was struggling against the hold itself.

“Mai, let me go.” There was the slightest note of panic in his voice that he couldn’t quite mask but that would be visible on his face for a split second the moment that he became visible.

With the veil of shadow gone, the last shield he had was the pitch black of his eyes.

Mason/Leslie: The silk fell to the floor without a single regard. Now that he could see his brother, his grip loosened. Both hands gentle on his face. For a moment, despite the screaming of guards, gunfire, kicks at the door, and his beloved just behind him, they needed a moment.

"You're okay, Zav," Mason whispered.

Leslie glanced over his shoulder. This felt intrusive, which forced his attention back on Charles. If he could make Charles his whole world in that moment he would.

"Useable, yeah. I can do it." A lie with a straight face, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "That's what you want?"

Charles: Indeed. The moment was one of familial intimacy that even Charles would not interrupt. Instead, he studied Leslie's face. He knew his friend's smile possibly better than his own. This was not it.

He gave a small shake of the head, patting Leslie's back.

"I'm all right. It's not all that bad." Charles could lie, too. "We'll figure something out. This is a medical facility, of a sort."

Xavier/Ramsay: It was intrusive. Xavier's moments of vulnerability were not something everyone was privy to or that he wanted everyone to be privy to. Of all the people in that room, only Ramsay understood what Xavier was feeling but because they weren't alone, Ramsay couldn't do a damn thing about it.

And because they weren't alone, Xavier couldn't fully accept his brother's comfort.

"I'm fine." A kneejerk response and a lie anyone could see through. "There are larger issues at hand. We can't stay here. You."

Xavier turned his attention back to Haine and moved to put some distance between him and Mason. He felt too exposed to let himself have a moment and the situation gave him the benefit of distracting urgency.

The only upside to being visible was that Haine finally got to see his phantom: a tall, well-dressed man with cold, fathomless black pits for eyes.

"Here's what you're going to do. You're going to show me where your office is. You're going to show me where the security room is. You're going to tell me exactly how many other people you're holding in this facility. And you're going to tell me the truth because if you don't, I will make you wish that I'd just killed you."

Mason/Leslie: Fair enough. He'd follow Charles down that avenue until it was exhausted. The longer he rested the better.

"Maybe there's morphine or something in here," Leslie muttered. "Ramsay, help me look?" Something to do to ignore the commotion outside.

The moral high ground was oftentimes set on the harder path. Right now, all Mason wanted was murder. That was easy, and that was not what Charles wanted.

So he occupied his time allowing his telepathy to expand, feeling at untrapped minds, counting each conscious child. Unconscious minds took more effort; he just needed an estimate while his brother attempted an alternative strategy. Searching for children with excruciating pain or any other nurse in the facility.

Charles/Haine: He'd find eighteen captives, in total. Most were relatively healthy, if resigned to their fates. A handful with particularly destructive powers were kept bound and behind reinforced doors. Each had experienced taking of samples, but only three had full amputations. One was in the process of regenerating his stolen tail.

Haine nodded. They could take what they wanted, burn it all down, as long as he left with his life. He could always rebuild. Find new staff. Find a less protected telepath. But he kept those thoughts as far from the surface as he could.

"Y-yes. Whatever you need. I swear."

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay nodded and began rifling through any drawers or cabinets he could find.

Xavier’s smile was predatory. There was no depth within Haine’s mind that he could not reach but Haine didn’t need to know that.

“There’s a good little soldier. Now then, I need you to tell me how many others and picture your office. What sort of protective measures does it have? Is anyone going to come looking in there?”

Xavier’s intention was to move them all there, away from the guards.

Mason/Leslie: Another lost tail. A reminder of Dothan and the rescue of their children. The memory warmed his skin and darkened his eyes. It would be a lie to say Xavier was rubbing off on him, but it would have been the perfect excuse.

"I'm not seeing anything," Leslie sighed. He hated the realization that no intention had been made for Charles' comfort. Nothing after his leg, nothing now. He could relate to the frustration in the room, but his focus had to narrow or he would drive himself mad.

Mason had the strength to take Charles back, take multiple trips for the children. He would fall unconscious, but he could do it. But leaving meant leaving Xavier, and with every passing second the notion became beyond possibility.

Impatience was his worst enemy.

"Let me take the pain away, Charles," pleaded Leslie, returning to Charles' side.

Charles/Haine: Picture his office? Was Charles going to involve himself in this? Or did this creature also possess telepathic ability. What the fuck? He constructed the mental shields he'd been practicing, wishing desperately for his blocker.

"Eighteen. It has a reinforced door, with a bolt."

Not overly large, but it was bigger and more comfortable than any other office space in the facility. It had a small couch for long nights.

"No one will look for you there, if they don't see you enter."

Charles shook his head, but his smile was reassuring. "I'm fine. Truly. I won't have you hurting yourself on my behalf."

Xavier: Whatever defenses Haine hoping to erect were precious little against a demon. Still, Xavier made a conscious effort to simply brush the man’s mind to glean the information he needed.

The less Haine believed he could do, the better.

“Such a good answer, little soldier. Well done.”

Xavier straightened and turned to his brother and the others. “We can’t stay here. It’s safer for us all to move to Haine’s office, just until we gather the children. With any luck we can be done and out while the guards are still chasing their tails.”

He used his telekinesis to haul Haine to his feet grabbed his arm with one hand, holding the other out to Ramsay.

“All together now, we know how this works.”

Mason/Leslie: "I can't feel a thing right now," Leslie managed an earnest smile, moved his forearm out of view. Couldn't let Charles see what he had done to himself to achieve that.

"My blood sugar's fine. I'll help with the pain when we move." From the sound of things, they were in for another relocation. Mason took hold of his husband's hand and dropped his fist on his brother's shoulder.

Charles: Moved like a ragdoll, but at least he was still alive. He wasn't looking forward to more teleportation.

Charles threaded his fingers through Mason's, bracing himself for the jump. He extended his opposite hand to Leslie. "We'll see."

Xavier: The moment given to brace was purely for the benefit of Leslie and Charles. Were it not for them, he would’ve happily transported Haine without warning or mercy.

Guiding himself with the image in Haine’s head, Xavier took them all to his office and left the guards and the gunfire behind.

“Right.” Xavier released Haine’s arm but he didn’t let him down just yet.

“You said there are eighteen in total. Are they being guarded? Are their rooms locked and monitored?”

Mason/Leslie: Ragdoll wasn't Mason's intention, as they reappeared, Charles was back in his arms, rather than risk his falling on the floor. He wasn't about to have Charles standing on one foot with everything that had happened to him. He was placed upright on the couch, and this time Leslie took to the floor in front of him, carefully draping Charles' leg over his raised knee.

"Just trust me," said Leslie. At least now he could better concentrate, with gunfire only a whisper in his ear. He rubbed both hands together, and whispered a prayer between his fingers. There would be no carving into Charles' skin; that spell was too harsh and for many, too frightening. This wouldn't last nearly as long, but it was something.

Charles/Haine: Haine shook his head, breathing through the queasiness and mind-numbing pain. No tender care had been taken for his broken leg. But he spoke, regardless. Too afraid to dally despite his anguish.

"No guards at the rooms. The nurses monitor the patients in shifts, but less often, right now. It's late." He wasn't a monster.

Charles sank into the sofa at the instant relief. Despite his insistence to the contrary, the pain had driven him to distraction. The glassiness in his eyes cleared somewhat. "Stubborn," he admonished, but there was no heat in it. "Thank you, Les. How are you feeling? Do you need to eat something?"

Xavier: "Are they all in the same ward? Is the ward closed?"

If it was, he and Mason could lock themselves in it while they gathered the children. If it wasn't, Xavier had one more cloaking spell that would give them some cover. Transporting them was another matter but that was the next bridge to cross. One thing at a time.

He shared these thoughts with his brother.

"Picture the security room, Haine. I won't have us spotted on any cameras."

Mason/Leslie: "Mhm." Leslie was inclined to agree, but there would be no walking back from his blessing. His forehead pressed lightly to Charles' knee as he offered the spell, cupped hands over the nasty wound on his leg. Little more than a heavy dose of Tylenol, but it was something, leaving energy wherever else needed in the meantime.

He simply shook his head to the food question. There was a bite left of his chocolate, and he was offering it to Charles.

Mason's fingers lingered on Charles' shoulder as he rose to his feet.

"I'm goin' t'security." He wanted this shit over with. It seemed much of their hesitation was because of this one room and his patience had finally reached its peak.

Charles/Haine: "They're all over. In rooms based on... classification." There was no gentler way to put that. Haine winced at how it might sound to these people.

"Psionics, regenerative abilities, destructive abilities, et cetera." Different powers required different restraint methods. Not that he was going to say that shit out loud.

He nodded and pictured the security room. Cramped and lined with display monitors. Usually only one guard, at this time of night.

Charles shook his head. "Thank you, no. I'm not at all hungry." Which was actually the truth. Despite his missed dinner being the catalyst of this entire disaster, he hadn't so much as thought about food since being taken. The very idea of eating anything, at the moment, made him actively queasy.

"Eat. And let me know if you need more, later."

He gave Mason's hand a careful squeeze and nodded. The sooner this night ended, the better.

'Be careful. I love you.'

Xavier/Ramsay: At this point, nothing Haine said had any chance of not sounding completely deplorable. His only saving grace was the knowledge he possessed of this facility, and that grace was very, very tenuous.

“Naturally,” Xavier said through gritted teeth, brushing Haine’s mind again for the mental image. When he had it, he turned to Ramsay.

“John, gun.”

Ramsay tossed one of the guns to him.

“Thank you. I’m going to leave him here. If he moves, shoot him in the leg.”

The witch smirked at Haine. “With pleasure.”

“Behave now, little soldier,” Xavier said before clasping his brother’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie could understand, and had they taken longer to reach him, would have insisted for the sake of Charles' own blood sugar, but with refusal, he finished off what remained and crumpled the wrapper. Had half a mind to flick it at the doctor, but instead tossed it in the nearby wastebin. Just didn't have it in him.

Being transported by a fellow demon didn't feel like anything, and no sooner did the reappear did Mason's fist connect with the nearest breakable jaw. Just like the last fucking facility. More children for the school, yet more to bleed for.

"I wanna see this place burn."

Xavier: "It will," Xavier said matter-of-factly, leaving the guard for his brother to incapacitate and turning his attention to the monitors. "I only ask that you leave Haine to me."

There were a few guards in the parking garage where they'd entered but the rest seemed to be concentrated outside the machine room Xavier was still holding closed with his telekinesis. It was a drain on his power but he had no choice. The diversion it offered would shelter them while they grabbed the children, and they needed it.

Gathering eighteen children from several different areas was no small task.

"Only nurses to worry about, like the bastard said. They're likely all human, they won't put up a fight when they see a gun. How are we doing this?"

Mason: "S'not my choice." Or Haine would have already been in pieces. "Charles is the one broken in the other room. He's gettin' final say."

Kill them was the knee jerk response. Employed of their own free will, they had no right to their lives after what they had done to these children. They were witnesses. They were liabilities.

"Lock em all in one of the rooms. Gonna take the children in batches t'the nurses' station." Leaving the potentially volatile for last.

Xavier: Xavier didn’t argue the point. They had more pressing matters at hand and besides, he intended to make a damn good case for eliminating that wretch.

He nodded. “Very well.” He looked around at all the different controls and then down at the guard. The likelihood of him recovering from the blow Mason had given him and sounding some sort of alarm was slim, but it wasn’t zero.

The demon reached down to disarm him and grabbed him by the collar. Best stow him in a broom closet, just in case.

“Right then, I’m off to dispose of this and gather the nurses.”

Mason: Mason watched the screens, playing out both scenarios, knowing what Charles would want didn't make it easier to swallow, but he would, for as long as he could choke it.

And then he looked in one of those rooms, reminded of the hours he had spent in secret with his daughter until rescue.

"I'm off t'the children."

Xavier: Xavier nodded again. “I’m a thought away if something happens.”

With the guards otherwise occupied, he was able to drag the guard out of the security room and down the hall to the nearest utility closet with ease. It was slightly larger than expected, and as good a place as any to keep the nurses once he rounded them all up.

Xavier left the door open just a crack and got to hunting.

The first nurse he came upon would be met with a black stare and a gun pointed directly at their head.

“Make a single sound or a single move and you’re dead,” he said, offering a chillingly pleasant smile.

Mason: There had to be a modicum of caution when taking to the hallway. Security wasn't going to just stand in front of the blocked door, staring blankly until something new happened. More than likely they would begin spreading out, looking elsewhere, regardless of the alarm. They had made it as far as they had with little fanfare; trusting their system was all but nonexistent.

There was going to be that one nurse, Mason ventured to guess, that would scream before his brother had a chance to speak. Until then, he was down the hallway and to the left, towards the minds of the eldest captives.

Charles: The only nurse brave enough to venture out of hiding after the tech had raised the alarm froze in her tracks. She obeyed. A deer in headlights.

The facility's eldest resident (aside from Charles) was a mere twenty-two years old. Like Cynthia had been, the young woman was strapped securely into a straight jacket. Her room was painted the same cheerful mint that Charles' had been, but there was no furniture beyond the cot she laid on.

Xavier: The nurse was definitely human. Only humans believed that the scariest thing they could possibly encounter was a person with a loaded weapon. They had no idea of the danger that lurked right beneath their noses, often hunting them and picking them off and manipulating them at will.

Well. This one did now. And for her bad luck, the danger had a loaded weapon, too.

Xavier quickly closed the gap between them and moved to stand behind the nurse, pressing the gun's muzzle right against the back of her head and using it to get that ridiculous blocker off. Such a nuisance.

"There's a utility closet near the security room. Walk."

Getting her there under her own power was quicker and would save him energy, and it also gave him the opportunity to search her mind for the number and location of the other nurses.

Mason: Mason peered through the door. Debated on breaking the door entirely or spending energy to teleport. To lean on the former, it was imperative not to frighten her.

He realized only years too late the toll of lessening contracts had taken on his stamina. Add to the irritating reality that being split into two had successfully tethered weights to his feet. He would sooner blame these factors than any whisper of blame on his husband. A benevolent soul determined to keep bloodshed to a meager drip. That was fine. He would walk around the obstacles for as wide as he was able.

“Hey!” Could she even hear? Was she tranquilized? His mind reached out to hers, light as a feather. Remembering Leslie and what retaliation felt like, he had no desire for a repeat. Knowing her vague age wasn’t the same as opening the door to her mind; he had only seen through a window.

“My name is,” she would know eventually, given the circumstances, “Mason. I’m here to get you out.”

Charles: The nurse was trembling, grey curls bouncing as she hurried to obey the command. Her blocker clanged against the tile, and she prayed that the rest of the staff still had theirs firmly in place. They were huddled together in the lab, waiting for the guards to give the all-clear.

The young woman sat up in her bed with some degree of difficulty. That was promising, but she wasn't going to go leaping for joy, just yet. Following the same line of thought as Mason, she was willing to give a little.

"Evelyn. You the dude who was in my head, earlier?"

She didn't think so. He'd been kinda... soothing. Maybe they were working together.

Xavier: Three nurses. Three lab techs. One doctor. One guard. All hiding in the lab, waiting for safety that would never come.

Like fish in a barrel.

“Pathetic,” the demon said with disgust, knocking the nurse in the back of the head with the butt of the gun and letting her join the security guard among the brooms and mops.

Xavier closed the door behind himself and made for the lab, having used his time in the nurse’s head to familiarize himself with the layout of this part of the facility. He couldn’t afford a single unnecessary teleportation.

His energy was better spent using his telekinesis to undo the lock on the door to the lab and freezing everyone inside in place as he entered with his weapon drawn.

Mason: Of course, Charles had already swept the area. At least she was receptive. Had the children been tranquilized this would have gone a lot slower but possibly smoother. Still more children to gather, but an auspicious start to his endeavor.

He shared his findings with Xavier, taking what was offered in his brother’s mind, only to give in turn to his husband. No telepath was going to be left in the dark.

“That was my partner. There are five of us.” Lawrence remained uncounted so long as they remained whole. “I need you to face the corner. I’m gonna break the door.”

To break, a combination of raw strength and telekinesis as he backed away and kicked just beneath the doorknob.

Charles: The room's inhabitants didn't have time to properly jump at being startled, before they were locked into place by an unseen force. The guard, at least, had the presence of mind to call out to his fellows despite his terror. He had no clue whether they were within earshot.

"The main lab has been breached! The intruder is alone, but armed!"

"Bet." Evelyn nodded, assuming he meant mission partner. They sounded like some sort of paramilitary group, like those X-dudes. She slid clumsily from the bed and moved to stand in the corner, facing the wall. She could not wait to get out of that fucking straight jacket.

From his place on the couch, Charles shared the information with Leslie and Ramsay.

"Mason's reached the first kid. He's getting her out, now."

Xavier: “Just like the nurse,” Xavier sighed, telekinetically locking the door again and setting the gun aside. “You humans see a weapon and immediately assume it to be the most viable threat.”

Xavier smiled as he approached the guard, fixing him with that empty black stare. “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio,” he said in an intimate whisper, undoing the clasp keeping the guard’s helmet on so he could remove it and toss it aside. He’d be taking the guard’s weapon as well.

“Warning them won’t help. You don’t even know what you’re warning them against. If you did, you’d know that none of you are making it out of this room.”

Mason: 'Zav,' Mason's voice came sharply. That wasn't their decision to make, and his warning doubled as a reminder of their reason for being here across the facility. Any moment Charles could be listening in, and that was the last thing he needed to hear.

But his expression had to remain neutral as the door squealed back on its hinges, slapping into the wall as it broke.

"So, what can ya do?" Just to get Evelyn talking as he stood center of the room, hands open to unfasten her straight jacket. Cynthia hadn't been a violent girl. Couldn't even speak. Doctors in these organizations seemed to accept any excuse to restrain the strange and unusual.

"I'm goin' t'the next room. Gonna gather everyone up in here so no one gets lost. Ya gonna stay put?"

Charles: Terrifying. But the guard was made of sterner stuff than Haine. He met that fathomless black gaze with a set jaw. If he was gonna die, he wasn't gonna blubber about it. The same could not be said for the rest of the room's inhabitants at the promise in the man's words.

"Thank you."

Evelyn could do a lot, but figured she'd keep it short and sweet.

"I can stop a man's heart."

And planned to do a lot of that, now that her hands were free. She rolled stiff shoulders and flexed numb fingers. She'd lost track of how many days she'd been trapped in this hellhole, but she would make them pay for every one of them.

"What?"

This man was her savior, technically. She owed him a debt. But she'd been caged for long enough, thanks.

"No. No, I can't. I appreciate you letting me out, and everything, but they-- they have my kid sister. I'm going to get her and we're getting the fuck out of here."

Xavier: Although Xavier’s jaw twitched, the predatory smile never left his face. For a moment he’d forgotten that he wasn’t entirely alone but no matter. This guard didn’t know that there was a hand staying his elsewhere in this godforsaken building.

“Such a good little soldier,” he mocked before giving this man the same gift his brother had given the guard in the security room: a knockout punch and a broken jaw to go with it.

Only then did his focus shift to the rest of the room, and it was immediately obvious that this was not simply a lab. It was something far, far worse.

He stalked past the morgue shelves to the nearest nurse and had to fight to merely take the blocker off and not throw them against the wall.

Mason Great. That was just what this situation needed. His tone had been intentionally confident and full voice, but was quickly deepening into something non-negotiable.

“I picked ya first for a reason.” Let’s go with that. “There are younger people here and they’re gonna need ya t’keep em calm. Runnin’ around drawin’ attention t’yourself is a sure way t’fuck this up for everyone. Y'all are gonna be taken t’a school t’be looked after."

Maybe a compromise, because he didn't have time for this shit, and locking her back up was a surefire way to lose her trust forever.

"If ya come with me, ya actually have t'stick with me. Ya gonna do that or play Miss Independent?"

Charles: That particular nurse was the youngest of the lot, silently crying as he was approached. Like the guard, he held his tongue, bracing to be punched as well. It had looked like it hurt like Hell.

Evelyn sniffed. She could fight him. Slow his heart long enough to put him on his ass and make a run for it.  But it seemed a pretty fucked up way to show gratitude. And who knew if that telepath of his would stop her. Or anyone else on his little squad, for that matter. Cooperation was the cleanest way to get to her sister. She nodded.

"Fine."

Xavier: The punch wouldn’t come. After removing the blocker, Xavier simply moved on to the other two nurses and took theirs as well.

The doctor would be last but as Xavier moved about the lab and took in his surroundings, a sickening feeling of curiosity churned his gut. A feeling that had begun at the morgue shelves but wouldn’t stop there, that wouldn’t let him be until he saw for himself just what these people had been doing with those eighteen souls his brother was in the process of rescuing.

His eyes flicked back to piercing, icy blue as he walked past the still-frozen staff and deeper into the lab.

Mason/Leslie: Mason crackled his neck, but it was not in Evelyn’s regard. Chalk it up to exhaustion, but it was a single image from Xavier that had caused it. His brother wasn’t the only one hanging on by a thread.

“Great. Wonderful.” He gestured to the door. One finger on the figurative trigger to snatch her should she run. Trust in a stranger could only go so far. The next immediate door was peered through. The same brush of mind. The same greeting, same warning, same kick. This one told to stay put as well. Maybe they could gather in this room, or he was going to have an annoyance on his hands.

"How are you feeling?" Leslie asked. By now the witch was pacing. Not sensible for his energy, but never one to remain still unless meditating.

Charles: Evelyn followed behind as agreed, peering into the next room to see if it housed her sister. Not finding her, she was ready to move on. Not cruelty. Tunnel vision. Her family first, always. At least this young man was willing to stay behind and help any children sent his way. And if the opportunity arose to pierce a nurse or guard with his wicked spines, he'd take it.

Charles offered a small smile. He felt like boiled shit. He could barely see out of his left eye and he was certain that it has begun to darken to an ugly violet hue.

"Just fine. Do either of you have a mobile? They took mine and did goodness knows what with it. I doubt anyone at home is ready for a sudden influx of kids."

In this way, at least, he could be useful.

Xavier: Xavier had only taken a couple of steps before he paused.

Of the eighteen people that needed to be saved, Mason had only gathered two and would soon secure a third. That left fifteen left to gather and there was no telling how long and how complex it would be to free them. It was vital work, and a distraction would spell disaster for his brother. Xavier couldn’t have that.

He closed the door to their connection and continued walking.

Within minutes, he would walk into the cold storage room and wish he hadn’t. Within minutes, he would realize that this had been Hell long, long before two demons walked through the front door.

Xavier Atlas stood in the middle of a sea of bodies, a sea of children, breath steaming in the artificial cold and clouding his vision as his eyes fixed on a cadaver that was so, so small, too small to be here. They were all too small to be here, to be in a freezer, to be in pieces.

A thread snapped.

He would return to the main room in a flurry of black-eyed demonic rage and threw the doctor against the morgue shelves with all his might.

Without the blocker, it was pathetically easy to see into the doctor’s mind, to see what he’d done. What they’d all done.

Keeping the doctor pinned, Xavier closed his hand into a fist and used his telekinesis to tear him apart from the inside out.

Mason/Leslie/Lawrence: Mason held his hand up to Evelyn as he spoke to the young man. This was exactly what he had hoped from the first door. At least it hadn’t taken long to find a caregiver. She could look, of course, but she was watched from his peripheral.

Once the boy understood what was required of him, he moved on to the next door. Now it was about funneling everyone back to the boy’s room.

And wondering why the fuck Xavier had severed the connection. That was only going to push his brother back in. Not only out of spite but out of consideration of the demon’s sanity. Something had been off since the moment he had carved into his chest.

Fucking Hell, Charles didn’t know about that.

“Zav.” A thought said aloud, his steps slowing as he climbed back into that mind, only to cease all movement.

His neck popped again. Eyes reddening. This time, there would be no argument as a third hand appeared from Mason’s wrist, tearing upwards out of his chest, pressed hard on his stomach as the other half of his soul pulled forth, disconnecting from his very core. Lighter hair, soft hazel eyes, gray jeans and darker gray shirt. A sight for any child to behold as these two men stumbled against separate walls.

The new addition was quicker to recover. Rolling his shoulders as he started off towards the morgue.

“I’m gonna play.”

And there was nothing Mason could do to stop him. It was better this way. He couldn’t be blamed for Lawrence’s actions.

He forced his attention back to the children, still gulping in air as he kicked in the next door. The younger the children, the gentler his voice.

Lawrence rounded the corner, pushed through the door, past Xavier, and past the writhing doctor. Straight to the crying nurse. Those tears still flowing, he cupped his face in both hands.

“Why are you doing that?”

By then, Leslie had already tossed Charles his phone. Plenty of battery left for whatever he intended.

Charles: Evelyn and the boy had not had any contact, up to this moment. But the identical, wide-eyed looks they exchanged would have been comical in any other context. A person had come out of Mason's chest. A man-sized Chestburster had just waltzed down the hall like he did this every day. The boy was too stunned to speak, but Evelyn recovered more quickly. She jogged to catch up to Mason, still sticking to him like a shadow.

"Who the fuck was that? And how did he get... inside you?"

Charles had quickly thanked Leslie and punched in the relevant number before he realized. The phone had plenty of battery life, yes, but no service. Damnit. They were underground. He offered the phone back to his friend and turned to Haine's still-sniveling form with a scowl.

"You didn't think to let us know that our mobile phones don't work, here?"

"You never asked. None of the residents here have phones, anyway. The landlines work."

The telepath rolled his eyes in irritation, but looked between Ramsay and Leslie.

"Would one of you mind--"

The spike of fear had him straightening, despite the pain. He inhaled softly as he sought the source. A second doctor, pinned to the wall and panicking like a trapped rabbit. He had no time to react before the life was snatched painfully away.

Charles gasped as he lived it second-hand, ribs screaming in protest. He'd only been in the mind of a dying man once before.

At least it was quick, this time. If no less painful.

Charles reached out to Mason in alarm only to find Lawrence out and on the hunt, as well. He swiftly severed the connection, face flushed and pulse racing.

Absolutely not.

Whatever destruction the two of them thought they would unleash, they'd be disappointed. It was the work of an instant for Charles to reach into the minds of the unblocked staff and send them all into a deep sleep. Including the young, weeping nurse.

If they died, they'd do so unaware.

"Xavier's killed one of the staff. I need that phone. Quickly."

Xavier/Ramsay: "Fuck me," Ramsay hissed, grabbing the landline off of Haine's desk and handing it to Charles. He should be with Xavier, dammit, not in here.

His presence wouldn't have done a damn thing to stop the demon from killing whoever the fuck he'd killed--and Ramsay couldn't say he would've tried to--but at least Xavier wouldn't be fucking alone.

Xavier only became aware of Lawrence's presence after the doctor's mangled bloody form collapsed to the floor. He turned to do the same to the lab techs, only to have his catharsis snatched away by an invisible force that knocked them and all the nurses out in the same moment.

He didn't have to guess what had caused it or why; he already knew, and drove his fist into the wall in frustration.

It would be short-lived, however, as he remembered their most present and numerous threat.

Turning to Lawrence, Xavier reached into his pocket and held up the braid of enchanted silk. Of the seven initial strands, three remained. More than enough.

"Guards," he said, pulling a strand from the braid and holding his hand out for Lawrence's wrist in invitation.

Mason/Leslie/Lawrence: It was a lot to explain in a setting such as this, and perhaps tomorrow he would find their reactions entertaining. Right now, Mason could only manage to shake his head.

“He’s my -“ The word tasted like metal in his mouth, “-brother. Ya can hear ‘bout it later.”

Another child was ushered to the boy; he’d already forgotten his name. He would memorize them all tomorrow, along with anything else important, before or after keeping his word.

“Charles?” Leslie tucked his phone away and took to the professor’s side. Concern etched his features as he watched the horror unfold in his eyes.

Oh. Between the two demons, he thought that Mason would have been the cold-blooded killer. He was still processing when Ramsay handed over the landline.

“Why did he… ?”

Lawrence watched as his little toy slumped in his hands. Not nearly as fun to play with something this quiet. This pretty face wouldn’t contort into anything interesting.

The body was allowed to crumple naturally as he got back to his feet. He wasn’t finished with him. He couldn’t sleep forever. The fucking audacity to cry wouldn’t remain unpunished.

The delicate strands were given a cursory glance.

“Don’t waste a good spell. Put it back.”

Xavier was given a strong pat on his back and gently pulled towards the door. Time was wasted and there were guards to dispose of.

“I never get to have fun.”

Hearing the commotion of disturbed, distracted, and disconcerted guards, Lawrence began rolling his wrist. The more he rolled, the larger the sulfuric blue flame grew. Intent on throwing the fireball the moment they turned the corner.

Charles: She wanted to hear about it now, but Mason was right. Her sister and the rest of the kids were more pressing. She followed dutifully behind.

"Sure. I'm holding you to it."

Charles was shaking with a nauseating combination of pain, anger, and exhaustion. His partially-numbed leg helped to clear some of the fog, at least. He'd spared the staff, for the moment, but the guards were beyond his reach.

Xavier and Lawrence weren't.

The telepath very seriously considered putting them both down as well. He'd save ruining family bonds as a last resort.

He looked up at Ramsay as he dialed the memorized number.

"Listen, if you need to go to him, go. You'd be better served talking him back to himself than defending me from bloody office furniture."

When the demon in question was well away from the lab, a nurse would awaken and slip into the hall. She'd scurry, glassy-eyed, to the nearest supply room.

His attention turned to Haine as the line began to ring.

"You are going to show me every scrap of information you have on this place and any others."

The guards were indeed still struggling to enter an empty room. If Lawrence's fireball struck true, the remaining five guards would turn their reclaimed weapons on the pair without hesitation.

Xavier/Ramsay: There was no talking Xavier back into himself. Ramsay knew this. It was a miracle Xavier had held out this long and now that he'd started, he wouldn't stop unless he was good and ready or ran out of people to kill, whichever came first.

"I'm not going anywhere." Not wanting to take his frustration out on Charles, Ramsay opted to stomp on one of Haine's ankles instead.

"He asked me to stay put and keep a gun on this shitbag and your bloody husband asked me to stay with you."

Xavier nodded once and put the silk back in his pocket, letting himself be pulled along as docilely as anything despite the murder in his eyes and the fresh blood on his suit.

"You will tonight," he said softly, breathing deeply and centering his focus on himself for just a moment. He didn't put it past his brother to try to stop him and if he did, Mason would be met with a brick wall of resistance.

As would the guards.

The second Lawrence released his spell, the demon would be moving to plant himself in front of him in case any of the guards who remained standing were quick enough on the trigger to take a shot. They could take them, but regardless of whether they hit their mark, the demon wouldn't stop coming toward them.

Even the quickest one would only have a breath's worth of time before Xavier let the doors burst open and divested them once again of their weapons. This time he wouldn't push them back. He wouldn't let them fall back of their own accord, either.

He did not intend to let go of his catharsis. Whichever one was nearest would be pinned and given the same treatment the doctor had been given.

Mason/Leslie/Lawrence: Leslie turned to the door, tempted to make use of himself in some way. Ramsay was willing to stay, and if Charles allowed him to heal, he would be more inclined, but the commotion from those halls could be heard from their little sanctuary. There had to be something he could do.

The very moment Mason considered calling Xavier back was the same moment that tiny, lifeless body flashed in his vision. He could picture any of his children on that cold steel table. From Lucy to Rory to any of the children gathering in the room down the hall. To the iridescent sniffling child now in his arms. Charles must have seen. Their connection was all too quiet.

He just needed to focus on what was in front of him. Now that Charles was safe, this was the priority.

How much his life had changed.

Lawrence’s daughter was blessedly free of supernatural influence, but it was her little face he had seen, and it was all he could see. Lifeless children were all the motivation needed to stand behind Xavier’s frame. Waiting for the clack of guns he knew would follow the demon’s wake. Emerging with a second flight of fire flowing like waves toward the screams.

"Tell me where you want me," Leslie begged. "Charles? Do you want me out there?"

Charles: His mind was working overtime, rifling through the doctor's thoughts while he urged the nurse to move faster. The line was ringing and Haine was screaming and he felt his careful control waver. His temper flashed white hot for an instant.

"You are not helping!" he snapped at Ramsay before inhaling deeply. His cracked ribs wailed and he very nearly flung the receiver across the room. But Charles could not afford to let himself slip. It was not a luxury that his position allowed. Instead, he took quick, shallow breaths and addressed Ramsay calmly.

"You will leave this office if you can't keep a leash on your anger. It isn't useful to anyone present. I need him alert, not blinded by pain, thank you."

He looked to Leslie, deliberately blocking out the chaos nearby.

"I'd rather you didn't. However, if you think that you'd be more useful out there, I'm not going to stop you. But I implore you to be careful. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you, because of me."

Jean's worried voice on the line was a balm to his nerves and just the boost of strength he needed to push forward. He ran through an abridged version of the night's events in a tone that left no room for interruption.

"Let the children sleep, but wake the team. Have Hank prepare the infirmary, and I need you to prep as many rooms as you can. You can reach me at this number when everyone is ready, but I can't be tied to the phone, just now. Of course... I'm fine... Thank you... I'll be in touch."

Xavier/Ramsay: The witch said nothing, merely set his jaw and stared at the wall. Haine would be blinded by a lot more than pain if Ramsay had his way. Motherfucker deserved it.

Whatever Xavier had planned for him, Ramsay wouldn’t lift a finger to stop it. And the demon would have something planned, reliable as sunrise.

Two of the shots had found their target but Xavier couldn’t feel them. Rage and adrenaline numbed him, deafened him, but unfortunately didn’t blind him.

He watched the guard’s face contort in pain but all he could see was the child in the freezer. He thought of that child and all he could see was a newborn Devlin laying on snowy white furs in a willow branch basket. Just a baby. His baby.

He could scarcely see the flames licking at the guards but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if they were already burning and dying and screaming in pain.

Xavier would grab another guard, then another, and he would use his power to twist their insides, to break their bones, to tear at their skin until they were nothing but sacks of flaming pulp.

Mason/Leslie/Lawrence: Leslie flinched at Charles’ sharp comments. He felt the most useless in this building. A feeling he would not agree with come tomorrow, but this was now, and his eyes were to the floor.

“Have me gather whatever you need. Help Mason. Help you. Just… something.” Being a bodyguard would feel more rewarding had anyone been aware of the change of rooms. He didn’t pine for battle, but he pined for value.

At last, with their initial burden dispatched Lawrence headed back to the security room. Determined to find where the last of the monsters had fled. Those nurses, techs, what remained of the guards, and the few left hidden in the storage room. This building was in desperate need of cleansing. The bodies in the morgue deserved to be with their families, if their families cared at all. They deserved to be recognized and buried with fresh, beautiful flowers. They deserved better than this Hell. They deserved the retribution.

The two youngest mutants remained. This would have been a far more arduous task had Mason been human. The little iridescent child refused to leave his arms, and there she would remain.

'Almost finished here,' Mason offered, allowing Charles to see the gathering of children being tended to by those eldest in the group.

Charles: He reached out to take his friend's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. It was the only comfort he could offer, at the moment.

"You can help me gather the files. Nothing is backed up digitally, so there's going to be quite a lot."

If Lawrence was looking for movement, he wouldn't find much. The handful of guards still in the garage had not entered the building. The staff continued their forced slumber.

And the sole remaining nurse had already reached Haine's office door.

"Do not shoot," Charles commanded, just before her knock sounded.

"Leslie, be a dear and let her in."

When allowed, the glassy-eyed nurse would enter pushing a wheelchair loaded with medical supplies. The only person willing and able to help him at the moment, Charles loved much too deeply. He wouldn't have Leslie passing out on his behalf. He'd tend to himself.

In unnatural silence, the nurse handed Charles a small cardboard box and knelt to tend to his leg.

He pulled a rubber tourniquet from the box and tied it to his left arm with practiced ease. Equally as swift was his ability to fill a syringe from a vile of clear liquid and find his median cubital vein on the first try. It took only a few moments for the glassiness in his own eyes to clear completely.

He wordlessly acknowledged Mason's update and looked to Leslie.

"When she's finished with the splint, we can go."

He still waited on a call, but it was sure to come before he was done.

Xavier: He wouldn’t stop. Not until the last guard fell to the floor and joined his fellows and until those who had been left in the barricaded room were splashed like so much red paint across their precious machine.

Guards remained in the garage, nurses and techs in the lab, but Xavier didn’t care about them.

As he crossed the lake of blood he’d created in the hallway, his only thought was the little toy soldier cowering in his office.

“HAINE!” Xavier shouted as he started toward the office at a determined clip. There was no one to hear him and no one to stop him.

“HAINE!” The major threat was dead. Only the person who had commanded it remained to be dealt with.

“HAINE!”

The door to the office would practically blast open a mere moment before Xavier entered the room. In his right hand, a bloody knife. In his left, all the strength he had left to pick Haine up and pin him to the wall by his throat.

“How many?! HOW MANY?!”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie squeezed the offered hand. Would have kissed his knuckles had this been any other day, any other circumstance. Certainly not with Mason in striking distance.

Charles’ command wrinkled his brow, and still the witch jumped at the sudden knock. Half a mind to throw a spell at the door when asked to open it. What walked through only served to confound.

“Why won’t you let me take care of you?” was only a half-bitten question. Too tired to argue this late in the night. This stubborn sweetheart of a man refused to be a burden to such an extreme level. It was a wonder he allowed Leslie to touch him at all.

With an RN in his grasp, he didn’t think to question why Charles was so skilled with a tourniquet. Such wandering thoughts never crossed his mind. He and possibly Ramsay were the only drug abusers in this facility, as far as he was aware. As far as he was willing to believe.

“There’s a few ugly beasts.” Back where they started. Lawrence’s pretty little nurse would have to wait. Something to savor like the last square of chocolate after a meal.

The security room was abandoned. He ignored the clatter deep in the facility, heading toward the exit.

“Where are we go –“

The sudden explosion of broken wood, hinges, and metal slamming hard against the wall bordered on deafening. The witch ducked to a runaway chunk of rubber, and before he realized what he was doing, made a grab for the demon’s forearm.

“Nonono! Please just wait!”

Mason made a head count, tried to offer the child in his arms to the young male leader of the group.

"I'll be right back. Okay, love? I have to gather everyone else and we're leavin'. I promise."

She almost didn't take no for an answer. Luckily one of the preteens was making a show of her power as a means of distraction for some of the unsettled lot.

To return to Charles or to chase Lawrence...

Charles: "Absolutely any other time, Les. Do you truly believe I want to spend the next three months in a cast?"

Longer, if he hadn't misjudged the severity of the break.

"After you've had a decent meal, and at least eight hours of sleep, I will be more than happy to let you patch me up. You have my word."

Charles raised his arms instinctively at the explosion, temporarily losing his hold on the nurse. For her part, she did not run, cowering where she knelt, instead.

It took only a moment for Charles to recover, reaching out with more force than was probably necessary for Xavier's mind and dragging him down. He'd collapse into a sleep just as deep as the medical staff.

Haine fell with him, blacking out as his shattered leg made impact with the ground.

"Fuck!" Charles' shout was muffled by the hands he dragged down his face. "Fuck me."

Xavier/Ramsay: After the sudden appearance of the nurse he should’ve expected something else would hit the fan, but he didn’t. The sudden and explosive opening of the door caught Ramsay just as off guard as it did Leslie and Charles, and just like Leslie and Charles, he had to duck to protect himself from getting hit by any shrapnel.

He registered Xavier’s appearance but had no time for shock before he was scrambling to help Leslie attempt to stay the demon’s hand.

“X! Don’t!”

Xavier couldn’t feel Leslie or Ramsay any more than he could feel the holes in his torso. His entire field of vision was red and at its center, the detestable face of the man that in this moment, Xavier despised above all else.

“How many more babies are in those drawers, Haine?! How many of them begged you for mercy the way you DARED to beg me?! HOW—?!”

The demon was in no fit state to fight Charles or his entry into his mind. Quite apart from the fact that he’d stretched his powers to their absolute limit, he was injured, and the blood loss that had occurred as a result had weakened him too much to be able to resist even a small push.

Charles had given something much larger, and absent any resistance, Xavier went limp.

Ramsay managed to catch him before he hit the floor. His friend looked an unholy mess, but it wasn’t until Ramsay had him in his arms that he realized that as well as being covered in blood, Xavier was bleeding.

“X? X!”

Ramsay laid the demon down carefully and tore open his suit jacket, vest, and shirt to reveal two bullet wounds in his torso.

“Get that bloody fucking nurse over here!”

Mason/Leslie: ‘Baby, ya alright?’ Because that was all that mattered. Not the scent of blood or sulfur. Only the sound of his husband’s voice in his head, and the suffering at his back.

Mason made it to the end of the hall, waiting for Charles’ response, waiting for acknowledgment before turning in Lawrence’s direction. This had to be his choice because he knew himself. Knew what Lawrence would do because it was what he would do, and Lawrence would have no trouble looking his wife in the eyes despite the blood soaking his hands. His life was a replayed record.

“Make a promise like that,” Leslie panted, staring down at Xavier’s wounded body, “I’m holding you do it. But, uh, let’s make it two days.” Because he was getting on his knees, holding his hands over the wounds and closing his eyes. Could a demon die this way? He didn’t have a clue. Wouldn’t have believed a bullet would cause such injury had he not seen the dark blood with his own two eyes.

This was living tissue; he could work with this. Felt each heartbeat as his own as he whispered his prayers in hurried Irish Gaelic. His liver had been nicked. A through-and-through inches from his heart. It was a wonder he had lasted this long, or the strength to lift his arm, much less Haine off the floor.

“Glaonna fola chun fola," he whispered. “Glaoim amach agus glaoim isteach.” His pocketknife was opened, stabbing once into his palm, allowing the blood to drip into Xavier’s wound. A thick lavender scent filled the room as the first wound closed.

Charles: 'Fine. I'm fine.'

He briefly debated beckoning Mason to his brother's aid. Guilt warred with his anger and hurt. But it appeared that the decision would be made for him.

Despite Charles' every attempt to protect him, Leslie would spend himself to close Xavier's wounds. Good, that he'd left the reserves until now.

Charles shared a concise version of what had gone down with the demon's brother and urged him on to his task. Things were under control, here. More-or-less.

Ramsay: Ramsay bit back the urge to stop Leslie. Even though the man still looked like he was about to keel over, he was helping Xavier, and Ramsay hadn't been raised to throw a blessing back in someone's face when it had been offered. He'd been taught to shut up and be grateful so that was precisely what he did.

"Thanks, mate," he said with a nod, patting Leslie on the shoulder once he'd finished with the first bullet wound. "I'll pay back the favor. I'm buyin' you and everyone you know a steak dinner with all the bells and whistles when we get the fuck out of here."

Ramsay shifted positions so Xavier was cradled between his legs with his back to Ramsay's chest and held him while Leslie did his work. It was a move that gave away the intimacy and closeness between them more than words ever could.

Mason/Lawrence: As much as Mason desired to wall his mind, he would not. The desperate need to keep his husband close in any measure outweighed what he was about to witness. Charles did not have to look. A kind of fence around his point of view, perhaps, would prevent Charles from seeing the worst of his human self.

Lawrence had done exactly as expected. Less carnage than Xavier would have enjoyed, but Mason knew the sound of mayhem like an unforgotten melody.

He had managed to get in close to the enemy. Scrambling into the entryway sobbing for help, hands raised and on his knees. Someone must have taken pity, believing those tearful panicked eyes. Not a tactic Mason had ever used, but Lawrence was not an exact copy. According to a djinn, he was meant to be an improvement. A clean slate. Popplewell’s proud design. All it had taken was one chest-aching scream powered by every ounce of rage to break the small crowd. Lawrence had no control over his telekinesis but he knew its triggers.

A knife had been lodged into his calf muscle. The explosion of power had sent one of the guards straight up, now concussed and teetering on unconscious at his feet. One had tried for the door, third-degree burns on his arms and hands, clothes charred and unconscious. The others remained unseen as Mason approached. There, slumped against the closed door, was Lawrence, body trembling with adrenaline and a gun in his lap.

Mason/Leslie/Lawrence: Had he the strength, he would have made his way back to the nurse. He was not the only one offended by such selfish tears, but this was where his vengeance ended.

Mason removed the knife without a word. A kind of softness had overtaken him as he stared at his reincarnation. Where was this hatred a lifetime ago when Carl murdered his family? He had sighed, lifeless and defeated, and did nothing. Could do nothing. Years and years of Carl had taken its toll. But Lawrence, he wondered, might have done something different. Would have removed Carl from the equation sooner. This quiet depressed man had such potential. He hated him, and pulled him into his arms because he had to. For a moment, one might mistake his absorption for a hug.

Mason offered Charles a clear path to the young awaiting mutants.

‘Won’t be long.’ Those left alive in Lawrence’s wake were gathered and restrained.

“Uh-huh,” Leslie breathed. Watched as his blood dripped onto the remaining wound. This was not a complete unblemished heal. Just enough magic to prevent a meaningless death. This was a spell in reverse. A spell meant to expel a victim’s blood, and by reversing Leslie could barely manage to keep his eyes open.

“You know, sleepin’ next t’me makes you heal faster. Told you that… forever ago.” His words were now slurred, but his body managed to stay upright. His Verbena blood fighting the good fight with everything it had left.

“Saying you should sleep with me.” His laugh was exhausted, falling back on his ass, his back to Haine’s desk.

Charles: Under different circumstances, Charles would have been the first to fall into one of their shared laughing fits. A pity that the moment was wasted on him, now. He'd been drained of even the slightest hint of frivolity.

The awaited call had come at the tail end of the spell. Charles' leg was as secure as it could be, under the circumstances. And despite Lawrence's actions leaving the taste of bile in his mouth, he could admit that it put an end to any pressing danger.

All that remained was a mess for Charles to clean.

He looked to Leslie, mouth tight with worry at his condition, and nodded. Carrying on two conversations at once had never been a problem for the telepath.

'Mason, hold that thought. I need you here, please.'

"Les, let me borrow your mobile, again."

He let his gaze shift to Ramsay.

"Do you have enough energy to get him home?"

Ramsay: Ramsay nodded. “I have enough juice to get Leslie back to Edenton and from there I can call X’s familiar to help me get him back to Bangkok. No need to worry about them, prof. I’ve got it.” He owed Leslie and Xavier that much, if not more.

Subconsciously, he held the demon a little tighter.

“And if you ah….need help with…” Ramsay gestured vaguely at the space around them. “I can be of use. Wouldn’t be my first time dealin’ with the remains of something like this. You won’t find better hands, except your own.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie offered his phone without questioning, but he was shaking his head.

"Not home. I gotta stay with you. Gotta heal you." Not to mention anyone else in need. His work was far from complete.

'Comin',' Mason's voice, even in their connection, was gentle.

Charles: He'd just been about to clarify his question to Ramsay when Leslie protested.

"I know that. It's why I'm going to call Tristan."

He pulled up the fisherman's contact and began punching into the landline.

"I only meant Xavier, Ramsay. But, thank you. And we'll take care of cleanup, as well."

Ramsay/Tristan: Ramsay nodded. Even if he didn’t agree and thought that Leslie would be better off resting at home, who was he to argue? Charles knew what he was about, Leslie was a grown man, and the decision was ultimately theirs.

Sometime during their stint underground, it had stopped being late night and was slowly turning to early morning. The majority of Edenton remained sleeping, oblivious of this change, but not Tristan Seger.

He was up, showered, and getting ready to head to the docks to start his workday when his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number but that in itself was nothing unusual. Nor was the earliness of the call; fishing kept odd hours.

It was probably a vendor or some other business acquaintance.

“Hello?” he greeted, putting his phone on speaker while he put his boots on. “This is Tristan.”

Mason/Leslie: "Oh." Wait a minute. Oh.

"Nononono - " Leslie sniffed as he turned to Charles, placing his hand on Charles' good knee. The phone was already ringing.

Mason was walking through the broken entryway when the witch thumped his head against the desk.

"Hey, Tristie."

Charles: Charles brought the phone to his ear, ignoring Leslie's protests and only looking up at Mason in greeting.

"Hello, Tristan. It's Charles." Were they on such familiar terms?

"Er... Charles Xavier."

Ramsay/Tristan: What a scene for Mason to walk into, was all Ramsay could think. An obliterated door, Haine passed out, his blood-stained brother sleeping in the arms of a witch, a second witch slumped and borderline delirious on the floor, and his injured husband trying to keep everything together.

Tristan’s brow furrowed. “Charles? Where are you calling me from? Was that Leslie’s voice, why’s he with you? What’s wrong?”

The more Tristan spoke, the more the confusion in his voice was replaced with concern.

Mason/Leslie: A scene that had Mason remaining in the doorway, looking from his brother to his husband and back. No one was sobbing within an inch of his life. He could see the gentle rise and fall of Xavier's chest. Anger had to be kept in reserves.

"Children are waitin'." They didn't need to be here any longer than necessary. "Ya takin' him home?"

Leslie put his finger to his lips but didn't even know what he was shushing at this point.

"I'm fine. It's all... gonna be... fine."

Charles: He loved his husband. Was grateful to him. That was the only reason the tenuous hold he had on his patience had not yet slipped. He was enduring for those children. It seemed nothing about this night could be simple. He made no acknowledgment, only pressed forward with Tristan.

"I'm calling you from California. Apart from low blood sugar, Leslie is fine. We've had a very long night, the details of which I will share when we've had a chance to rest. That's why I'm calling, actually. He needs food and sleep, and I was going to let him stay at the school. I didn't want you worry when he didn't come home."

Ramsay/Tristan: Ramsay didn’t know if Mason’s lack of a negative reaction was due to the fact that Xavier was sleeping or because there were bigger fish to fry, but either way he was glad for it.

He would’ve had some shit to say otherwise.

The witch nodded. “Just for a bit. Once he’s cleaned up I’ll ask Abel to take him back to Bangkok. He’ll be looked after.”

Absolutely nothing Charles said after ‘Leslie is fine’ was interpreted through any other lens but that of worry and quiet panic. If Leslie was actually fine, there wouldn’t be a need to tell him Leslie was fine. If it had to be stated at all then that meant something bad had happened.

But something in Charles’ tone told Tristan he wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation. Yet.

Tristan took a deep breath. “Okay. Swear to me he’s all right.”

Mason/Leslie: Mason didn't care enough to comment. If Charles thought calling family was a reasonable course of action then so be it. Something marginally less stressful than the eighteen voices in the next room.

In the meantime, he took a knee by his brother.

Ramsay could think of a hundred things to say and it would have been oil over water. Tonight was one of those nights he didn't give a single fuck. This was a bloody mess and he would be here to clean it, not his brother. This catharsis would stick to his brother like gum on his shoe.

"Have him call when he wakes." He nodded to the door. A quiet, polite get out.

Leslie could just barely hear his merman on the other line.

"I'm alllll right. I swear. He swears."

Charles: Another statement from Leslie he would have chuckled at, any other time.

"You have my word. He needs food and sleep, nothing more. He'll call as soon as he wakes."

If Leslie forgot, Charles would remind him, but he doubted it would be necessary.

With as firm a goodbye as was needed, he'd end the call.

He looked up at Mason, again. His face was pale and drained, but the set to his jaw was determined.

"I need to speak to the kids. Will you take Leslie to the school? The team is awake. Everyone knows where they're needed. Kurt will transport them and the children. He's well-rested and hasn't been popping from place to place all night. But he's never been here, before. Can you bring him? Just to room where the kids are waiting. He... doesn't need to see this place."

Ramsay/Tristan: Tristan nodded and said, “Okay. Thank you.”

No firm goodbye would be needed. He could feel the somber air about Charles through the phone and ended the call with no further questions or dallying.

He had to trust that whatever was or had happened would be explained to him eventually. Until then, he’d be going about his day feeling like a rock was lodged in his chest.

The door. As if Ramsay actually needed it.

“Roger that,” he sighed, adjusting his hold on Xavier so he could access his ring.

It had just enough left to give for one more leap and thankfully, one was all he’d need.

He completed his ritual and disappeared with Xavier without another word.

Mason/Leslie: "I will!" He didn't mean to sound ridiculous. This was his being sincere while battling low blood sugar. Without granolas and chocolate, he was going to start going through Haine's desk. Anything. Gum, for fuck's sake.

Leslie was largely ignored by the crossroad demon, now standing directly in front of the telepath.

"Of course."

The witch was busy unwrapping what looked like a Jolly Rancher when he was suddenly lifted in Mason's arms. Long legs and arms flailing and then clinging.

'Love ya, baby.' Across the United States in a blink. The witch was tossed on their bed.

"Ya know the house. Don't fuckin' die." He had more things to worry about than Leslie's health. Out the door and across the great house, following Kurt's mind. The night was not yet over. There were still unconscious bodies and carnage to wipe away.

"Don't stray from where I drop ya off n'ya can say I owe ya a favor."

Charles: Treatment that would require discussion, if and when Charles heard of it. If Leslie was able to drag himself out of bed, he'd be given food and a place to rest. They were expecting him.

Charles left Haine and the nurse in the office. The doctor was out, but he'd be shoved deeper. The nurse would follow him down.

He levered himself into the waiting wheelchair without allowing himself to think too much about it. Onward.

Passing the smouldering carnage in the hall was almost his undoing. But he bottled it up like everything else as he wheeled to where the children were being held.

Kurt nodded, taking this responsibility very seriously. He needed no favor, but he wasn't going to tell his uncle that.

"Got it."

Mason/Leslie: Leslie gave himself a five minute power nap, but the longer he delayed going to the kitchen the worse he was making this for himself. He would drag himself away, and reluctantly find someone to help with insulin.

In the meantime, Mason and Kurt appeared just outside of the mutant boy's room. An interesting and arguably handsome boy. An instant distraction.

"This is Kurt."

Invisible fingers brushed over Charles the moment his mind was felt. His angel. He assumed he would want to introduce himself.

There would be no public displays of affection in this moment, not when they had so much to do.

"Gonna clean house."

Charles: Charles was barely hanging on to his composure, but he leaned into that mental touch. Somehow, he managed to summon a smile for the children. His tone was gentle as he explained who he was and what they could expect over the next handful of days.

Mason was given a nod. Charles didn't know precisely what he was going to do, but he trusted his husband.

Kurt was rested enough to take the children in two groups, starting with the youngest. When he returned for the second group, it was with Logan, Piotr, and Ororo in tow.

Mason: At this point, Mason was running on fumes. The last of his strength would be utilized to spare Charles' team fresh nightmares and the assumption that he had caused death and destruction in Charles' name.

He would not point fingers. If they wanted someone to blame he would take their judgment, but there was still time. The last of the breathing bodies were placed in the storage room. Those no longer of this world, what could be carried, were dragged to the hallway of the massacre.

Mason flicked his hand, fingers outward, and frowned.

"Lawrence." The other half of his soul had slipped into a trance-like state, tucked away as his soul healed.

After a minute his hand ignited in blue flame, and so too did the blood and guts. A hole was forced into the ceiling. Concrete, wires, and dirt fell into the hallway, pushed aside by telekinesis. An explanation was given to Charles. Just a blip of information so as not to frighten those that remained with the noise.

Much of his strength was forced upon that telekinesis, keeping the flames contained and the smoke where he desired. Lastly, he would follow the blood trails. It had been years since he had caused blood to float. That familiar watery glide, darkened the more he gathered. Another decade under his belt, he could do more than ignite, but open his mouth and swallow it whole. A little blood magic to revitalize his energy, but not much. By now the blood was old and curdled. The taste of rust like an old friend. At least now he could return to the fire, strengthen its heat until all that remained was ash.

Charles: Nearly everyone present flinched, including the telepath himself. But he passed along Mason's reassurance.

"Cleanup."

The last of the children were taken to the school, where Jean and Hank were waiting to see to their varied needs. Charles would conduct his own examinations once they'd finished here.

 But clearing the facility was priority. When they were done, no one would step foot in this godforsaken building again.

The last of the team had arrived, and Kurt was firmly sent home to await a call. If he could spare someone trauma today, he would.

His main goal was the gathering of evidence. Every scrap of paperwork would be gathered and sorted through. No living member of staff would escape conviction. Knowledge of the facility and its horrors would be publicly exposed...

An arduous process that the team set to with grim determination.

Charles, however, was responsible for the staff themselves. After directing his people to file storage, he made his solitary way to the lab. The nurses and techs still slumbered deeply where they'd dropped. He wheeled further into the space, back toward the open door seeping cold into the main room. And there the horror gripped him.

Mason: 'Charles,' came gently. Not that cold room, not those small disfigured bodies. Lips pale and eyes forever shut.

His demon came around the corner. Fingers swept over Charles' shoulder, slow and mindful so as not to startle. He couldn't have his beloved in this room alone. At the end of his demonic magic, he had ran across the facility to stand by his side.

Charles: "I..." His voice was raw and thick with sorrow. The fiery rage that had driven Xavier was something buried deep in the professor. An unrelenting grief was all he could feel. And he trembled with it despite the dryness of his eyes.

He swallowed it all as best as he could, reaching back to take Mason's hand.

"We--" He sounded broken. Breathed. Forced himself to start again.

"We have to identify them. Find their information. Notify their families, if they have them. If they... if they were alone, I'll bury them in my family's plot."

A small, insufficient gesture, after all they'd suffered.

Mason: "We had the same idea." He saw no need to elaborate. Charles was well aware of Lawrence's presence.

"Haine wouldn't have destroyed their files. Doesn't seem the type. I'll look around here if ya look in his office."

Mason came around to face him, lowering to eye level to cup his face. Their first moment alone and still not truly to themselves.

"I... am so, so sorry, baby."

Charles: Mason would have stopped it. Had stopped those eighteen children from meeting a similar fate. Had stopped Charles from finding more, against his will.

He had no reason to apologise.

Charles was going to say just that when his eyes finally fell on the open collar of his husband's shirt. Just a hint of dried blood peeked above it. Inconsequential, really. Could have been gory residue from any number of moments during their ordeal.

But his dread was mounting. He raised a trembling hand to that shirt and tugged another button free.

He inhaled raggedly. Where the private symbol of their love and devotion had once rested, only a crusted wound remained. His breath stilled in his chest. Blue eyes snapped to meet brown.

"Why?"

Mason: The moment Charles' eyes lowered he knew what had been discovered. No attempt was made to stop his hand, but he fought against every instinct to look away. There was no shame in finding his husband, only in the pain of losing something Charles dearly loved.

Fingertips hovered over his wrist, afraid to touch and be pushed away.

"A spell I never have to -" At last his gaze lowered, presenting his hand and the jade ring. "A trackin' spell. Ya were unconscious. We couldn't find ya. I had t'sacrifice somethin'... somethin' I'd hate losin'. I'll never lose ya again."

Charles: A single grain of sand to tip the scale.

It was too much.

Sitting amongst the bodies of tortured children, bruised and broken, with hours left to push through, the single remaining strand of his control snapped.

Far from pushing Mason away, Charles gripped his husband's arms with bruising strength. Ugly, wracking sobs tore through him. Emotion he'd been bottling for hours finally spilling unimpeded down his face.

There could be no shame, here. Only his hold on Mason kept him from sliding to the cold, sterile floor.

Mason: "I'm sorry." This wasn't why he had initially apologized, but it was now. Sorry for losing him, to begin with. Sorry for the pain he had endured, the fear in his heart. He was sorry for the children at his back and the carnage he had witnessed. Of Haine's very existence.

And he was sorry for destroying something precious.

He leaned forward in his grip, pressed his forehead to his husband's, and breathed out every ounce of remaining tension. Just mindful enough to avoid his leg as he sank his weight into Charles' arms.

"I-" I haven't felt this kind of fear in years. You didn't summon me. I couldn't reach you. I thought I lost you.

"I love you."

Charles: Mason was an island in a sea of sorrow. Charles clung to him as he wept. There was no way to stem the flow, even with everything that still needed to be done. He sobbed until he was wrung dry, and the ache had begun to creep into his ribs, again. He'd need a second dose of morphine, soon.

He didn't move, even when he'd quieted to soft, rhythmic breathing.

"I love you."

Because he hadn't missed that. Hadn't missed that unnecessary apology even through his purge.

"Let's... let's get back to it. I want to go home. And I want this place burned to cinders before we do."

Mason: The demon held on for dear life. Gripped with his remaining strength. If he could curl his entire body into Charles' embrace he would. They had time to hold one another; time almost stolen from them.

Mason counted the seconds between the telepath's breath, hands cupping his jaw. The warmth in his own eyes was ignored. Tears wiped away with his shoulder.

How could he not apologize for adding to Charles' pain?

Two additional fingers emerged from the demon's hand, softly brushed over Charles' cheek and disappeared beneath Mason's skin.

"I can take ya now, baby. Ya need t'be looked at." Until he devised a suitable contract or the witch had the strength to mend. One or the other had to happen.

Charles: Mason should have already guessed what his response would be. They'd been through too much not to see the entire, nasty beast brought down. And Charles would never return once he'd gone. No. Staying until the end was the only thing for it.

He gave a gentle shake of his head, grabbing Mason's hand to offer a squeeze to him and Lawrence, both.

"I can't. Not yet. I'm as stable as I can be, at the moment. Besides, the team needs me. Without Jean here, who is going to keep hold of Haine and the others?"

He sighed.

"I'm staying. I need to search his mind, anyway."

Mason: "I know." He knew Charles would say that, but he had to offer; this was his way of saying what he wanted, though, he was at war with himself. Never wanting to leave Charles' side again, and wanting what was best.

But perhaps this was best.

"Then go back to the office." He didn't want Charles to see this much death if he could help it. "Please. I'll comb through here."

Charles: He held onto his husband for a few more moments, reluctant to be apart. But there was work to do. Too much time had passed, already.

He nodded, before he could lose his resolve.

"Alright. And I'm sorry, my love. For what you were forced to sacrifice. It wasn't fair. If I'd been there, it never would have happened. Forgive me."

Mason: "Don't do that. Don't ask... " He choked on his own words, staring down at Charles' lap to hold himself together.

He placed his hand over the tender wound.

"We'll make it again."

Charles: A nod.

"Yes."

They couldn't afford to lose any more time.

"I'll go. Let me know if you find anything. I'll get everything I can out of Haine."

Mason: Charles was putting himself back together. It was with his strength he could do the same.

"Make it as unpleasant as possible," he sighed.

But one last thing. He held Charles' face and offered a quick kiss. God, he needed that. Needed everything to turn and face those children, and then look past them to find their files.

Charles: It was almost enough to make him smile. Almost.

"I will."

He wanted the kiss to linger. Wanted to lie in bed, wrapped in Mason's arms for the next week. It would have to wait.

Charles forced himself to leave the room, resisting the urge to lash out at the sleeping staff as he made his way to Haine's office.

As promised, he dragged the doctor from sleep without the gentle consideration he'd offer anyone else. No fanfare or explanations. He merely sank into the man's mind in search of useful information.

Mason: The image, sound, and scent of Charles' sobs would live with him for the rest of his eternal life. But so would his gentle affirmation of love, his apologies, and his strength. An incomplete blend of the horrors and the blessings.

What he would have to push aside as he started with the nearest drawer. All physical copies, Charles had said to someone; he couldn't recall who anymore.

Their connection strengthened as time went on. More than a window. His presence was unmistakable as Charles dealt with his kidnapper. He would never be alone with that beast ever again.

"T'think ya might end up one of mine," Mason muttered, flipping through one of the folders he had found.

Charles/Haine: He sifted through information at lightning speed. None of the concern he typically showed was present. Not outright cruelty. Charles couldn't be anyone other than himself. But he wasn't gentle.

Indeed, there was yet another "hospital" tucked away in Idaho. He committed the location to memory, already planning to send the team out on a mission. Put an end to all of it.

He noted the location of all remaining files. And, oh! There was storage for personal items that had not yet been incinerated. Perhaps his rings were there. Or something he could pass along to those poor kids. A piece of their lives returned to them.

When he scraped away all that he needed, he ventured into the past. That old hospital, long turned to ash. This man was no telepath. His memories of that place were a blur of indistinct faces and disembodied parts. Charles pulled free from his rancid mind with a sound of disgust.

"You don't even remember them do, you? Those children? My children?"

"What?"

The experience had been dizzying. The bastard was disoriented. Charles pressed on.

"They were means to an end for you. To be tinkered with and disposed of for your 'noble goal.'"

He needed out of that room. He pushed the doctor carelessly into sleep once more and wheeled into the hall to breathe.

Mason: Mason hated this room. The sterile and unwelcoming atmosphere washed in an eyesore of fluorescent. The cold surfaces served only one purpose. But it was the stench of disinfectants and formaldehyde that threatened to distract him. Reminders of his purpose. Of those bodies just feet away, tucked safely in their drawers.

His distance was kept as Charles roamed Haine’s mind, not wanting to interrupt as he explored and foraged information. What he could use, he took, and gathered the necessary files into a forgotten paper box in one of the cabinets.

‘Think we could use him in Idaho?’

Charles: Charles shook his head. It was an unnecessary gesture, as no one was around to see it. He took off toward that storage space, putting as much distance as possible between himself and Haine.

'No. I have what we need. If I never see him again it'll be too soon.'

Mason: 'Your will be done.' He would do whatever Charles desired to the doctor, even if that included nothing at all. A portion of his catharsis had been released on Ian. The only death he could claim for himself.

True catharsis came just minutes ago in Charles' arms, but several thoughts had followed. Ones he would keep to himself until sorted.

'I'll move these children when the time comes.' He would not allow Kurt anywhere near this room, nor Ramsay or Xavier or anyone else.

Charles: 'Where? And how? Love, you're running on fumes as it is.'

Not that Charles was in a position to scold. He could sleep for forty-eight hours straight. Probably would, when they were safely in bed. The thought urged him onward.

Mason: 'When we can take em straight to a funeral home. If we can't make that work, then I'll think of somethin' else.'

There was no room in Xavier's school for these bodies, but Charles also wanted Haine exposed. That meant these children. There was a very real possibility they would have to stay here and be left to authorities. Everything was based on Charles' decisions.

'Don't worry about me. Had some blood magic like a cup of tea.'

Charles: 'No.' Perhaps more an emotional decision, than logical. But for once, perhaps that was acceptable. Those children didn't need to spend a moment longer in this place than necessary.

'Move them to a funeral home. I'll deal with the investigators. We have enough evidence. Documents, photographs... It'll have to be enough. I meant what I said, before."

Mason: 'Ya mean everything ya say, baby.'

So then, he needed to find a funeral home. There would be no rest yet.

The sun was finally rising over the quiet hills. The world, this side of the world, was finally waking up.

There was a contract here. He just need needed to close his eyes and try to iron out the details.

Charles: He made it to the storage room, hauling himself onto his good leg to reach a pristine box labeled with his name. There was an unspeakable comfort in pulling his own cardigan over the hospital clothes he wore. It was summer weight, and did nothing against the persistent chill. But it warmed him from the inside.

A small baggie tucked in beside the rest of his clothing held his rings. He shared the image of them with Mason, tinged with warmth. A small mercy that they hadn't been disposed of, yet.

Mason: A feeling Mason shared. Small mercies. Things he couldn't call miracles no matter the temptation.

'I should have made a contract for ya. But anything beyond a certain size... it attracts him. I was seconds away... Leslie stayed my hand.' He owed the witch proper gratitude.

The mark on his chest was felt.

'Either ya manipulate the mind of a funeral director or I do, but we have other legalities on our path. If I set everything in motion myself, he'll find me.'

Charles: Charles wasn't at all surprised by Leslie's usefulness, only that Mason had gone to him for help. Anything for his husband. It was a deeply moving gesture.

'I'll do it. There are officers and staff that I'll need to tweak, anyway. And information about guards that I'll have to erase entirely.'

A long night, indeed.

Mason: What would he even ask for in exchange? A soul wouldn't be noticed, but there was no soul to take. Certainly not his husband. Haine was already out the door to Perdition. He would offer to no one of Charles' staff. He would never be forgiven.

He took a breath.

'Do you want Haine to die, or rot in prison?'

Charles: He opened the baggie and slid his wedding band back where it belonged. He hadn't realized how wrong he'd felt without it.

The summoning ring was next, a perfect distraction from a difficult question.

'Don't ask me that. I'm at war with myself.'

Haine had hurt so many people. Children. But Charles didn't know if he could stomach sentencing even a monster to death.

Mason: 'I... have a contract in mind. I think it won't light any flares.'

Mason smiled to himself. 'Better?' he felt at his own ring.

Charles: 'Yes.' He rubbed at the metal, warming it up to his body temperature. No one would ever take it again, if it was in his power to stop them.

He reached out to Ororo to assist him with the rest of the boxes, grunting as he hoisted himself to his good leg, again.

'What terms? I won't risk him coming after you.'

Mason: Charles had taken such concern over a demon he had never met. Over an incident he had not witnessed. Such a little thing. Of course he would! Bronwyn would probably say, but it meant so much.

'Having Haine set everything in motion for us at the cost of years of his life.'

Charles: Charles pulled down the smallest boxes as he considered.

'Do you think he'll agree? He surely knows he'll spend the rest of his life in prison, at best.'

Mason: 'If the alternative is death, he'll shave as many years as he needs.'

Charles: Ah. Well, that was one way to go about it.

'As long as you're safe, I can live with that. What will he be exchanging?'

Mason: 'T'walk away with his life and whatever limitation ya want on his memories, I'll thread in anything ya want t'happen t'the children here, the people, legalities. It's a lot of manipulation of a lot of people.'

Charles: 'Sounds fairly heavy, love. Are you certain it won't draw attention? I can stay to alter memories. I'll manage.'

Mason: 'I don't want your stories and mine to overlap. Ya tell me exactly what ya want too have, every detail, n'I'll divvy a portion to the contract. We can make this work.'

Charles: He nodded uselessly, piling boxes onto his lap.

'My main concern is the dead guards. I'd rather they be forgotten.'

Or the mess would be even more complicated to clean. He would do what he could for their families, on his own time. They were not responsible for the guards' crimes.

'And I don't want the police looking too closely into what went on here, once we arrived. We can manage finding the children's families, if they have them. And they can stay at the school for as long as necessary.'

Mason: 'The children alive and dead are the evidence the police need to keep Haine behind bars. Either this entire place is our secret or it belongs to the public record. Even I can't bend human law that far, darlin'. The children they killed can seal his fate. If it's just photographs on paper... d'ya trust humans not to let him go?'

Charles: 'I only meant that we'd be responsible for their care, and beyond. And that the police don't need to know that Lawrence and Xavier were here.'

Never mind what they'd done here.

'They aren't going to let him go, Mason.'

He didn't believe so little of them. And, frankly, he wouldn't allow it, if they tried.

Mason: He hated that this was a conversation they were having while Charles was so injured. He hated the mess this had become and the unfortunate lack of discretion they could have. Moments like this the modern age suffocated his mind quite utterly.

For Haine to escape with his life pressed dangerously against contractual loopholes. To know he would not be killed either way rendered the arrangement ineffectual.

To deepen the contract with memory alteration of not only Haine but several dozen mortals, not to mention Charles' health.

But the witch could mend his injuries.

Keeping the plausible loophole behind his back, Mason offered the second draft of the contract for Charles to consider.

'Are you saying you want the police to allow the school to foster these children? That you volunteer the school to bury the bodies of those lost? They will still want to conduct their own autopsies.'

Charles: 'Yes and... yes.'

Which was to say, he'd personally handle the funeral arrangements, as necessary. He couldn't imagine that every person that had been held here was utterly without family. He'd do what he could, for them. And see to those who'd been alone in the world, himself.

'I can live with that. Better for them to have some concrete evidence on hand. Better than having to tinker with them on everything.'

Mason: Mason returned to his husband's side, without warning or permission, pulled him into a kiss. There was no tingle, no warmth of magic. This was not a contract. This was simply a need. A lot was about to happen, and more likely than not Logan would be carrying him for a second time. Lawrence's presence could only mend so much with his own injuries to account for.

"I need Haine awake. Ya don't have t'be in the room, but once it's done, things are gonna shift. Papers are gonna copy n'go back where they were. Last thing I need t'know, is how ya want the police aware."

Charles: Too soon. Charles practically flinched out of his skin at the sudden presence before recognizing his husband. It still took several long moments for his pulse to slow to normal, but he didn't pull away from the kiss.

He nodded, pulling his jumper more tightly around his body.

"All right. As soon as you're inside of his office, I'll wake him. And I'll phone the police. If we're wanting to be semi-legitimate, it'll be good to have a call on record."

Mason: "Thy will be done."

Mason swallowed thickly, combed his fingers through Charles' hair. A faraway look had taken his eyes as he planned, only to shake it off.

The less of his strength used the better. One last decision to be made.

"Have Kurt move everyone out. I won't be long. That includes you. Make your call when you get home."

Charles: "And how are you getting home, Mason? Will you have the energy to make it back? I'll have to phone from here, in order to reach emergency services in this area. But, I'll have Kurt take me straight after."

However grudgingly. In truth, only the children were keeping him moving. He was exhausted, and he hadn't taken that second dose of morphine.

Mason: "Ya don't think they'll find that suspicious? You've been seen in San Francisco." But he wouldn't argue beyond this. If Charles was adamant then so be it.

Charles: "They have my information, here. My belongings. My blood is splattered in one of the rooms. They'll know I was here, and they'll definitely want to question me. I never intended to hide my presence."

Only Mason and the others.

"They also know I'm a mutant. And will know how to contact me and the rest of the captives, when the time comes. Whatever influencing I'll have to do to smooth things over, I'll do. It was more important to get them someplace safe, than spend however many hours being questioned immediately."

Mason: "Baby, they won't know unless ya want em to know. That's what's about to happen." He didn't realize that was what Charles wanted. His staying and revealing himself as a victim in all this hadn't crossed Mason's mind once. There would be no sense in Charles' leaving if that were the case. And who caused his injury? Haine?

Mason rubbed his face in both hands. Draft three, then.

Charles: "You said it yourself, people know I was in San Francisco. I'm supposed to be giving a lecture in a couple of hours and I can barely stand. I haven't seen myself, but I imagine it isn't pretty. Did you and Xavier wipe the footage from the hotel's security cameras of me being taken? We haven't even checked out! All of our belongings... how do I explain it away? It's too much for you to put into a single contract."

Mason: "Then ya wanna stay here strapped to a bed? I can - I can make it work." He didn't care about himself. This wasn't about him, it was about Charles, and having Charles here, having to explain in detail what had happened to him, the very thought made his wings itch.

Charles: "No. It's much too late for bed-strapping. The children are already at the school. We can't unring that bell and, frankly, I wouldn't want to. What we need is for them not to dig too deeply into how we escaped. I'm assuming the contract can cover that, at least. If not, I'll turn their thoughts away from the idea."

Mason: Mason took to squatting in front of Charles' wheelchair. He didn't want to think about the reason his husband was in one. One step at a time. They had to cross this hurdle first. He closed his eyes. His mind and his mouth weren't in sync. Articulating his thoughts was becoming a struggle. Their ideas had to be perfectly aligned for this to succeed.

Charles would take the children. That was the least of his concerns. What mattered was Haine and shutting this place down. The dead children, unfortunately, had to remain, as well as original-passing copies of their files. The living children were never here. That would simplify one aspect of this operation.

Charles could play off his injuries as a horrible accident. A hit and run, given the location of his injury. Maybe. This would prevent him from having to testify. Having to face anyone but those he absolutely trusted.

The remaining staff would be the simplest spell. Memory alterations.

All of this relied on Haine begging for his life. This was the price for his life.

This Mason offered telepathically.

Charles: Charles considered the offered plan. He was prepared to be questioned. He was prepared to testify. He was prepared to help the captured children through the same. It was their suffering he thought of, not his own. And the strain that his own pain would put on Mason.

Finally, he nodded. It would work.

"I can live with that outcome. I'll have to return to San Francisco. Clean up the mess there, before it gets out of hand."

Mason: "I'll make this work with Haine." He gestured to the floor. "This is mine. San Francisco is yours. If Kurt has ya, my last trip'll be t'the school." This, knowing it would be his last transportation for some time. Knowing he and Lawrence would be out of commission entirely.

Charles: "I'll meet you there." He took Mason's face in both of his hands.

"I'll gather everyone and reach out to Kurt. I can have one of the staff call the police. We'll call it a growth of conscience. Is there anything else you need from me? Aside from waking Haine, of course. I'll make sure everyone else stays asleep until the police arrive."

Mason: His demon leaned into his hand, breathed him in for the last time.

"I need ya t'go home. I need ya t'be someplace safe n'fuckin' stay there. Okay?"

Charles: He nodded. "When I'm finished in San Francisco. I'll work quickly."

His thumb stroked over one bearded cheek.

"I love you. I'll see you at home. Soon."

A promise.

Mason: "Always." Said with as much conviction as he could muster. His vision would blur if he stayed in Charles' presence for much longer. He kissed between his eyes and forced himself away. Back to Haine, steeling his expression by the time he reached the door.

Charles/Haine: Charles took a moment to breathe once Mason departed. It was nearly over. They'd be home safe and warm in bed within the hour, hopefully.

Reinvigorated by that thought, he filled the team in on the plan. They'd join him in the storage room as swiftly as possible.

Already on her way, Ororo arrived first. She was helping to gather boxes when Mason reached Haine's office.

Charles dragged him roughly out of sleep and severed the connection.

Haine winced at the fresh wave of pain that greeted him. But it was the figure in the doorway that caused his face to pale. He curled in on himself tightly and said nothing. Charles wasn't around to spare his life, this time. He hoped his death was quick, but he doubted it would be.

Mason: The figure in the doorway didn't move. The only signs of life the rise and fall of his chest, and the subtle movement of pupils swimming in mahogany.

Haine didn't have to say a word. Didn't have to move if he didn't want to. His only hope crossed the room and knelt by his side.

"What's your first name, Haine?" Now that they had a moment to themselves, they could pretend to have some civility.

Haine: He shrank back against the wall at the creature's approach. He couldn't flee, even if there had been an opening. His leg throbbed at the memory of the break. He'd done it without even touching him.

He swallowed thickly. "Christopher."

Mason: "Christopher. That's a good name."

Rough fingertips brushed along the doctor's hairline. Nails gently scraped over his five o'clock shadow. Every second wasted was a second to recharge, to let every word sink in.

"Ya have a choice, Christopher. One that's entirely yours. So I want ya to think really hard."

A breath of silence allowed Haine to hang onto his every word.

"Do ya want to live to see tomorrow?"

Haine: It was a touch far too tender for the situation. He shuddered, and tried to pull away from it. But with the wall at his back, there was nowhere to go.

"Yes," he breathed, grasping at the unexpected offer. "Yes, of course."

Mason: "Survival instincts, good. Death would mean seein' my face every day for eternity. What I did to your leg is nothin' compared to what I'll do to you in Hell. What ya think I am, I am. Now tell me this, do ya wanna remember my face?"

Haine: He shook his head. Not a refusal. Confusion. "I-I don't know what you mean. I couldn't forget your face if I tried."

These beings would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Mason: "I can take it all away. My face, your pain. I can put it all back."

Two fingers pinched at Haine's chin, held him firmly.

"I'd rather skin ya while ya breathe, but it's what Charles wants, because he's better than me. Ya have two options, mine, or his."

Haine: He didn't even try to pull his chin free. That little comment on the professor left a sour taste in his mouth. A better man would have had vision. Would have seen Haine's work for the noble undertaking it was and joined him willingly. That the plan had crumbled was his fucking fault. But Haine wasn't foolish enough to say so.

"His." He tried not to spit the word.

Mason: Had this been a written contract with every clause put to ink Haine might have refused. Death was certainly Mason's preference, but Charles had refused his death no matter. For now, Mason set aside the unsavory detail of his arrangement, pulling Haine to his feet via his collar.

"Seal it with a kiss, monster."

Haine: He groaned in pain at the shift in position. The command made no sense to the doctor. All of this was entirely outside of his understanding of the world. But the words were straightforward enough.

He leaned in as much as he dared and brushed the lightest of kisses against that mouth. A shudder followed.

Mason: Upon opening his eyes Christopher Haine would find himself alone. Not a broken hinge nor a broken bone. The halls were unnaturally quiet. Not a soul in movement, like a wound toy readying to dance, standing in their positions. Where guards should have stood there was liminal space.

There was not a single child in those mint green and white cells. Not yet. Plans for more children, certainly. Those to replace their losses. Those unfortunate souls on cold slabs await their final rest.

But not for much longer.

Mason appeared in the only safe place he could think, falling on his knees in their bedroom, crumbing as his contract came to life.

Charles/Haine: Haine blinked. Something was incredibly wrong here, but he could not pinpoint how. He brushed the feeling aside as being overtired and decided on a nap as soon as the plans were finalized. The sensation would be forgotten entirely by the time the sirens sounded.

Charles had done as promised. Kurt came for the staff and boxes first, then returned shortly thereafter for the professor. Between them, they made quick work of packing up the hotel room.

His call to the conference's lead organizer had been brief, and apologetic. Mason's suggested excuse was a perfect one: a hit-and-run accident. The authorities had already been informed and the professor would be fine after rest and recovery. He was so very sorry for the inconvenience. He hoped another lecturer would be able to fill in for him. And, yes, he'd happily attend the following year.

Here, there were no armed guards or psionic blockers. It was laughably easy for Charles to nudge the concierge into handing over the security footage and forgetting the entire interaction. As far as she could recall, the nice couple had checked out that morning, without incident.

Before the hour was through, he was back in the safety of his home. He'd had no time to so much as ask after the mansion's newest residents before he was being shooed off to bed. Hank would see to his injuries, soon.

Charles called for Logan as soon as he found Mason collapsed on the ground. His demon was out cold and not aware of his husband's gentle fussing. The burly mutant hauled both of them onto the mattress, in turn, and left with only mild grumbling.

Tristan: It had taken all the patience Tristan could summon, but he'd managed to refrain from blowing up Leslie's phone with concerned calls and messages. Charles had said Leslie was okay and although he had no reason not to trust that, he wouldn't be able to relax until Leslie was home and he was able to confirm it for himself.

The singular silver lining in all this was the fact that the girls had been asleep when Tristan had gotten the call from Charles and hadn't had to see his worried face. The same went for the hours since, with him off at work and his worry out of their line of sight.

Work was a welcome distraction, but there was only so much it could do. He was just about at the end of his rope.

Luckily, the universe intervened before that rope snapped.

"Are you okay? Where are you?" were given in lieu of a greeting when he answered Leslie's call.

Leslie: "Good morning," Leslie sighed. Hearing Tristan's voice was like a spray of cool water to his face. The reality of last night harsher.

"I'm at Charles' school. Making breakfast, gonna help where I can with - I'm okay." Perhaps he should have started with that.

Tristan: Leslie definitely should've started with that but even if he had, it would have done nothing to ease Tristan's worry because he had even more questions now than he had before.

"Why are you at Charles' school? Why didn't you call me when you left? I've been a basket case all morning, Les."

Leslie: "Well, y'all were with your mother and I didn't know I'd be that long. Didn't know I'd be here, after... "

For fuck's sake, they had performed magic together. He didn't have to treat this so delicately, did he? Charles was Tristan's friend, too.

"Charles was taken, last night. His family came to me for help. It was a lot at once."

Tristan: "What? Charles was taken?" Oh this was much worse than any scenario he'd been imagining for why Charles would feel the need to call him at the crack of goddamn dawn.

And now he was even more upset.

"Leslie Ethan Issott, did you really go off and do cowboy shit to help Charles without telling me? What are you, Liam Neeson?! What if something had--" Tristan took a deep breath. Two deep breaths. "Is Charles okay?" he asked, more calmly.

Leslie: The phone was pulled away by an inch, wincing at his scolding and feeling the difference in their ages as he hadn't felt in years.

"He'll be fine." That wasn't a lie. He just didn't feel a need to go into details and upset Tristan more. He wasn't very good at lying, so if he could just stick to what was truth, he could make it through this conversation.

"There were children there, just like Ruby and Ester. We didn't know until we got there. I won't be home until late. I wanna help where I can. Are you really mad at me?"

Tristan: God, it just kept getting worse and worse. How was that even possible?

“Fuck.” Tristan heaved a long sigh and leaned against the railing of his ship. “No, I’m not mad. Charles’ call just scared the hell out of me. Here I am thinking you’re safe at home and you’ve been off being a cowboy all night getting Charles and a bunch of poor innocent kids out of the dungeon of doom. Sure they’re all okay?”

Leslie: Normally Leslie didn't mind curses leaving Tristan's mouth. Some days it was downright sexy, but in this moment they felt like shame in his ear.

"I haven't got to see them yet. Making food for whoever wants some and - yeah. I need to find a node and have a long chat with Litha if I'm gonna be of any use. I dunno if any of these kids will... will have problems I've never felt before."

Tristan: “You and Charles will find a way to help if that’s the case. Don’t go worrying about bridges you don’t know if you’ll have to cross yet.”

Tristan sighed again, only this time it was to release some of the tension that didn’t seem to want to leave his body and wouldn’t until Leslie was home.

“Don’t forget to make food for yourself too, okay? You have to take care of yourself, especially since I know you’re going to be using a lot of energy. Don’t burn the candle at both ends. Please.”

Leslie: "When do I ever do that?" Don't answer that.

"I love you. I didn't mean to worry you."

Tristan: Tristan wasn’t going to answer that. His silence following that question was answer enough.

“I love you too, baby. I’m glad you’re okay and that Charles is okay and that those kids are safe. Just do me a favor and make sure you eat, okay? I’m begging you.”

Leslie: "I'm making breakfast right now! You sound like Myrtle. I'll eat, I promise. All the carbs."

He loved that Tristan cared enough to worry, but right now he didn't want that on his shoulders. And then he wondered, what was Tristan going to tell the girls?

"I'll call you back in a few hours."

Tristan: “You’re lucky I ain’t Myrtle, she’d do worse.” Blessedly, Tristan still had a few hours of work left to get himself together and figure out what to tell Ruby and Ester. Maybe he’d take them for pizza and go from there.

“Okay. I’ll let you get back to it.”

Leslie: Leslie was quick to work after hanging up. Nothing more straightforward than a massive scramble. At least this school was equipped with chafing dishes.

Cheddar cheese had been shredded and set aside. Prepped green peppers cooked separately and added with the cheese and a dollop of milk last minute. Toast stacked on the largest plate he could find between stirring.

Not his best work, but one less item of concern for staff and students. With breakfast out of the way, a piece of dry toast in hand, Leslie headed up the massive stairs to find Charles.

Charles: Leslie would find the telepath deeply asleep. His leg had been properly set, the bone forced back into place and his makeshift splint replaced with something sturdier. The hospital garb had been exchanged for soft, linen pajamas. An IV needle protruded from the crook of his elbow, but a glance at the bag would show that it was merely a saline drip.

At his side, Mason also did not stir. He hadn’t been redressed, but his shoes and shirt had been removed. The angry wound where his mark once lived had been cleaned and bandaged.

Frequent visits to the school should have made the broad, blue figure that filled the doorway familiar to the witch. Hank's shy smile was undercut slightly by the deadly sharpness of his canines.

"Hello, Leslie." His deep voice was barely above a whisper, its gentleness at odds with his size.

"They're both still out cold. Someone said you cooked breakfast? Thanks for that. We're all stretched pretty thin. How are you feeling? You seemed pretty out of it, earlier."

Leslie: Leslie remained in the doorway, hand on the knob and staring at the massive beastly figure before him. Of all of the magic he had grown up with, of all the transformations, no one had been blue. A cassowary didn't count.

"News travels fast," he smiled softly. His piece of toast was looked at, offered.

"You should eat, too. Got myself squared away. Low blood sugar got to me."

Charles was given a long look. Given Hank's size and authority, he pointed to himself and the professor.

"Mind if I... ?"

Charles/Hank: Hank raised a massive paw, gently dismissing the offer of toast.

"I'll have some after I've finished making my rounds. Thanks."

He gestured to where Charles and his husband lay with a nod. They were friends. If the professor trusted him, Hank had no problem with him.

His voice was still kept low.

"Just... try not to wake him. He needs his rest."

Hank had patients to tend to, and could not afford to linger. He slipped from the room without a goodbye, mind already on the new children.

Leslie: One patient at a time, Leslie told himself. But a part of him wanted to follow Hank. He was interesting, and his work was important.

But Charles was his first priority today, and quietly he knelt by his side of the bed, slowly pulling at the covers for a better analysis. Bruised anywhere else? It was then he remembered his head, the needles...

Carefully, oh so slowly, all ten fingertips pressed like feathers to Charles' forehead and temples. Eyes closed as he began his examination.

Charles: Indeed. Bruises lined his hidden ribs. The left side of his face was an ugly, swollen, mottled purple. A healthy dose of morphine kept the bulk of his pain at bay, but a headache was sure to rear its head when the drugs wore off.

Leslie: Litha leaned over Leslie's shoulder, draped her ethereal arms around him, and hummed.

"I know," he whispered. Perhaps he had just enough energy for one strong spell. A temporary setback. What he needed was the node hidden within the timeworn portal just beyond Charles' window. His usual way home would be repurposed today.

Don't wake up, don't wake up, don't wake up.

Not a prayer for Charles, but for the demon slumbering beside him. Please, don't wake to find a witch kissing his husband's forehead, breaking him in two on principle.

Just enough strength to mend Charles' unseemly and potentially excruciating wounds from the neck up. The longer his lips lingered the more he could take, and the more the spell took from him in kind.

Leslie stumbled back with a gasp, dizzy and starving. His piece of toast was taken from the bedside table and shoved in his mouth as he left the room.

Charles: Charles stirred at the surge of power. Just a soft mumble and a shift beneath plush blankets. When he stilled, he fell into a deeper sleep. Gentle relief.

A passing staff member watched Leslie stumble out of the bedroom, not quite near enough to steady him.

"You all right?" the blonde man asked, eyebrow raised.

Leslie: "Yeah," he breathed. Though feet away from the slumbering telepath, he kept his voice low just the same. "Just got dizzy."

He offered a smile and his hand. "Leslie."

Alex: He took the hand with a crooked smile, shaking it firmly.

"Alex. I've seen you around. Do you need to... sit, or something?"

It was as chivalrous as the mutant got. This was one of the guys who had saved the prof and all of those kids. He'd earned the respect.

Leslie: "I've heard your name." But his grasp wasn't long enough to notice anything other than decent health. Decent, but he couldn't put his finger on why it wasn't perfect.

"Thinking about going for a walk, actually. Don't worry about me. I'll see you around, Alex."

Alex: Well, he'd made the offer. That was as much as he'd do. He lifted a hand in goodbye.

"Sure thing. If you pass out, you didn't see me. Prof'll have my head."

Leslie: "Completely on my own," he smiled, waved, and turned, heading for the old porter's tree to reflect and if he could, extract.

Charles: Charles woke with a gasp. The ache in his head pounded in time with his racing pulse. He sat upright so swiftly his vision swam. He had to get out. Had to find a way past the blocking panels and–

The sharp protesting of his ribs subsided and his eyes refocused. It took a moment longer for his breathing to slow and his heart along with it.

He was at home. Safe. In his own bed, with Mason dead to the world beside him.

Taking solace in the steady rise and fall of his husband’s chest, Charles forced himself to calm. His mind sluggishly caught up with the rest of his body. Vague memories of the past several hours bubbled slowly to the surface.

Big, gentle hands tending to his injuries. Whispered conversation. A soft press of lips he was fairly certain he’d just imagined.

Forcing himself not to look at the bandage over Mason’s heart, Charles reached out to rest a hand against his scorching forehead. They were both fine.

His thoughts turned toward the children.

A mental nudge from Jean had Hank looking up from the young girl he’d been murmuring to. Breakfast had bled into lunch and he was urging the mansion’s newest young charges to eat something. He looked in Leslie’s direction.

“He’s awake.” An eyeroll. “And trying to move.”

He rose from the child’s bedside with a gentle order for her to finish the glass of water she’d been nursing and started for the door.

Leslie/Lawrence: The great tree was unfathomably old. Older than the house. Older than the man to have conceptualized the house, and older than the visionary’s conception. He was certain if he were to count the rings there would simply be too many to attempt. Too tight and too vast. These grounds belonged to the tree, and there was more than enough Quintessence to extract, but he could only take so much before yanking his hands away. Like drinking too much water too quickly, there were limits to his capacity.

Plenty of strength to aid the rescued children. Perhaps another attempt at Charles’ injuries, so long as Mason didn’t object. He could return to the tree again, and avoid the last of the shameful substance he kept in his pocket.

Another in the house stirred minutes before Charles. Mason had rolled to his side, curling over the edge of the bed, spilling out of his body that of his other half, only to return to Charles’ ribs, face pressed to his shoulder. He would only shift again when Charles woke, a rough hand grasping his thigh.

For a time, Lawrence sat slumped in silence on the hardwood floor, staring down at his hands. The deep wound of his calf muscle had partially healed. The bullet to his lung was nothing more than a nuisance scratch. Tired though he was, injured though he was, he couldn’t bear this room any longer. Charles was not his husband, and it had been too long since he had heard Gina’s voice. Days could go by when sharing time with Mason, both ways, but he had an opportunity to himself, and climbed to his feet, ready to find Leslie Issott.

By now, Leslie had made his way back to the children, ready to use his magic for the worst of injuries. To analyze the unseen and undiagnosed.

Leslie/Lawrence: Lawrence was not a new face in this school, but he was certainly a rarity, and even more of a surprise for Leslie when he turned the corner with Hank and bumped into his chest.

“Fucking – Lawrie?”

“I need to use your phone.”

“Uh… I didn’t – you – okay.” A quick glance at his battery life and his phone was given without question. “I’m gonna be – Charles.”

Charles: His good leg, thank goodness. Charles ignored Jean's mental protestations as he gently pried Mason's grip from his thigh. Close, even in sleep.

"I'm all right, love," he murmured, as he kissed that hand and set it carefully aside. "We're all right."

But he had to get out of the bed. He'd managed to get both legs over the edge when Hank barged through the door.

"What the hell, Charles? You couldn't give me five minutes?"

"No, actually. I need the toilet and it won't wait."

A similar conversation with anyone else would have meant a need for tact. Perhaps embarrassment. But this was Hank. When he’d had no one else, he’d always had Hank. He'd seen the telepath in far more shameful positions and had never batted an eye. A thousand lifetimes wouldn't have been enough time to repay him.

The furry blue mutant did not hesitate to cross the room, half-carrying him out of bed as he took all of the weight off his broken leg.

Leslie: Leslie kept his distance while Hank filled the role of nurse. Still flabbergasted by the appearance of a man from Edenton, he occupied his time crossing the room to Mason. What would he feel, touching a demon? Last night in the whirlwind of everything, being carried for mere seconds he hadn't felt a thing. Hadn't tried to.

He reached out, hesitant fingers placed over the demon's wrist, only to shrink back, pressing firmly over his chest.

Which is where he would be found when Charles returned.

"I'm... gonna make lunch. I just wanted to... see what else I can do for you."

Charles: Emptying his bladder was mercifully swift business. Hank was a good enough friend to keep him steady while averting his gaze.

They returned to the main part of the bedroom as gracelessly as they had left it, and Charles blinked to find Leslie there. A quick scan of Hank's mind filled him in on what he'd missed. He was in no position to scold, but that wasn't enough to stop him.

"Leslie, how much sleep did you get?" he began, as he was lowered onto the mattress. He'd manage the rest on his own, thanks.

"You ought to be resting! Did you eat enough? Have you been draining yourself this entire time?"

Leslie: "First of all," he chuckled quietly, "don't yell, he'll wake up and eat me."

Secondly, he was going around the bed to pull Charles' head into a hug.

Charles: Charles wrapped his arms around Leslie in turn, his voice affectionate, if muffled by the witch's shirt.

"I'm not yelling. I'm... scolding. On that note, have you called Tristan? I made him a promise!"

Leslie: "You're really not afraid of the big bad wolf," he laughed into Charles' hair. He didn't care that Hank was present, he was going to be himself.

"Yeah I called. Made breakfast, ate. Borrowed - I'm stealing from the tree, so it's gonna be out of commission for a while. Law - Do you know Lawrence Atlas?"

And then it dawned on him, the surname.

"Is he Mason's brother?"

Charles: "Of course not. You're perfectly safe."

Charles nodded. He didn't love that Leslie wasn't resting as he ought. But the witch appeared to be steady on his feet. And if he'd called Tristan, Charles knew he'd already gotten an earful.

He released his friend with a twinge of ribs and winced.

"I... something like that. He was there, last night. You didn't see him?"

His mind caught up with the suddenness of the question.

"Is he wandering about?" That would offer some explanation as to why Mason was unconscious.

Leslie: Leslie just shook his head. "Asked for my phone. My guess is to call Gina?" Wow, wow, wow. Did she know about all of this? This had to be an example of the phrase no such thing as coincidences.

"Lay back. Lemme finish what I started with your face."

Charles: Too much for him to think about, just now. He only hoped that Lawrence's absence wouldn't slow down Mason's recovery too much.

His face? Charles hadn't so much as glanced in a mirror in more than a day. But the ache he'd been feeling since his fight with Ian had subsided. Leslie's handiwork and not the morphine, then. He obligingly settled back against his pillows without complaint. The sooner he recovered, the sooner he could get back on his feet.

Hank looked between them with some concern, but didn't interject. If Charles wasn't worried, then he wasn't. But he was going to keep an eye on whatever went down, here.

Leslie: Leslie took a breath, smiled, and motioned to Charles' shirt. "Mind if I?" Skin-to-skin was required, and the closer to the wounds the better. His own on his palm had closed up, but nowhere near where it should be. He wasn't concerned with himself, knowing time would do its job.

Charles: "Oh!"

He trusted Mason not to hurt his friend, if he happened to wake. But there was no sense in prodding a sleeping bear if one didn't need to. He worked the buttons of his pajama shirt free himself, peeling it back to reveal bruises along his sides that were as ugly as those on his face had been.

"Looks worse than it is."

Leslie: Leslie rubbed his thumb over his own wound and waited. Charles was right, and the less he touched in Mason's presence the better. He got the feeling Mason knew what was going on despite being unconscious.

"Fuck," the witch whispered, staring in dismay. He had felt the extent of his injuries already, but seeing them hit differently.

All ten fingertips set to work, placed lightly over Charles' ribs, only to hesitate.

"Do you want me to focus on your leg, or this?"

Charles: Charles considered for a moment. The sooner his leg healed, the sooner he could focus on where he was needed. Broken ribs were painful, but at least with them he was still mobile.

He looked up to meet Leslie's gaze.

"How much would healing my leg take out of you, right now? Would it be worse than the ribs?"

Leslie: "Got every intention to drain the tree if I have to, today." No porter would appreciate him doing that, but oh well. "Don't think it'll come to that. No one else is gravely ill."

Charles: "My... magical transporting tree?" He didn't realize such a thing could be drained. Well, he wasn't using it anyway.

"You haven't really answered my question, Les. Is this going to hurt you?"

Leslie: "Did! I did!" he whisper-yelled. "I will be fine. You can button up your shirt. I'll work on your leg."

Charles: He searched his friend's expression for any sign of dishonesty. Leslie was a terrible liar. Satisfied with what he saw, Charles began fastening the buttons of his shirt.

Hank stepped in, placing a hand on Leslie's shoulder.

"Here. Let me."

Whatever healing was about to take place here, Hank was a physician first. He'd met mutants with such abilities, before, but he wouldn't have either of them mussing up his handiwork.

He carefully rolled up the leg of Charles' loose, linen trousers, exposing the neatly wrapped bandages. A single claw slid carefully up the bundle, severing the cloth as cleanly as any scalpel.

The wound beneath had crusted over, and the bone had been set, but the sight was far from pretty.

"You okay, Charles?"

"Fine. I'm fine. Let him work."

Leslie: Leslie took a step back, hands dipping into his back pockets as he waited. He suddenly smiled.

"Your tree?" Something about that amused him. He couldn't recall Charles ever phrasing like that before. For some reason, it made him happy.

Breaks were never a joy to look at, but this was yet another moment in his life he was grateful for being raised by Verbena, rather than Hermetic.

This he could do something about, and with far less strain on his body.

"Trust me?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his hands together.

Charles: "I... yes?" He gave a small shrug. He hadn't even considered the phrasing, but he supposed he could stand by it. His land, his tree.

Charles gave a small dip of his head.

"With my life, Les."

Leslie: "Okay." Deep breath.

And a smile offered to Hank.

"Will you excuse us? This isn't going to be pleasant."

Charles: Two sets of eyes widened, at that, and Hank looked to Charles with no small amount of alarm.

"It's fine. I'll be fine. Go see to the children. They've been alone for a while."

Hank hesitated for a moment longer before nodding. He left the room more slowly than was necessary and closed the door with a soft, hesitant click.

Leslie: "Assuming you have a quieting spell in here?" Leslie whispered, glancing at Mason.

Charles: He snorted softly.

"Yes. What exactly is the plan, Leslie?"

Leslie: "Sexy," he snorted. A little cheer would do Charles some good, before the excruciating pain to follow. Being jovial didn't lessen reality. That is to say, it never made enduring any easier for him.

"You might not want to look, but I promise you'll be right as rain when I'm finished. Just... close your eyes and think happy thoughts."

Charles: Charles managed to crack a smile, at that. It felt like his first in a century.

"I certainly think so."

He gave a tiny shake of his head at Leslie's warning. The professor was much too curious to go averting his gaze. He'd deal with whatever this entailed.

"Go on. I'm ready."

Leslie: One final glance at the demon. He looked around the room and sighed, excused himself to the bathroom, and returned with a hand towel.

"Bite down. Happy thoughts."

What happened next might have been over in a flash, or felt like another century. Those very fingertips that had pressed to his temples hours ago now began seeping into Charles' skin. As unpleasant as knife wounds sans the bleeding. Not a tear in his muscles. He had to delve deeper. Eyes focused solely on his work as more and more of his fingers disappeared underneath Charles' flesh. Only when he felt bone could the real work begin.

Charles: He did as told, folding the towel over to give him a thicker biting surface and shoved it between his teeth.

That first plunge would have him screaming, the sound only barely muffled by the fabric. Curiosity was temporarily forgotten as his head fell back against the mattress and his eyes screwed shut against the pain.

Fuck.

Mason/Leslie: That was the one noise Leslie had feared, fighting with all of his remaining willpower when he felt the demon stir.

Each fractured centimeter of bone Leslie pinched fused good as new. He tried to work quickly, but his nightmare was coming alive in his peripheral, assessing the situation with heavy breaths and soft confused growls.

This witch wasn't that stupid nor was he suicidal, but there was a grasp on his throat just the same. Call it a warning.

"Swear I'm helping," Leslie gasped.

"Mm-hmm."

Charles: 'Don't.'

Because he couldn't speak, but he could feel the moment that his husband's mind sparked to consciousness.

Tears squeezed past his closed lids and he forced his scream to lower to a groan. It was the best he could do, under the circumstances.

A trembling hand extended for Mason to take.

'Please.'

Mason/Leslie: All Leslie saw was Charles' hand, and it was only that quiet gesture that saved his life. The grip around his windpipe softened when Mason laced his fingers with the telepath.

Softened, but lingered. Dark eyes watched, still wrestling with consciousness. A few more seconds passed before he yielded, holding his husband's hand in both of his.

One more inch and this would be over. His fingers would retreat as slowly as they had entered, mending and soothing along the way, mindful to take the same path or risk severely bruising his good work.

Once Charles' leg was his own, Leslie leaned forward, pressed his forehead to his knee, and said a prayer.

Charles: Charles couldn't relax. Not even when he felt that second hand join his. His grip on the first was tight enough to cause a human some damage. He didn't have to worry about Mason.

The relief that washed over him when the healing process had ended left him boneless. He sighed through his nose, grip loosening and eyes cracking open.

He had to free his second hand from its hold on the sheets before he could pull the towel from his mouth.

"Thank you." A breath. 'I'm sorry.'

He flexed his leg carefully, twisting his foot to and fro. As if it had always been whole.

"Thank you," he repeated, forcing himself to sit up. "How are you feeling?"

Mason/Leslie: Leslie's hands were shaking by the time Charles spoke, but most of his adrenaline had to do with the dazed creature by his friend's side. The one with very real Hell in his eyes, blinking like a man too tired for the attempt.

Mason said nothing, still holding firm to Charles' hand as he leaned against the headboard. More beast than man.

No thoughts were given in return. Only instinctual need to protect.

"Think I need a - carbs. Carbs sound great. Gonna see about carbs and lunch for everyone. You okay?"

Charles: "I'm fine," he assured. "Better than, thanks to you. Go and get your carbs. Reach out if you need help."

But Charles needed to soothe his protector, for the time being.

"Be sure to feed yourself first, Leslie. I'll be down... soon."

Leslie/Lawrence: "Take your time," which he knew he wouldn't if given the chance, but one could hope. No matter his unease with the man, he liked to believe Mason had his heart in the right place with Charles.

Lawrence had made his way outside. Beyond the great tree. He limped until silence became his company. A modest grove housing a family of birds lured him in. The journey was short but agonizingly slow.

At last, he slumped against a young tree with just enough age to withstand his weight.

For a time he stared off at nothing. Tried to remember his wife's number. Not a necessity in today's age, but eventually he recalled the pattern, and put the phone to his ear.

Gina: Although Gina was accustomed to being without her husband and worrying about him every second he was apart from her, that didn’t really help her miss him or worry any less. It just meant she knew what to expect.

She didn’t recognize the number calling her didn’t stop her from answering before the first ring had even completed.

“Hello?” she answered anxiously. “Is that you, honey?”

Charles: Charles would wait until the door shut to turn to his husband, studying those sleep-glazed eyes.

"You're going to topple over."

He used his free hand to rearrange the pillows Mason had abandoned and pull down the comforter.

"You need to sleep, love. Lie down properly. It's over. And I'm much better off."

Mason/Lawrence: For his first alarm to be his husband screaming. Awake to the trembling of tremendous pain with a witch, no less, hovering over Charles' injuries, was not an ideal start, and he could not compel himself to apologize. This was his beloved, after all.

But within moments his eyes drooped closed. His grasp remained firm to Charles' hand. He would not have him abandon rest so soon, either, and the rush of what he had witnessed had yet to dissipate.

"Hey, Gin," came a soft, quiet voice. "Gonna be a while longer. Everyone's fine." He would lie if he had to. There was no need to fill her in on what he had endured. Not if the wounds would heal by the time he returned.

Gina: Gina nodded and drew a long, grateful breath. Just hearing Lawrence’s voice was enough to start to calm her nerves; seeing him would get her the rest of the way there.

“I’m glad. What about you? Are you fine, too?”

Charles: Well. It seemed that his hand would not be surrendered anytime soon. He pulled the blankets up and settled back against the headboard.

"All right."

Lawrence: "I'm fine." Quiet and monotone had become his manner over the years. Easier to lie, though there often wasn't a need. Gina knew him almost as well as Mason after all this time.

"I'll explain when I'm home. I have to... get back to him."

Gina: Regardless of whether or not Gina sensed a lie, she knew that this wasn’t the time to push or pry. She’d leave the matter be and accept what he told her. If he wanted to explain later when he was home, he would.

“Okay, honey. Is there anything in particular that you want for dinner? I’ll make whatever you want.”

Lawrence: Lawrence stared off at nothing for a moment. A question hesitated on his lips, only to be swallowed down. It could wait.

"I dunno if I'll be home. Been a while since we merged. We're both, just, tired."

Gina: She nodded again, putting a smile on even if he couldn’t see it. Her feeling sad or disappointed wouldn’t do anything to help him.

“Okay, that’s okay. I can make you whatever you want whenever you come home. You just let me know.”

Lawrence: "Won't be too long, Gennie. Kiss our little fish for me."

Gina: “I will, I promise. We’ll be okay. Just take care of yourself.”

Lawrence: "Love you."

And he would probably never ask his question. A secret Mason knew. Perhaps Charles, but it was easy to push his thoughts away when he was this tired.

Perhaps, he could just... close his eyes for a few minutes. Lay in the grass and let the weeds grow over his body.

The phone was dropped by his side. The outstretched fluffy branches shadowed enough of the sun to prevent it from being a nuisance. He closed his eyes and breathed in perfect rhythm with his other half.

Gina: “I love you, too,” Gina said softly. “So much.”

And I wish to god I could be the one to heal you.

Charles: He couldn't sleep. With the worst of his pain vanished and the drugs flushed out of his system, Charles was left only with his thoughts. Every time he shut his eyes he was surrounded by mint coloured walls and icy air.

He felt pathetic. And with no one to bare his soul to, he couldn't lie staring up at the crown moulding for another second. He made to gently pry his fingers free from his sleeping husband's hold.

"I... I need to go and check on the children. I haven't seen Rory and Cee."

Barely a whisper. If he didn't have to disturb Mason, he wouldn't.

Mason: "Kiss our little fish," said Mason in the twilight of consciousness. Deep REM sleep eluded him, but much like his counterpart outside in the grove, he couldn't keep his eyes open to save his life.

Perhaps he had come to trust Leslie. After all, the witch was still alive.

Alive and busy in the kitchen, helping another staff member make the largest ziti and bolognese the deepest pot could handle.

Charles: "Pardon?"

It seemed that exhaustion had left his husband's mind muddled. Understandable. He needed rest, and Charles' own restlessness was likely no help in achieving that end.

He laid a hand over the bandage where Mason's mark should have been and pressed a kiss to his temple.

"I love you. Sleep. I'll be back to check on you."

But, first, he needed out. If his legs wobbled as he stepped out of bed, it was not from the pain. Agonising as the process had been, Leslie's healing was solid.

He left as steadily as he could, taking a direct route to his son's room. There, he had strength. Strength enough to lift the child into a bear hug, aching ribs utterly ignored.

"I've missed you, my boy."

Rory: Rory would have been utterly oblivious if not for his aura-reading ability. So much disquiet between staff and students that it had begun to rub off on him. His father was squeezed without a concern in the world for injuries he couldn't see. Only when Charles winced would his perceptive son notice something amiss.

"You were a hero again?"

Charles: Charles dropped a kiss onto the top of his head before setting him back down on the bed. He took a spot on the mattress beside him.

"No, actually. Papa was the hero, this time. He saved me. And he saved more than a dozen kids. You'll be able to meet them, soon."

Rory: As interested as he was in the new children, potential friends in his future, there was only one question on his mind.

"Where's Papa?"

Charles: A question he expected. He ran a hand over Rory's hair.

"Sleeping. You can go see him, but you've got to keep quiet, yeah? He's very tired from being so heroic. Let's go and get your sister. We'll pay him a visit."

Rory/Cynthia: "Did he get hurt?" There was something about his daddy's aura he couldn't quite grasp. There was sadness. That was a color he knew well, seen in so many. A color a mortal eye just couldn't grasp. He'd yet to know its name.

Cynthia had made her way to the busy wing, peeking around the corner of the hall to gaze at the newcomers.

Charles: And how to explain that missing mark. Too complex a topic for a child.

"A bit, but he's all right. Mostly just exhausted."

Charles would lead the way, seeking out the familiar timbre of his daughter's mind. He had a bear hug for her as well, his ribs continued to be ignored. His children were a steadying presence. For them, he'd always find strength.

"I've missed you, sweetheart. How are you?"

He'd release her, to give her the freedom to sign.

Cynthia: 'They're just like us?' She didn't feel a need to use her voice; she took it as a good sign that no one was severely injured.

One hand would remain on Charles' shoulder, keeping him close in her excitement.

'Are you looking for their parents?'

Charles: He nodded, smoothing down a flyaway hair. That was enough.

"Yes. Or, I will. I've just woken up. I need a bit to get my bearings. And I want to check in with everyone. Rory wants to check in with Papa. Would you like to join us? He's resting, but we can peek in."

Cynthia: 'We can go.' Dark eyes softly scrutinized, squeezing her father's arm. She didn't have telepathy or aura reading abilities, but she was perceptive enough to know something was askew.

'I'll take Rory.'

Charles: She was growing up much too quickly. Charles was unspeakably proud, but the pang in his chest was still difficult to bear. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"All right, sweetheart. He'll want to see you both, but don't disturb him for too long. He needs to sleep."

Cynthia: The same question her brother asked. 'Is he hurt?' Papa didn't sleep this late. When he was home, he was home. He was with Daddy, roaming the halls, or hiding in Daddy's office. She was aware this wasn't normal, and that concerned her.

Charles: "Small cut." A fucking understatement, but the details weren't her concern.

"But he's mostly just drained. Takes a lot to rescue eighteen children. He'll be fine after he's had a good, long sleep. But I know he'll want to see you both."

Mason/Cynthia/Rory: 'OK.' Small arms wrapped around Charles' neck one last time, giving a gentle squeeze. Charles wasn't the only one made proud today. She kissed his cheek for good measure and shooed Rory in Papa's direction.

Quiet was an understatement. Even Rory turned to signing once they reached the door. Wondering if Papa had eaten. A question Cynthia couldn't answer.

A few steps into the room, and Mason held his arm out, motioned them over. Rory's head was given a ruffle, and Cynthia pulled into little spoon.

"My babies. Being good?" He couldn't see, but he knew the answer.

"Show the new kids what's what. Be good."

Charles: Of course they were good. They were the best. But perhaps Charles was a bit biased. He focused his attention on the mansion's newest residents, speaking in hushed tones with Hank about their needs and progress.

He'd trusted his staff to do right by them in his absence, and they'd more than delivered. But his hands trembled with nerves. He spread his telepathic awareness out over the entire school, reaching out to encompass the grounds as well.

They were safe. Everyone was safe. And, there, he felt Lawrence out on the grass.

'You all right?'

Lawrence: Leslie was fine. Mason was fine. Their children were right as right. The school was safe. Though, Lawrence, lying in the grass, understood exactly what Charles felt.

'Join me,' was all he offered.

Charles: That he could do. Charles left Hank with a promise to return. He'd been running the infirmary more-or-less alone and deserved a break.

He ventured outdoors, welcoming the summer heat. No frigid air, here. He took a leisurely pace to Lawrence's little grove, letting his gaze sweep the grounds. Not a blade of grass out of place. Quite possibly the safest place he could be.

When he spotted Lawrence, he offered no proper greeting, simply claiming a spot beside him on the soft grass. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on the shelf they formed.

Lawrence: There were no thoughts in his head. Whether intentional for Charles' comfort or not, there was nothing. The quiet and tranquility had been enough to shut his brain off for a time. Feeling Charles' approach, his arm fanned out. Offering a little nook between his arm and his chest.

You're not my husband, but you are mine, in a way I can't explain.

There he could sit. He didn't have to lay, but there beside Lawrence it was quiet, and he was protected.

Charles: He hesitated for a good long while. So long it might have seemed that he wouldn't accept the comfort at all.

But he did. He tucked himself into that nook and stared up at the sunlight through the trees. Breathing came easier in the fresh air. His hands were steady as he folded them across his belly.

"You should sleep." And recovery for both of them would go faster if they merged.

Still, he made no move to rise. Just a few minutes of steadiness. Of the ground not threatening to swallow him whole.

Lawrence: "If you carry any more on your shoulders, the ground is gonna cave underneath you."

Did he have to say anything more? Charles would know what he was thinking. He was no telepath, but there were no attempts at walls. He could have everything. The bleakness. The honesty. The concern. Not the same man he had met years ago, trying desperately to push him away. Trying to maintain the lie he had been fed.

This was an extension of his husband. Another version of the man he loved watching him in his peripheral.

And his thoughts said this: I wasn't the one stolen, broken, restrained, and tortured. You have to process this.

Charles: His mind was a blanket over nearly everything he held dear. He felt those thoughts and a lot more, as well. His voice was low. Peace like that shouldn't be broken.

"If I don't keep moving, I'll fall apart.  I won't be able to hold onto anything. I can't afford that."

Lawrence: "You've got people to help put you back together if you do." You're not alone. Haven't been for a long time.

His arm came in. Not a hold, but splitting hairs.

Charles: He nodded and it felt like surrender. Time would tell, he supposed. His eyes slipped closed. With the tension at bay, the true weight of how little rest he'd gotten hit him.

He'd enjoy the dappled sun for just a little while.

"Don't let me fall asleep."

Lawrence: He didn't have to answer. Only, the gentle tilt of his head, his nose resting in Charles' hair his answer. He would continue to watch the sky, fighting sleep himself for Charles to have this moment of peace. He would have his own, eventually. Merging with Mason was inevitable, and returning to Gina's embrace was a promise. This wasn't about him, but the man he watched over while Mason tended to their children.

Charles: He fell into a doze. Not deep enough for any true restoration, but it helped to chase memories of the facility away.

A gentle breeze was enough to stir him into opening his eyes. He sat up, feeling a bit more anchored. For now.

"Thanks."

Was that appropriate? He didn't know and wouldn't dwell on it. He'd needed a steadying presence and was grateful for it.

"I think Leslie is done with lunch. I should help serve those in the infirmary."

Let Hank have a break.

Lawrence: Appropriate felt rather gray, and had for some time. He knew what Mason had called his children, and he had just given his husband much-needed comfort. This was complicated; this was their life. They made it work, and it didn't need overthinking.

"You want me back with him."

Charles: "Yes." What was the point of dishonesty, now?

"I'm not... I won't disturb you. You'll both feel better, and sooner, if you do."

And maybe Charles could actually manage to sleep, tonight.

"But the choice is yours."

Lawrence: Do you care? That gray that is sleeping with you when we merge. That Mason sleeps beside my Gina.

As time went on, the fire in Lawrence's chest had become embers. The tears he had shed for his independence and individuality had long dried up. He could, now, only embrace this shared life.

"If you don't get more rest, you know we'll find you."

With that, Lawrence forced himself to his feet, offered his hand.

Charles: He'd long since come to terms with the reality of their situation. The alternative to acceptance didn't bear thinking about. An occasional night spent with his husband in another bed was a sacrifice he'd make for peace.

How he'd manage, now, only time and trial would tell.

Charles took that offered hand and let Lawrence haul him to his feet, not hiding the wince from his jostled ribs.

"I know. You should be out cold, in the meantime."

Lawrence: Both men winced for different injuries. He had been selfish about healing. He'd needed this time in the grove, reliving the destruction he had caused until numbed by it. This had been his process, steeled by the reality of why it had come to pass. Killing not for pleasure, but for vengeance. For love. Familiar, but not.

"You should have seen Leslie's face," he forced a smile. Ah, that's right. His phone. Another wince as he retrieved it.

Charles: Charles held out a hand for the device. He'd happily return it on his trip to the kitchen.

"I did. I'd love to see his face while witnessing an actual merge. Then again, he had his hands inside of my leg about an hour ago. Maybe he'd take it in stride."

What was his life?

Lawrence: Lawrence just blinked. He hadn't gathered that much from Mason, yet. Only that primal need to protect. Must have been the reason right there.

"That explains the walking tall."

Charles: "Mm." He gave the leg in question a pointed shake.

"Good as new."

Lawrence: "Should we all be witches."

He followed in step with Charles until they reached the foyer. The bustling sounds were a comfort. There was life in this school, the way it should be.

He gave Charles' shoulder a squeeze goodbye.

Charles: "Sleep well." Was all he offered, before turning toward the kitchen and the witch within.

He was still grounded from his time in the sun. The hand that offered Leslie his phone was still.

"Thank you. For cooking, I mean. And everything else."

Leslie: "Walking around already?" Came out as a scold. He took his phone back and stared at it, forgetting why it wasn't in his pocket and then remembering.

"Never a boring moment." He smiled. "You're welcome. If you... don't mind, I think I'm gonna take a nap." Not that he wanted to. At this point standing was taking actual effort.

Charles: "Need to make sure everything is working smoothly." It wasn't a lie, if it was a joke. Right?

His small smile faded as his brow furrowed.

"Of course! You've eaten enough, yes? Go rest! Take as long as you need! The room you used before will still be empty."

Leslie: Leslie blinked hard. A terrible feeling when the eyes refused to focus. Truly annoying.

"Mhm." Didn't matter who was present, he was leaning forward and kissing Charles' forehead.

He was fine. He was safe. A feeling shared by so many, with every reminder of his presence.

"Won't be long." Because he wanted to be up and useful for dinner.

Charles: Charles didn't mind the gesture. Leslie had always been affectionate. He gave his cheek a pat in response and shooed him along.

"No rush. Sleep as much as you need."

Charles would keep himself busy in the meantime. The newcomers needed to eat and Hank likely could use a few hours of sleep as well.

"I'm a thought away if you need me."

Charles: -

Busy hands kept the memories at bay. He retreated to the gym for a quick shower and to change into a pair of school sweats and a t-shirt. Not his most polished look, but it was better than pajamas. Or disturbing his husband.

He sent Hank off for a nap with only minor grumbling, and handled the work of serving pasta to the newcomers himself. The opportunity to better get to know his young charges.

The business of getting those children uninjured enough into bedrooms was a burden he took on personally, as well. They'd need toiletry kits and gym wear until they'd had enough time to get them all proper clothing.

By the time he'd finished, it was early evening. That tremble had snuck its way into his hands, again. And the pain in his ribs had gone from background noise too difficult to ignore.

He retreated to the roof, the one place he'd always been able to decompress. There, he'd self-medicate while perusing files. The sooner he connected the children that had them with their families, the better.

Mason: 'Where did your need for control manifest?' Came a familiar voice. The owner of said voice was still beneath him, stripping his way across the bedroom to the already warming shower.

'I'd say join me, but you've beaten me to it.'

He refused to look himself in the mirror. Not to see Lawrence behind his eyes, barely conscious himself. His last memory had been of his children in his arms. Nothing of their merge and nothing of his children leaving.

Right now, Mason's mind was on the roof, catching up with what he had missed.

Charles: Charles blew a lungful of smoke into the cooling air. The evening was still warm enough to be a comfort to him, and he was utterly numb to any pain.

He frowned at the question. Unexpected, after hours of soothing silence.

'I don't know.' In truth, he didn't consider it. 'Is this a psychoanalysis?'

Mason/Leslie: 'Just concern, darlin'.' His voice, even telepathically, was calm and tired.

Another mind was waking up. Across the house, Leslie had rolled onto his stomach, his head hanging off the edge of the bed. Looking at the light coming from the window, the witch startled and rolled off the mattress completely.

"Fuck!" He hadn't meant to sleep this long. His own fault for not setting an alarm.

"This is why I don't nap."

Charles: 'I'm fine. Only keeping my hands busy.'

He flipped a page of the latest file and scanned it, taking absolutely nothing in.

'Have you gotten enough sleep, love? You still sound exhausted.'

The sharp flare of shock from Leslie had him looking up from the page, though he could see nothing but dwindling light shining off of clouds.

'Careful,' he said to the witch. 'Are you hurt?'

Mason/Leslie: 'Just your hands.' He could feel Charles' struggling attention span from the bathroom. The words on the paper might as well have been Dutch. Maybe an understood word here or there, but nothing retained.

'Yeah, well, so are ya.' And deserving of rest.

Leslie's mouth was dry. His eyes strained despite the hours of unintentional sleep. He knew why. A thought he had to quickly bury when feeling that now familiar sensation.

His first most forward thought was dinnertime. What was in the pantry. The fridge. And then finally, 'Fine. You ok?'

Charles: 'I can't.' He took a long drag from the confiscated cigarette and set the file aside. For the time being, it was a lost cause.

'I've tried.'

Holding two conversations at once was nothing unusual for Charles. At present, however, his response time was slower than normal. What was Leslie keeping from him?

'Managing. Are you certain you're all right? You can rest for a bit longer. I'll make sure you don't sleep for too long.'

Mason/Leslie: Mason and Leslie both shared the same concern. Why Charles was even awake after what had happened. Both understood varying coping mechanisms, but this nightmare was less than twenty-four hours old.

Invisible fingers brushed over Charles' jaw. Combed through his hair, visibly shifting silky brown strands. This was Mason's response, for now.

And Leslie's response was an outward concern. Did Charles nap, too? Had he been moving about with those bruised ribs?

"Gotta make dinner. A lotta mouths to feed." Oh. Right. Charles wasn't in front of him. He thought the same sentence.

Charles: Concerns that Charles would hear, and ignore. Leslie had done so much already, and was still on his feet.

The thought of dinner had the telepath wincing. He hadn't eaten a thing since waking. Since lunch the day he'd been taken, actually. Dinner was likely still scattered across that alleyway. The drugs that numbed his pain had also eviscerated his appetite.

Setting the thought aside, he leaned into Mason's invisible touch.

'I can come down, if you'd like. Or you can come up, when you're finished.'

Mason/Leslie: 'Ya come down. We'll eat together.'

While Charles kept quiet about his last meal, Mason was with him, in all things.

Leslie's mind seemed his own again. He would never actively attempt to throw Charles out. Especially not now, but there was a guilt hanging over him like a knife on a thread, and he didn't want his friend to bear witness.

A quick wash of his face and he was back in the kitchen.

Charles: Oh, indeed! It would have been just as long since his husband's last meal. Appetite or no, he'd get something into his system if it meant Mason did.

Charles gathered the files into the box where they'd been stored. He'd see to the rest of his mess, later.

Smelling of smoke, he made his way down from the roof and to their shared bedroom as sneakily as he could.

As soon as his husband was within reach, Charles would latch onto him. He didn't care if Mason was dripping from his shower, or if Lawrence was still with him. He craved the heat and strength that always kept him anchored.

Mason: Mason was indeed dripping. The shower curtain was just pulled aside when Charles made his entrance. Both hands were in his hair, squeezing out the last of the water when he was embraced.

"Mornin'," he greeted, resting his chin on Charles' head. Arms soon dropped, hugging his husband's shoulders to his soaked chest.

Charles: He released a small huff of air that couldn't quite be called a laugh.

"Good evening. Lovely to see you on your feet."

If he were to have his fill of their embrace, they'd be standing there for hours. For practicality's sake, he pulled away, grabbing a towel from the shelf and offering it.

Mason: Mason had every intention of giving him such an embrace in just a few hours' time. Though on his feet, it would not last long. For their children's sake, they needed some semblance of a schedule. Charles would sleep well tonight if warmth and security were what he sought.

"C'mere." His towel was left to drape over his shoulders, Charles held by his jaw as he was kissed between his eyes.

Charles: A smile. Genuine, if small.

"Leslie's making dinner. I don't know what."

But he could always check in to ask, and did just that.

'Only curious.'

Leslie: "Oh, shit," Leslie chuckled. "There he is."

'Chicken, broccoli, and rice casserole. Someone is on salad duty. If I have time, maybe a dirt cake. Saw y'all have gummy worms.' Anything to make the children smile.

Charles: 'Sounds delicious! I really do appreciate all you're doing, Les.'

He passed along the menu to his husband as he retreated to the closet.

It was time for proper clothing, even if he only wore them for a couple of hours.

Xavier: If it weren’t for the deep-seated fatigue, there would be nothing different about Xavier’s day whatsoever.

After leaving the facility, Ramsay had taken him back to the estate to be cared for and enlisted Rohan’s help to do it. None of the maids or even Hamilton had been made aware of their presence in a bid to keep from alarming them.

While one witch healed, another divulged the details of their evening and burned Xavier’s bloody clothes in the fireplace. Then, together, they’d bathed the slumbering demon and changed him into a pair of silk pajamas.

Abel had been informed and by the time the familiar had taken Xavier back to Bangkok and tucked him into bed, it was like nothing had ever happened.

That was exactly the way Xavier proceeded when he finally awoke the next morning.

He had breakfast with Devlin after hugging him a little too tightly and for just a bit too long and listened gladly as his son filled him in on everything he’d missed while he was away. He apologized for missing dinner and promised to take Devlin for ice cream later to make up for it. He answered questions about his whereabouts the previous day as delicately as he could.

As far as anyone would be able to tell, everything was absolutely normal. Everything was fine.

And when it came time for Xavier to get ready and go to the hotel, he pretended he didn’t see the concerned look on Abel’s face in his periphery.

His call to his brother wouldn’t come precisely when it had been requested, but it would come before Xavier’s mid-morning.

“Good morning, Mai.”

Mason: Xavier had been on Mason's mind for some time after fully gaining consciousness. Charles would have felt, of course, but nothing he felt the need to vocalize. There was work to be done, and his phone to locate. Only when dressed in brown and red was the annoying device found underneath his pillow.

Mason looked to his husband with a sigh.

"Afternoon," he returned.

'Want speaker phone?'

Charles: Charles had changed into a pair of dark jeans and a down-soft black sweater that may have belonged to Mason. He'd curled up in the corner armchair when Mason's phone began to ring.

"Evening," he said, again, voice too low for Xavier to hear and tinged with amusement.

At Mason's offer, he shook his head.  His feelings about the previous night were still very mixed.

Xavier: Xavier closed his eyes and took a silent deep breath, bracing himself. His tardiness in calling could be excused away but absolutely nothing could save him from the lashing he was almost certainly about to receive.

Some things were simply inevitable.

“Are you and Charles and the children all safe? Has he been healed?”

Mason: "Shit's goin'."

In Xavier's bated breath, Mason had walked the few feet to Charles, cupped his cheek for mutual comfort.

"Guessin' you're put back together?"

Charles: Charles leaned into that gentle touch, reaching up to rest his hand against Mason's. If there was reprimanding to be done, it certainly wouldn't come from him. He had nothing to say.

Xavier: “I am, yes. Rohan finished taking care of my wounds when Ramsay brought me back.” Which had been news to Xavier. He couldn’t really remember having been shot, though that was probably due to the adrenaline keeping him from feeling it.

Mason: "Assumed someone would, or I woulda sent Leslie t'finish what he started."

Mason pressed his forehead to Charles', leaned away enough to sign, 'You need to eat.'

Charles: 'I will,' he signed back, but made no move to rise. He'd eat with Mason and the children when dinner was finished.

Truthfully, he still had no appetite.

'Go on.'

Checking in with his brother was important.

Xavier: “He did more than enough.” Xavier owed him a visit and a thank you. Not just for helping to heal him, but for pouring the last of his energy into doing so.

“…What of Haine? What’s to be done with him?”

Mason: Fine, but he was going to hold Charles' hand while he spoke.

"Alive," after a pause, "he's gonna stay that way. I made a contract. Ya know what happens when they break before they should. Don't. Fuckin'. Touch him." He was already staring at Hell's door. Didn't need his own brother to push him through.

Charles: Charles was happy to oblige him. He brought that hand to his lips in a wordless proclamation. Fathomless love and gratitude, both. No more bloodshed.  And he knew how difficult restraint had been for his husband.

Xavier: “He’s being allowed to live? Why—mmm.” Xavier forced himself to take a deep breath so the seething anger he was feeling would stay on his face and not seep too much into his voice.

He hadn’t been chewed out yet but questioning the decision to keep that cowardly swine alive wouldn’t win him any points and given his and apparently Mason’s recent actions, an argument was pointless. It had already been done. Arguing would change nothing.

And besides, he didn’t need a reminder that it wasn’t his place to have an opinion.

“Very well,” he said, just managing to keep from gritting his teeth.

Mason: "Ya know why." He was certain if Xavier thought things through, he would find Charles' point of view. It wasn't easy to swallow, allowing scum like Haine to continue existence. It was agony with purpose.

He understood his brother's irritation; it was his own, and he had no intention to scold. Only to drag his brother with him back to Hell should he sever his agreement.

"We've got shit t'do here. Ya comin' t'help or keepin' away?"

Charles: He gave the hand in his a firm squeeze. They were fine. And Haine would get his, eventually.

Xavier: “Absolutely I do not.” Haine didn’t deserve ten more years. He didn’t deserve ten more minutes. There was nothing to be gained from his being alive that outweighed the punishment he deserved, not in Xavier’s view. And his view was very much the only one he planned to consider since he’d been denied the pleasure of dispatching that swine to the pit.

If Haine had any sense, he should’ve prayed to Charles rather than God because Charles was the only reason he yet drew breath.

“There’s nothing in my skill set that qualifies me to help handle the aftermath of this. Charles’ staff is better suited to the task.”

Mason: "Right." As expected of an Atlas. Hot enough to feel from across the world. Xavier was smarter than this. At least, that was what Mason was going to believe, and his brother just needed a minute to cool.

But heat upon heat was only going to cause an ignition.

"Ya can't entertain children? Clean somethin'? Get supplies? Anything?"

Xavier: Clean? Had Mason forgotten who he was speaking to?

But Xavier wouldn’t comment. He had wisdom enough to avoid anything he knew would light a fuse.

“Am I really the person you want to ask to entertain traumatized children? If you need extra hands, I can offer my staff.”

Mason: "Fuckin' Luci. I'll talk t'ya later." He would always love this infuriating man, but there were better things to do than spell out that he wanted his company. Like hanging up and tugging Charles to his feet. His husband needed a meal.

Charles: Charles would allow this tugging, but only until he was standing. He wrapped arms about his husband's waist before he could be dragged along to the kitchen.

"You ought to tell him how you feel. He's your brother. He loves you, too."

Xavier: “Right then,” Xavier sighed as he listened to the dial tone at the other end of the line. He hadn’t quite gotten what he’d expected but that just meant it was coming at a later point.

How marvelous. Something to look forward to.

Sighing again, he gathered his things and headed into the conference room for a meeting.

Mason: Charles' arms might as well have been steel bands. His intention enough to stop his husband short.

"He's not an idiot." He pulled the telepath in front of him, resting his face in his hair. "I'm sayin' it."

Charles: "No, but you're only just starting to rebuild your relationship. Sometimes subtlety isn't the answer. You may need to be a bit more direct."

But Charles would let the matter lie. He gave that waist a firm squeeze and kissed his husband's shoulder.

"Just consider it. Let's have dinner."

He'd try, anyway.

Mason/Leslie: Mason had nothing to reply. Charles was correct, as was often the case, but it was something he had to consider on his own time. For now, the kitchen needed tending, and their children needed much attention.

The casserole was still in the oven, leaving Leslie's hands open for dessert. Cynthia and Rory were enjoying their job of crushing Oreos into dust. Or in this case, dirt.

Charles: Charles dropped a kiss atop each of his children's heads before claiming a seat at the kitchen island.

"Having fun?" The question was directed toward the kids, but he cast a glance in Leslie's direction as well.

Mason/Leslie: Rory made an attempt to join his father. Just not quite tall enough yet. While Mason might have scolded the behavior, today he said nothing. Finding a bottle of water in the fridge and all but forcing it on his husband.

Leslie met Charles' glance and nodded. All was well; no need to worry.

Charles: It was fine. Charles was happy to have his children close. And he managed to suppress a wince and a grunt as he bent and lifted Rory into the chair beside him.

He took the offered bottle with a small smile of thanks and twisted it open. He drained half in a single drink. Not hungry, no. But apparently extremely thirsty.

"One more?" he asked, before draining the remainder.

Mason/Leslie: 'Your ribs,' as though Charles couldn't feel it. In a way, he was blind to the pain. Stubborn as usual.

All of the power of Hell behind him, and he was forced to pussyfoot around solutions.

Leslie was given a look. The witch needed nothing more.

"After dinner," said through a gummy worm. "I should go home, after."

Charles: 'I'm all right.' But offered the sensation of lips brushing over Mason's cheek. He really was. Only a twinge over the numbing drugs. He'd feel it, when they wore off, but that was a problem for later.

He nodded, brows tugging down in a frown.

"Yes. I can have Kurt take you. You've done so much, already. And we really appreciate it. But I don't want to send you home drained. I don't need Tristan biting my head off. I'll be fine."

Mason/Leslie: "He'd never do that." Or so he believed. "You shouldn't be feeling any pain, after..." A glance was given to the children, and he decided to end his sentence there.

"It's no trouble," was the last he would insist.

Invisible fingers brushed along Charles' ribs, and Cynthia was looking between the two while her little brother stared at their daddy.

Charles: "All right, but make sure you're well fed, beforehand."

He was too exhausted to put up a proper fight. He merely nodded, running a hand over Rory's hair.

"I'm fine, son."

And to prove it, he'd get up to fetch a second bottle of water himself, he supposed.

Mason: "Impatient," Mason frowned, but there was no venom in his words. Guardian of the fridge, handing out bottles of orange juice to a small group of students, one was offered to his husband. "Humans and mutants need vitamins, I'm told."

Charles: Perhaps. But he was thirsty. He accepted the juice with a gentle brush of fingers over Mason's.

"Indeed. Thank you, love."

He'd obediently drain every last drop. Nutrients were nutrients.

He reclaimed the spot beside his son.

"You should have something to drink, yourself."

Mason: A noncommittal noise was all Mason gave, shutting the fridge empty-handed.

'Catch me up. What's the worst injury so far?'

Charles: "Drink, love."

Charles was allowed to worry, too.

'Amputation. But he's already in the process of regrowing the tail. Another girl with regenerating powers has not regrown her kidney, but she's stable and we're monitoring the situation.'

Mason: Mason stared at the floor. Organs versus limbs. The doctor was truly a demon in the making. Crowley would have more interest in using Haine as his lab rat than a prodigy. Only time would tell.

"Want somethin' sweet."

Charles: He didn't. But he was determined to eat, even if was just to put his loved ones at ease. He nodded.

"All right."

Mason: His head shake was subtle.

'I think you're tired, baby.'

Charles: 'I am.'

There was little point in denying it.

'I'll try to sleep after dinner.'

Mason: 'Okay.'

Mason looked for a quick fix in the walk-in pantry. Was it any wonder the witch could make meals up as he went along. Some wrapped breakfast muffins were snatched, a choice between blueberry and cranberry offered to his husband.

Charles: He selected the blueberry, clumsily peeling the wrapper away. He forced himself to take a proper bite, chewing slowly and carefully. No sense in making himself sick.

'Thank you, love.'

Mason/Leslie: It was carbs and it was sugar. If Charles ate nothing else then at least he had that.

Leslie glanced at Charles' choice of muffin and made a mental note. There was every chance he would forget, the ringing oven interrupting his ideas.

"And that's dinner," he sighed.

Charles: "Let me help," he insisted, setting the muffin aside and sliding down from the stool.

"You've been cooking all day. You should sit for a while."

Mason/Leslie: "Just needs to cool before we call people. Don't need em burning the roof of their mouths. I'll never be invited back!" he smiled. Anything to keep conversation light, and any hope of Charles smiling in earnest. His friend dearly needed some levity.

Mason's sigh would go unheard as he looked for any means to be useful, bringing out utensils and announcing dinner.

Charles: "It'll take more than a scalded tongue to bar you from the premises, Les."

And Charles would offer a smile in turn. A small one, that didn't quite brighten his eyes. He crossed to the range and switched off the timer, grabbing a pair of mitts to pull the casserole out of the oven.

The idea of keeping that smile in place all night was exhausting. So, when the food had cooled enough to eat, and plates had been served to the littlest hands, Charles sought out his husband's steadying presence.

'Let's eat upstairs?'

Mason/Leslie: Leslie just smiled. Charles' smile was so subtle compared to what it used to be, but it was completely understandable. Understandable, but sad just the same. Humbling to think about what could have been. Of course they would have found him eventually, but had they been any later...

His desire to hug Charles was perhaps a bit too strong. He worried his friend might have felt his desire like a shove to his chest.

"Sorry," he whispered. Biting his cheek, he made sure to keep his back to the telepath and his emotion-filled face from view.

'Go ahead,' Mason motioned his head, cleared his throat. 'I'll make a tray.'

Charles: Charles clapped a hand on Leslie's shoulder, shaking his head.

"Nothing to apologize for. And I'm all right. I will be, anyway."

But he needed time. Casting a grateful look toward his husband, Charles slipped out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the solitude of their bedroom.

Being alone was worse, but at least he didn't need to wear a pleasant mask. He claimed the armchair and whichever book was on the table beside it. It didn't matter. He couldn't take in a single word.

Mason/Leslie: Leslie reached up to squeeze Charles' fingers before letting him go. He didn't know how much was too much right now. After fleeing the Charlotte coven, Leslie couldn't bear to be touched for weeks, not until his guardian angel Myrtle.

He assumed when Charles was ready, he would know.

A tray was set with an overstocked plate, salt, pepper, dessert, another bottle of water and napkins. Leslie agreed to watch the children and Mason excused himself.

Most of this would go uneaten, he assumed, but it was something, and if he made the attempt, perhaps Charles would make an effort.

He entered the room with a gentle warning, bringing the tray to the foot of the bed.

Charles: A gentle warning. Such a small gesture, after everything else Mason had done, but it moved Charles nearly to tears. He ignored the food briefly, opting for a lingering embrace.

But a few bites of muffin did not a meal make, and he was determined not to worry his husband any more than necessary.

"Thank you," he murmured as he released him, settling down cross-legged on the mattress before the tray. He grabbed a fork and scooped up a small bite of the casserole. He knew Leslie well enough to be certain the food was delicious, but Charles could think only of vital nutrients as he ate in slow, mechanical silence.

Mason: No sooner had the tray been placed down was Charles in his arms. He could hold his demon for as long as he required and then some.

He was joined in silence, sharing the plate for several minutes before he managed a smile, pulling one of the gummy worms out of the strange dessert.

"Gelatin was all the rage in my time. There's ya n'old sentence."

Charles: He looked up from his umpteenth tiny bite, eyes cutting to his husband and the gummy piece of candy he held. That dimple was enough to coax a smile out of Charles, as well.

"Such an old man. You know, I've seen recipes from that time. Makes me rather glad I was born when I was. Some of those dishes were abominations. Not everything should be encased in gelatin. Full stop."

Mason: "Had some, before... I liked. Mint and cucumber. Should try it."

Mason leaned back, let the colorful worm fall into his open mouth. "Then again, ya don't even like hot chocolate," he teased.

Charles: He lifted a shoulder. That wasn't so ridiculous a flavour profile.

"I've had water with cucumber and mint. Quite refreshing on a hot day."

With a soft chuckle that surprised him, Charles gently poked Mason's ribs.

"I love hot chocolate. As long as you don't go ruining a good thing with unnecessary spice. Whipped cream. Perhaps marshmallows, if you're feeling adventurous. More than enough."

Mason: "A little cinnamon and chili never hurt chocolate."

There was that laugh, and that modest smile. He reached out for Charles' hand, grateful for the privilege.

You're still in there. You didn't go anywhere.

"Ya know the first cold day, our son's gonna want some. Peppermint, probably. And cinnamon rolls."

Charles: He threaded their fingers together in quiet confirmation. Of course. Mason had saved him. And was saving him, still.

He grabbed a worm of his own and popped it into his mouth.

"Of course he is. And I'll forgive him for sharing your terrible taste. We..."

It was difficult to think so far into the future. Though, fall was only a few months away. He'd take each day as its own challenge.

"We'll make a day of it. Hot drinks and baked goods. As long as I don't have to bake them."

Mason: Charles' hand was squeezed between his pause. It was a lot to think about. Mason had no intention to pretend it hadn't happened, but offer an attempt at normalcy, just for a little while.

"At this rate, I don't think we're gettin' rid of your witch friend. I think we got ourselves a private chef."

Charles: "We were never getting rid of Leslie."

But he smiled at Mason's effort and pressed in close to his side. There was unspeakable comfort in his presence.

"I'd have to start actually paying him," he chuckled.

"Or we could always visit an actual bakery."

Mason: "So I've gathered." His chin came to rest on Charles' head, closing his eyes.

"Actual bakery? With humans and how-you-doin's? Be sociable?"

Charles: He hummed in confirmation. "Yes. I'm afraid so. But it can wait a couple of months."

It would, if Charles had to make the trip. He couldn't think about leaving the small bubble of safety created in Mason's presence. Not yet.

He stroked a thumb over his husband's, his grip on that hand still firm.

"I don't believe I've asked, since you woke up. I'm so sorry. How are you, love? Yesterday was difficult for you, too."

Mason: He would not have his husband wait so long for something so little, but he understood his reluctance. It had not yet been 24 hours since the ordeal.

"Don't apologize." He hadn't even considered himself. Not once. His thoughts revolved around only one, picking up others incidentally. Of course he loved his brother, but it had been Charles strapped down and silently screaming.

"I'm fine, baby."

Charles: Doubtful. But he could understand how Mason might be distracted from his own emotions, at the moment. Despite every effort to mask it, Charles was a mess. He could admit that to himself, if no one else.

Still, his husband's wellbeing was a priority.

"It's all right, if you aren't. Between your mark and... I don't know what I would have done, seeing you that way. It couldn't have been easy."

Mason: The mark. That tenderness on his chest, already on its way to healing. He felt at the area through his clothes.

"Had t'be somethin' I'd miss..." He'd already said as much, but he felt the need to explain once more. To remind his action had not been a mindless whim.

"It'll never happen." Not that he was superior to Charles, and never in dire straits, he just didn't want Charles to ever put himself in danger on his behalf. Not after this.

"I'm... sorry."

Charles: "I know."

As if anyone in the world could stop him, if the need arose. The night before had been horrifying. But fear didn't exist, where the safety of his family was concerned.

"Don't you apologise, either. You made a sacrifice to save me. How could I ever blame you for that? I'm grateful."

Mason: "Still hurts." Tender physically, but what he meant was, in his belief, more significant.

"I want it back." His mouth had tightened, face stern in an effort to prevent raw emotion. He didn't feel he had the right, sitting next to Charles after his ordeal.

Charles: "I know," he repeated, pushing the tray aside so he could properly situate himself in Mason's lap. He didn't need to bury what he was feeling. Not here. Not now.

"As soon as you're healed. Whenever you like, Mason. We can go to the cottage, just us."

Mason: Mason would never deny his husband the right to his lap. His hands came to rest on Charles' thighs, staring at his chest with a faraway look. He simply nodded. Greed was his circle of Hell; he had much to debate, much to restrain.

"Soon as you're healed."

Charles: "Yes. Yes, of course. Leslie has seen to most of that, already. I'm all right."

Charles took Mason's face in both of his hands, tilting it up to meet his eyes.

"Where are you?"

Mason: "Not what I mean." He began toying with Charles' fingers.

"Takes just... one decision t'be like them. Thinkin' of ya locked someplace safe. Just... thoughts. Just thoughts." Just a part of him, the demonic part of him, the persuasive, demonic logic.

Charles: Just thoughts. And thoughts were allowed. They didn't stop Charles from brushing his thumbs along his husband's cheeks, gentle as a whisper.

"Mm. That'd create more problems than it would solve, but I understand the impulse."

Understanding was different than agreeing, but Mason surely knew that.

Mason: Impulse. That was one way to phrase it. There was truth to the word. Charles was going to have his own hurdles going forward. Fears and irrationalities he would have to face. He didn't need the same from his husband.

"N'where would it stop? You? the children?" No, it was easier to kill everything else. Every last Haine on the planet.

Charles: Those thumbs continued to stroke along warm skin. This was better than burying everything. Draining, rather than leaving the thoughts to fester. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Again, we'd have more problems than solutions. There'd never be an end to it. I'm home. I'm safe. We'll recover."

Mason: Charles' hand was taken, flattened to his cheek. Those hands were so cold. He felt at the summons ring and frowned.

"Mm-hmm."

Mason peeled away long enough to move the tray entirely. Returning to the bed to lie back, offering his chest if Charles wanted another moment of peace.

Charles: He did, naturally. Even at the best of times, he enjoyed using his husband as a living pillow. His head came to rest over the pounding rhythm of Mason's heart, arms winding tight about his waist.

Mason: Mason looked up from his own laptop. Not a presentation of his own, but the yearly appointments app. A wall of various colors and jotted notes. He wanted so much to do more. Still, after all these years, no secretary had managed to pick up his mantle. This was just life, and with no mention of an assistant uttered in months.

By now, Mason wouldn't trust anyone else to keep up.

"Ya are. Ya need to eat somethin'." Charles wasn't the only one watching the clock, but he knew cutting his husband off in the middle of writing would mean more time getting his thoughts reorganized.

But a moment would be stolen, just a moment, to comb his fingers through Charles' hair and pull him into a kiss. Not nearly as long as he would have liked, but time was precious.

"Fifteen minutes." Leaving without a crack of thunder and a horrible stench required exertion and a bloody nose, but Charles would be left in peace in the blink of an eye.

Charles: He nodded, but his attention had already returned to the PowerPoint he’d been polishing.

“We passed a deli earlier; a block or two away from here. Sign said it was open late. I’ll grab a couple of sandwiches for us when I’m finished.”

For his husband’s quiet, gentle affection, Charles would allow a brief distraction. He hummed softly into that kiss, and brushed a thumb over Mason’s cheek. A swift touch, but it would hold them both for a short while.

“Fifteen minutes,” he echoed, refocusing on his penultimate slide. He did not watch his husband leave, but he felt his parting. He let the resulting silence -in the room, and in his mind- drive him just a bit harder.

Seven minutes later, the professor was satisfied with what he had. He knew from experience that his satisfaction would be short-lived. But any tweaking could wait until he’d had a decent meal, and enough rest to assuage his husband.

He collected mobile, wallet, and room-card. The open laptop and scattered stacks of notes he left on the bed. They could be dealt with later. He glanced at the clock again, and after a beat of consideration, grabbed a spare scrap of paper and scribbled a quick message to Mason.

Ran down to the deli. Won’t be long.

-C

Mason: Fifteen minutes could feel like seconds or a lifetime. On the day-to-day, no one counted the minutes. A vague goal had been given as they had always been given; something to look forward to, and a warning should something go amiss.

The children were surprised to see their father. Limited time had been explained, as well as the progress their father was making with his conference, and the love Charles perpetually felt. News he didn't have to give, but given to feel included, and peace of mind. Both daughter and son were given affection. Hugs and kisses for Cynthia, hugs and ruffling of hair for Rory.

Tomorrow, Charles would say good morning and goodnight himself, but they had to understand his busy schedule, and while both said they understood, Cynthia's private thoughts were agitated, restless.

Mason knelt by her bed.

'What's the matter?'

'I don't know. I want to use my voice today.'

'You want to scream?'

Eleven years old and those eyes were beyond their years. The worry behind them, a look no child should express. The demon nodded.

'Do you trust me?'

She nodded.

"I'll be back." Mason kissed between her eyes and stood. "Nothing's gonna happen to you."

The school would be put on lockdown. No visitors. No one through the front door without Jean's approval. They could either like it or lump it.

Mason returned to the hotel some thirty minutes later, ready to explain himself when he found himself alone. Without seeing the note, his first instinct was to reach for Charles' mind.

Charles: He’d never had any desire to live on the West Coast. He never would. But Charles couldn’t deny the appeal of a summer night in San Francisco. The weather was the perfect side of cool, and the view of the Bay from their balcony was breathtaking. They could have dinner out there, he supposed, as he left the alley between their building and the next, passing out onto the sidewalk.

The stroll from hotel to restaurant was a short one, and so quiet. At least compared to Manhattan. With no baseball game to draw crowds to the stadium, this section of the city was rather peaceful.

The deli, too, was uncrowded. Only an enamoured young couple stood between him and the middle-aged woman manning the counter. She was quite pretty, with her deep dimples and wide brown eyes. Charles knew Mason would forgive him a bit of harmless flirting, if it meant two free cookies.

His spirits were sky-high on the short journey back. Delightfully, he found himself thinking more of the pleasure of his husband’s company than further editing his presentation. Perhaps a shower together, after dinner. Or drinks at the rooftop lounge, if it wasn’t too crowded. Both, he thought. Drinks first, shower after. And then they could make use of those pristine hotel sheets…

The chill that ran up his spine as he rounded the corner into their alleyway once more had those lovely thoughts tapering off. He stopped there in the opening, wanting to retreat to the sidewalk and not quite understanding why. It took a moment for him to place the source of the unsettled feeling.

An Amazon delivery? At this hour?

Not unheard of in a major city, he supposed. But he let his loosely-wound telepathy unfurl, regardless, trusting his instincts.

Nothing.

Well, not nothing, precisely.

There were millions of minds within his impressive radius. But nothing sinister. Not from the blue-gray van with its smirking logo. Not from either of the buildings flanking him.

Gripping the paper bag that held his dinner like a lifeline, Charles eased his way into the alley. He was fine. Everything was fine. Mason was almost certainly some ten stories above him, waiting in their room for his return. With that image in mind, he picked up his pace, heading for the lobby doors at nearly a jog.

The massive hand that snapped around his mouth like a vice should have come as a surprise.

It didn’t.

He was yanked back against a broad, solid chest. There was no wriggling free from those trunk-like arms, but Charles would be damned if he didn’t try.

He threw his weight to and fro. His curses were muffled by that iron grip. The heavy bag split as it hit the pavement, spilling its contents across the alleyway. Charles roared against that hand, reached out mental claws to drag against his assailant’s–

Nothing.

Truly nothing, this time.

Like fingers passing through fog, he could find no mind to grab hold of.

His heart slammed against his ribs. Deliriously, he feared they might crack. He redoubled his efforts to pull free, kicking and thrashing as he was dragged back toward that godforsaken van.

In desperation, he reached out for the familiar timbre of Mason’s mind. A wordless plea. Deafening. Or it would have been, had his husband been near enough to feel it.

A sharp pain flared in the side of his neck and dulled just as quickly. He had only the briefest moment to panic over what he might have been injected with before the world went dark.

Mason: Not feeling Charles’ mind in any capacity was the first and only flag required to put a rod in Mason’s spine. Never in the history of their marriage was that normal. Beyond their marriage. Even respecting one another’s privacy, he could always feel his companion’s presence. There was not so much as a tingle. And that… was utterly terrifying. History would note this very moment as frightening to the crossroad demon as Hell itself.

“Charles,” was a whisper between his teeth.

The note was found in a spin of confusion, folded, and pocketed. Kept for a spell, perhaps, if he could wrap his head around one. He then disappeared, reappearing in the alley Charles would have taken to find… a mess of paper and discarded food.

“Charles!” There was no sense in calling his name. His telepathy, like flailing arms, felt for as far as he was capable. Not nearly the impressive range as Charles. Not nearly as far as –

Mason pulled his phone from his coat, tapped for his brother’s number, and held the phone to his ear.

Xavier: Xavier stepped into the elevator and checked his watch. If the coffee shop wasn't busy and if he was quick about it, he had just enough time to grab himself something before his meeting. It would have been simpler to ask his secretary to get it for him but he needed to get some fresh air to sustain himself before the hours-long torment ahead.

And he had no doubts it would be hours long. Meetings with architects and designers always were.

Xavier had only managed to take three steps into the lobby of his hotel when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. For one terrifying moment he thought it was his secretary telling him the architect had come early, only to relax when he saw it wasn't.

"Hello, Mai," he greeted his brother, smiling to himself. "This is a surprise. Shouldn't you be in bed?" Late night in San Francisco was mid-morning in Bangkok.

Mason: Hearing a smile from his brother after all these years should have warmed his chest, but there was absolutely nothing.

"Charles is gone. I need you here." The name of the hotel, street, and view were rattled off without pause.

He didn't expect another demon to question the urgency. A call wouldn't have been made if he could feel the telepath's presence. Still, he waited in those split seconds to have to defend himself.

Xavier: The familiar icy claws of dread sank violently into Xavier's chest at his brother's words. It couldn't be. Not again, not to yet another member of their family.

He said, "I'll be there in five minutes," and hung up. He'd be there in less if he could swing it. Questioning the urgency or demanding that Mason justify himself were the farthest things from his mind, and besides, there was no need to do either. This was his brother, and he was asking for help.

He placed two calls. One to Abel, informing him of the situation and asking him not to let Devlin out of his sight, and the second to his secretary, informing her that an emergency had come up and to have Saifah fill in for him at the meeting. The former was far more understanding than the latter but just now that was of no consequence.

His affairs seen to, he ducked into the nearest bathroom and, having made sure it was empty, disappeared to the other side of the planet, to his brother's side.

Mason: Not again was only Mason's second thought after hanging up the phone. His instinct had been Xavier, but he knew what this city meant to his brother. This city was cursed.

Five minutes might as well have been an hour. Mason would be found in the alley beside the ant-ridden mess, a note in his hand and his eyes to the light-polluted heavens. In such limited light, his eyes might as well have been as black as his brother's, but any demon would know better. A grave scent had washed over him, toiled earth, char, and sulfur. A bead of black blood had pooled at his nostril. An all-too-familiar heat radiated just several feet from the crossroad demon. A great doglike beast had its nose to the wall. Its armor-plated scales quivered a gradient of black and red.

Desperately, Mason had stretched his telepathy to its breaking point. The more he pushed the stronger his migraine. Interrupted not by Xavier's presence, but by his second hellhound, Para, coming from behind the black-eyed demon and pushing its nose in his palm.

Xavier: The sudden transition from day to night would have been jarring for any other magic user, but not so for a demon like Xavier. He needed no time to adjust or get his bearings; he knew where he was going and he strode there with purpose, steps echoing off the pavement to herald his arrival.

Such a long time since he had seen a hellhound that their presence was almost nostalgic, unlike the heat and the sulfur and brimstone clinging to the air that reminded him so vividly of Hell. Of course, given his experiences, San Francisco may as well have been the same thing.

"Mai."

Mason: Red eyes transitioned to brown as the demon blinked, looking toward the sound of his childhood name.

"I can't feel him. That's not normal, Zav. Even when we put up walls I know the wall is there. Nothing's there."

Xavier: A sleeping mind and an unconscious mind were still reachable for those of adequate power and skill. If a mind couldn't be felt at all?

"Then someone's purposefully keeping you out. Even demons can't always perceive barriers they haven't built. How long has it been?"

Mason: "I left for thirty minutes." The note was shown to his brother. Logic would tell a human he wasn't taken far. But their world revolved around teleportation, and without feeling Charles' mind, he could have been one mile or a hundred.

"He was here for a conference. People knew he would be here. I shouldn't have left."

Xavier: Xavier sighed at the note. Oh, Charles. "You couldn't have known, Mai. The trip to the deli wasn't planned. They waited for him to be alone and ambushed him. Mere seconds are all that's required for that, even among humans. A trip to the bathroom at the conference would've been enough."

This had just been rotten fucking luck.

"Can your hounds detect his scent?"

Mason: "It ends here," Mason sighed. "Either a vehicle or something like us. I didn't smell sulfur before." A hand was thrown in the direction of his hounds. "Useless fucks."

Xavier: A vehicle would've been nothing for the tracking abilities of something like them. Whoever had done this had been prepared far beyond the capabilities of a mere mortal.

"They hid him from you, too, hm?" Xavier patted both hounds on the head and swallowed the sickly feeling of foreboding at the fact that even they couldn't detect Charles. But maybe...

"Can you smell anyone else, lovelies? Can you smell a vehicle?"

Charles: Indeed, there would be no scent trail to follow. Beyond the bag he’d been holding, only a small drop of blood told that the telepath had been there at all.

That, and the hotel’s security cameras, of course.

His captors had been utterly human, neither possessing knowledge of the preternatural, beyond the public knowledge of mutantkind.

But the mercenaries were professionals. Thoroughly trained. Handsomely paid. They would stop only once on their journey northeast, out of the city. To swap their stolen delivery van for one far less conspicuous, though conveniently lined with psionic-blocking panels.

His mobile phone, if traced, would lead pursuers as far as I-80 E. There, it could be found smashed to bits in a patch of scrub grass off the highway.

Mason: It would take a moment of clarity for Mason to remember cellular phones. An old-fashioned soul brushing the fingertips of technology for only a single lifetime.

Bola had found the speck of blood. All but pressed its slitted nose against the unnoticed splatter. Its insistence caught its maker's attention. Seeing the minute, gruesome evidence caused a flash of red in Mason's eyes.

Para had turned the corner of the alleyway. No mortal would see the creature; only feel a terrible crawl down their spines and a noxious feeling in their stomachs.

Only one woman stopped to glance back, brow furrowed. Someone else's contract, and far from Mason's concern.

The further Para walked the more focused Mason became, taking half a block to realize -

"His phone. Do you know what I'm supposed to do? A way to follow...?"

Xavier/Ramsay: An ambush, a single drop of blood, seemingly no trace left behind. Whoever had done this was highly skilled. It was precision work more than luck that had landed them Charles.

Xavier frowned as he followed the hound, thinking. They were going to need more than this. Absent telepathic connection and something to track by magical means, they'd have to resort to far slower human methods. Hardly ideal.

He'd just been about to ask if there had been any strange incidents around Charles when Mason spoke and reminded Xavier that his brother was not in fact, the only old-fashioned soul out of the two of them. Why hadn't that occurred to him sooner?

Rather than answer Mason right away, Xavier pulled out his own phone and dialed a number from memory.

"John, I need you," he said by way of greeting.

The phone wasn't on speaker, but Mason would be able to hear the person on the other end anyway. "At the hotel?" Ramsay practically shouted. It sounded like he was at a party.

"No, I need you to track a cellphone for me. Can you do that, are you at home?"

"One minute."

Like Xavier, Ramsay hadn't questioned the urgency in his friend's voice. He simply left wherever he was and entered a quieter room. "What's the number?"

The demon rattled it off.

There was silence on the other end of the line as Ramsay worked.

Xavier gave his brother a nod. "He's working on it."

A few moments later, Ramsay relayed the results of his search. Xavier finally put him on speaker.

"The phone left the city heading east," said the witch. "Last ping was along I-80, then it disappears. Probably got turned off."

The demon shook his head. "He wouldn't have turned it off. Where along I-80?"

Ramsay told him.

"Okay, thank you, John."

Mason: Why did he know the name John? A generic name, but coming from Xavier's mouth it was familiar.

"Your porter?" That was what they needed, more of their kind. Those unburdened by human methods.

"We need more feet on the ground."

He didn't care about the time of night; didn't care there were thousands of people on the highway. Right now, he didn't care about concealing a goddamn thing. Mason disappeared with a rumble of thunder, reappearing by a tree off the side of the highway. A place he had been before, but only a vague image. A half mile from where he needed to be. Teleportation was tricky without proper history in the area.

Xavier: Xavier nodded. “Yes, that’s him. His skills go beyond transport.” Far beyond. Ramsay had all manner of tricks up his sleeve, not that one could tell from looking at him.

Part of that was by design, of course.

He sent Ramsay a quick message telling him to keep his phone close and followed his brother through the ether to the approximate location they’d been given.

With just as little to go on as Mason, Xavier’s aim wasn’t much better. He landed a few yards away from his brother.

Not that it made a difference, really. There was nothing but the highway and the cars speeding along on it, which meant that Charles’ phone had probably been tossed out a window.

“Mai, has anyone new entered Charles’ life? Yours? The school?”

Mason: "Just the fucking cucks that organized the conference."

It could have been ten minutes after his departure. Three minutes before his return. Any number of minutes meant further miles of separation.

They had already lived through this once. Over a fucking daydreamed question. Life in a fucking marble in a djinn's drawer, and Charles had managed to keep his head.

But Charles wasn't a demon deserving of punishment. How far could his teleportation take him? If Charles had been out of his range...

"Zav, can you feel him?"

Xavier: Knowing that introduced many more questions and had myriad implications but offered no answers. None that could be quickly and easily obtained at least.

“I can try.” Although it would be difficult to concentrate enough to perceive one specific person with hundreds continuously zooming past on the highway behind them, knowing where not to look was a small blessing. The most logical place for Charles to be, if he was still in this area, was away from the road.

Xavier began walking with his back to it, motioning for Mason to follow as he felt for anyone or anything in the area ahead.

Come on, Charles, he thought. Be here. Please.

Mason: "Here? Ya think he's here?" Mason had his doubts, but anything was possible. There weren't many roads leading off this specific patch of the highway. Couldn't have been supernatural, he told himself again. Para and Bola would have given as much. That just left Charles' circle of concern, mortals and mutants. He would much rather deal with something he could trace.

Something he could trace...

"Your porter know map spells? Tracers? There's a fuckin' spell... blood... and somethin' appears on the map? It's old fuckin' magick."

Xavier: “I think that if he is here, he won’t be right near the highway.” However much Xavier doubted that Charles was anywhere nearby, they had to make sure. They couldn’t afford to dismiss possibilities when they had so little to go on.

They also couldn’t afford to waste time. Xavier didn’t intend to linger if he didn’t feel a mind nearby that could be Charles or someone related to his disappearance.

“The spell sounds familiar but we’d actually need Charles’ blood for something like that to work. Would you happen to have any?” It was a serious question.

Mason: "Bola found a speck. Speck isn't enough... to... " Mason paused mid-step, staring at the ground.

"He'd have some at the school. The lab. He's a fuckin' collector." Though, he couldn't recall the last time Charles had mentioned taking his own.

He pinched between his eyes and held his breath. Doing anything other than directly searching felt like betrayal. Charles had been this way. To leave would be to abandon the closest he could be to his husband.

Thoughts he shared freely in their connection. Today was not the day for the walls. Not yet.

Xavier/Ramsay: “That’s only half the battle,” Xavier said as he reached into his pocket for his phone to give Ramsay another call.

He updated his friend on the situation and asked about the spell that Mason had mentioned, as well as inquiring about any others that Ramsay might know.

“Mate, that shit’s out of my wheelhouse,” said the witch. Xavier had put the phone on speaker. “Even if I did know that spell, no way I can pull it off. I don’t fuck with blood magick. And as far as trackers, I don’t think I have anything that’ll help. Have you asked Ro?”

Xavier sighed. “No, but I doubt he can find something in time.”

“What about that compass thing? The one you found in that shop?”

“I’ve never tried it but it uses hair.” He looked to his brother. “Do you have any of his hair?”

Mason: The words blood magic had Mason looking up. He knew exactly the witch with expertise, but witchcraft generally took time.

If these people wanted Charles dead, he would have found his body slumped in the alley. They could have something planned for his body. He could very well -

A drawbridge connecting their minds began raising.

"He just uses a comb. I can... go look."

Xavier/Ramsay: “Try that,” said Ramsay, having heard Mason. “I’ll ask around, tap some people who might know of a way. I’ll tell you if I find anything.”

Xavier nodded. “Thank you, John,” he said, hanging up. He put his phone away and reached for Mason’s hand.

“I’ll take us back to the hotel. We can’t both wear ourselves out.”

Mason: Instinctually, Mason pulled from his shoulder, intent on putting distance between them. By now, the drawbridge had been raised. Not even a hint of his thoughts.

"What compass is he talkin' about?"

Xavier: Xavier dropped his hand. “I was at a shop that masquerades as an ordinary antique shop but also sells magical artifacts to those with the means to afford them. The owner is an acquaintance. According to him, the compass can point you toward anyone as long as it has a lock of their hair. I’ve never tried it and I can’t guarantee it’ll work.” Artifacts from that shop were a toss-up at best but…

Xavier looked away from his brother under the guise of thinking the matter over. In reality, he was considering other…less savory options.

Mason: A lock was more than a single strand. The answer was staring them in the face. Neither were admitting the chance of success was slim.

"Ya get the compass, I'll look for... a hair. I have other people to call. A fuckin' number in North Carolina t'find."

Even if he traveled this road with every ounce of teleportational power, it wouldn't matter. If Charles were conscious, this chase would already be over. Maybe feeling the thoughts of his captors, but there were thousands on this road. He had to think logically.

"I'll call ya when I find somethin'."

Xavier: “…Wait.”

Xavier closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If it weren’t for recent events, and if it were anyone else, and if he didn’t have the sinking feeling that they were very much up against a ticking clock, he probably wouldn’t have been considering what he was currently considering.

But, circumstances being what they were, he really didn’t see another option that would be faster or more reliable and they very much needed something that was both of those things. The benefits far outweighed the cost, and he was the one who’d be paying it anyway.

“Look for the hair but don’t call anyone just yet. I’ll get the compass and see if I have anything else that might help.”

Mason: He didn't like the tone of that single word. He stared at his brother and considered their entire life story. When in their history he heard that tone before. Recent events in Xavier's life, events that would lead to those closed eyes, tight lips, and a crushing grip tightened the muscles of his shoulders.

"Your blood magic? Your wards? Your porter? A naphil in Louisiana? That better be all ya see. For your fuckin' sake."

Xavier: “Yes, blood magic,” Xavier said with a nod. That much was the truth. It was the most viable option, and the one he planned to pursue if at all possible.

He just wished the ‘if’ wasn’t quite so big.

“How much time would it take to check if any of Charles’ blood is available?”

Mason: "A phone call." Or arrival. The more likely place to find his hair would be on the many sweaters and cardigans.

His phone was removed from his coat once more.

"Xavier."

Xavier: “Then you’d better make it. Knowing whether that’s an option will speed my search.”

Maybe he’d better ask Ramsay to transport him. He’d meant what he’d said about not wearing themselves out.

“Hm?” He began composing a text.

Mason: "You have a son." He watched his brother closely. Whether or not he would look away, hesitate. Whether his breathing remained even, and the grip on his phone neutral.

"Look at me," he finally said, waited.

Xavier: Xavier finished his message to Ramsay and made sure to ask him to be quick about arriving. Lingering wouldn’t do at all.

By the time he looked at his brother, all his mental walls were in place. He looked concerned. Determined. Angry in a way that wasn’t directed at Mason. And when he spoke, his voice was gentle and calm.

“I know. He’s safe in a warded house in Bangkok with someone I trust with my life and his. You have a son, too. And a daughter. Whatever we’re dealing with won’t touch any of them, of that you can be certain.”

Mason: The expectation that he would finish what he started only served to disappoint. Did Xavier think years separated via hate would make him a better actor in his brother's presence? As authentic as that accent.

"Ya know goddamn well that's not what I'm sayin'."

Xavier: He wasn't a better actor, but his emotions were sincere. He was concerned about Charles and determined to find him. He was angry that this was happening to his brother and his family, that someone had had the gall to think they'd be able to get away with taking Charles.

When he and Mason succeeded, and they would, Xavier fully intended for there to be hell to pay.

"We're going to find him, Mai. We're going to find him and bring him back safely and afterward, I'm going to go home. I'm going to hug my son. I'm going to have a meal with him and ask him about his day and then at some point, when you're up for it, you and your family can come visit my resort."

Although Xavier's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, his gaze was steady. His voice never wavered. He spoke like a man who believed every word he said. What he was telling his brother wasn't merely a hope; it would happen.

Mason: No other calls. That's what Xavier had said. No outside parties just yet. If they could keep this contained, then it would be Charles' decision who did and did not know what had happened. It would be his trauma, his right.

So then, kept contained... there was still someone in mind. The more Xavier elaborated, the more hardened his resolve.

"Hotel, and home for his blood. You... the compass. I'll call ya."

He would not wait for Xavier to confirm. Disappearing in a blink. The wind kicked up all around the highway, causing several near-misses, and carrying with it an inexplicable storm on an otherwise placid day.

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier’s departure would be made to far less fanfare.

Ramsay appeared moments after Mason left, his arrival passing unnoticed in the kerfuffle Mason had left in his wake. The dark helped as well.

“Where are we going?” the witch asked as Xavier joined him.

“The warehouse. I need to find the compass and see if there’s anything else in my arsenal that can be of any use at all. Mason seems certain using Charles’ blood is an option, so that should broaden my scope.”

“What happens if you can’t find anything and the compass doesn’t work?”

“Then I’m going to need you to take me to Quebec.”

“Bloody hell’s in Quebec?” Ramsay wondered, making preparations for the ritual.

“Don’t ask,” Xavier sighed before his friend’s magic whisked them back to San Francisco.

Mason/Lawrence: The hotel was far too quiet. Not the sound of Charles stretching, sighing, yawning, twisting to relieve the stress on his back. Absent the sound of typing, papers rustling, sipping tea or clandestine whiskey.

It had taken this long for the realization to sink in. He had not felt his husband at all. The possibility that he was dead was as real as the silence suffocating him. Just thirty minutes to lose the man he had reversed so much of his life for. No message to the school. No garish writings on the wall. No goodbyes.

Mason crossed the room to the bed, feeling foolish in his fruitless pursuit of thin brown hair. When he found nothing, he crossed to the bathroom, to the sink and the forgotten comb. One single strand. This was not enough for any benign spell. All this power at his fingertips, and not a fucking thing he could do without the aid of a witch.

The hair was left behind as he traveled south, appearing in the very town Xavier had told him to wait. Not to Leslie Issott’s cabin, but another equally abhorred creature. The one that knew he was there without a single knock.

Lawrence Atlas came to the door, concern as present on his face as that of his twin.

“When?”

“Less than an hour.”

Lawrence excused himself to find his wife, pull her to his chest and apologize. He did not know when he would return. There would be no lie and no speculation.

Their merge was swift and nearly painless.

Xavier’s number was punched into his phone as he started down the driveway.

Xavier/Ramsay: Magical artifacts of dubious origin and power, as well as those deemed too dangerous to keep at the estate, were kept in a warded vault at Xavier's main warehouse. Entry to and knowledge of the existence of the vault were limited to Xavier, Rohan, and Ramsay.

Its contents were more or less organized, with the especially powerful items kept behind warded glass to render their magic inert and everything else sorted into very general categories. Loose as it was, the system kept things in order and was usually helpful when looking for something specific. Unfortunately, the latter was not true tonight.

Xavier found the compass he was looking for easily enough but an alternative was proving...challenging.

"Far be it from me to tell you what to collect," Ramsay said as he looked through records. "But how it is possible that you've got dozens of things to help you find things and almost nothing to help you find people?"

"Because I'm a collector, John!" Xavier had been growing more irritated with every passing moment. "All I ever need to find is things! Just keep looking."

"I am, I am."

The depths of his inadequacy were out on full display tonight. Truthfully, they'd been on display for decades; he just felt them more keenly in some moments.

Mason's call was cause for both hope and dread.

"Did you find hair?" Xavier asked his brother.

Mason: There was something in that tone that irritated Mason just as much as he could relate to it. They were getting nowhere slowly. His solution might have been in this godforsaken town, as reluctant as he was to accept it.

“One strand of fuckin' hair ain’t bringin’ my husband home. I have an idea n’m’not fuckin’ waitin’ around. Ya remember seein’ a man at our weddin’. Tall blond, piercin’? Charles got chummy with a fuckin’ blood mage n’he’s in Lawrence's fuckin' town. I’m getting’ Charles’ blood, n’m’bringin’ it t’him.”

Xavier: Xavier gasped softly. Was it possible that something in this godforsaken universe had finally taken pity on their family? Not one minute ago it had been a faraway hope and now they were being thrown a bone by Charles himself.

"Vaguely, yes." If he was remembering the right man, his appearance had hardly screamed 'blood mage' but did anyone's ever?

"What do you need from me? Tell me and I'm there." Xavier's tone had changed almost completely. Any irritation he'd felt was no longer present in his tone or in him. He sounded relieved.

Mason: What he needed was a grip on his patience and sanity. Of all the people in the universe, there might have been better choices. Bronwyn, for one, but that was impossible. A delicately mended relationship with his brother would have to do.

"Meet me back in Edenton. M'not walkin' into a witch's house on my own."

Xavier: "I'll be right there. Do you want John to take you to collect the blood?" There were charms in here that helped bolster magical energy; perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to take a few just in case they were needed. Zipping around was no small feat.

Mason: "Just picked up Lawrence. M'good. Meet ya back at his place."

The call was ended before any argument could be made in Ramsay's favor. So far no efforts had been made to conceal his presence. His stamina would hold. No bloody nose, half the energy, and every bit the fanfare, as Xavier regarded. For now, his tunnel vision was tolerable.

The walls built against his brother were used in equal measure against Jean Grey. She didn't need to know. No one needed to know what had happened. Only when Charles was willing and able to tell them himself, if he cared to at all.

Only one vial. More than he was dreading, and less than he could hope for. No one needed to know of his presence, but it was too late to pretend Hank McCoy hadn't seen him exit the lab without so much as a glance.

Only in the coming and going of the school, for the sake of his children, did he conceal his presence, wiping blood on the back of his hand as he reappeared around the side of Lawrence's house. Now, at last, he was beginning to feel the strain of constant movement.

Xavier/Ramsay: Right then. No matter. The decision to take the charms had already been made. If Mason did exhaust himself, they’d be able to make up for it.

“Change of plans,” Xavier told Ramsay. “The compass is off the table. We’re going to Edenton to see a blood mage who’s a friend of Charles.”

“Charles knows a blood mage?”

“Apparently.” For which mercy may we give thanks, the demon thought. He’d avoided the metaphorical hangman’s noose.

Together, he and Ramsay combed the records for any charm that either amplified magical energy or facilitated magical travel and chose the best of the bunch for Xavier to take him.

“I’m goin’ with you,” Ramsay said as they stepped out of the warehouse some time later. “I’m not lettin’ you go into the heart of bloody darkness by yourself.”

“It’s only Edenton, John.”

“I don’t mean Edenton, I’m talkin’ about wherever the hell it is they took your brother-in-law that even bleedin’ hell hounds can’t fuckin’ find him.”

“I won’t be alone, Mason will be there.”

“Quit arguin’ with me, I’m goin’.”

Xavier nodded. “All right. Let’s go to Edenton then. I’ll tell you where.”

Mason: If only Xavier could read auras. Perhaps it was for the best he could not. The impatience oozing from his brother was damn near palpable.

"Could ya take any fuckin' longer." Seconds. A minute at best. Today was the day to count the seconds.

A look was given to Xavier's tow. Who are you was passed for, "Is that comin' with us?"

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier had never needed to be able to read auras in order to know what his brother was feeling. Doing so would have been something akin to checking for a probability of rain when you were caught in a downpour.

Rhetorical questions didn’t require an answer, but Xavier would by way of tossing an oddly shaped gold talisman to his brother. “Put that in your pocket. It’ll restore you.”

“It sure fuckin’ is,” Ramsay said with only the appearance of cheerfulness.

Xavier nodded towards the street. “Which way to the mage?”

Mason: "Lawrence knows the way. Either I'm takin' all of us or we're takin' his truck." That being said, the talisman was stuffed in his pocket without question. Some things with Xavier were indisputable.

Xavier: “Cars are too slow,” Xavier said as he took Ramsay’s hand and held the other out to Mason. And short distances didn’t require too much effort.

Mason/Leslie: Xavier's hand was taken just long enough to disappear, reappearing at the end of a long driveway surrounded by trees on either side. The dirt path opened up to a meadow-facing lawn and a large A-frame home, a white picket-fenced garden on either side. A white Toyota sat quiet and warm in the driveway. Someone had just gotten home.

Both the doorbell and fist were utilized. History of retaliation from Leslie's mind kept his telepathy at bay. He needn't wait long before the door opened. A man of over six feet stood before them in a rolled-up blue tartan shirt and blue jeans, surprise high and tight on his brows.

"Uh... hi? Where's Charles?"

Having to tell a witch he needed his assistance tasted like blood in Mason's mouth. For his husband, he would do anything.

"He's... missin'. Taken. We need your help," he managed. The plastic tube of Charles' blood was pulled from his coat.

The witch stared for a moment, processing. When? How could anyone possibly take Charles, and why? He remembered the laboratory and answered his own question.

Blue eyes glanced at the others, but paid them no mind.

"Come in."

Xavier/Ramsay: It was obvious immediately that a witch lived here. The scent of magic was a living, palpable thing, easily detected by someone like them.

A very promising sign.

Almost as one, Xavier and Ramsay gave Leslie nods in greeting. Xavier looked somewhat apologetic, but Ramsay looked unabashedly curious.

“Thank you,” the demon said quietly, waiting for his brother to enter before he did. “Pardon the lateness of the hour.”

Mason/Leslie: "It's important," he muttered. "Please," he gestured to the living room. A chef's coat had been tossed over the couch. Shoes discarded by the door. Herbs and flowers hung to dry in the kitchen, visible from the living room with its open layout.

Their host stood with his back to them, fingers fidgeting, one might assume a spell if paranoid.

"We're looking for... for - he's alive, isn't he?"

"Yes," said Mason, firmly.

Shoulders visibly relaxed. "I'll be right down." Already jogging to the stairs.

Xavier: Xavier couldn’t tell if Mason’s curtness was due to the gravity of the situation or to some personal issue he had with the mage but he wasn’t about to ask. It was just something to ponder while they waited for their host to return.

Alive, yes. Charles was alive. He had to be. Logic dictated that whoever had gone to such trouble to take him wouldn’t have done so if they planned to kill him.

Logic, not faith.

“How did Charles meet this man?” Xavier wondered aloud as he took in their surroundings.

Mason: It was a combination of conflict. He would not lean weight on the idea of his death, not an ounce, until laying eyes on his corpse. He would not hear it from anyone else, much less a witch.

"On a train," Mason sighed. "Doin' everything he can to... " Such things they had bickered about. Felt trivial this moment. Find him tomorrow feeling differently.

"Was teachin' Charles spells."

Xavier: “That tracks,” Xavier said quietly, smiling to himself. “Theo always tells me—” He caught himself and sighed. “He always used to tell me how much Charles enjoys learning new things.”

Mason: Mason wasn't about to correct him. Reminded him too much of Charles at the moment. No, he wouldn't dare correct tenses.

"Told him he was doin' too much. Gave up after a while. Started showin' him mirror magick. Just tricks. Made him... happy."

Xavier: “I’m sorry to say you were never going to win against Charles’ love of learning, Mai. He has a sharp mind. He needs to keep it fed.”

That sharp mind would help him, Xavier was sure of it. No matter where Charles was, as long as he had life, the demon was certain he could handle himself until Mason came for him.

“He’ll have more to learn after this.”

Mason/Leslie: "Right." Still confounded why Charles hadn't used his ring. Must have been swift and horrific. No scenario he could fathom was worth lingering on when none of them could be true. In the end, Charles simply couldn't reach his ring. They would have to find something else from this day forward.

Leslie came down without a word, rolled-up vellum under his arm, old pair of boots on his feet. With a sniff, he held out his hand for the vial.

Seeing the reluctance in the demon's eyes, the witch took a deep uneven breath, shoulders rose from the effort.

"You're gonna have to trust me, and... you're gonna have to take me with you."

"Where?"

"Close as you can to where you think he is."

Xavier: Xavier had expected the mage to come downstairs equipped with far more than what he had, which only piqued his curiosity.

“Does it have to be where we think he is?” Xavier chimed in. “Will the ritual work if we take you to the last place we’re certain he was?”

Leslie: "The further I am from him, the longer this'll take. So if you have any idea, any location. I'm accustomed to porters, not..." He gestured to the demon.

Xavier/Ramsay: Now it was Ramsay’s turn to chime in.

He gave Leslie a little wave and tipped an invisible hat. “That’d be me, then. We can tell you where the professor last was and where his phone last was but nothing more.”

Xavier nodded. “There’s no trace that we can defect.”

Mason/Leslie: Again his fingers twitched, fleeting confusion in his eyes and brows. There was something lost on him when the demon spoke, but he would not say.

"Alright." One last thing, then. He turned back to the kitchen and grabbed a granola bar from a basket of snacks, pocketed.

"Let's go." He looked to the porter expectantly, sniffed.

"First one's free," Mason said, grabbing the witch by the shoulder and disappearing back to the road in New York.

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay didn’t get a chance to even begin his ritual before Mason and the mage disappeared. “Oi! What the—!”

Xavier just shook his head and took John’s hand. It wasn’t what he would have done but he could hardly blame his brother for being impatient. He only hoped it hadn’t swayed the mage from helping them.

“Never mind, John. You can bring him back when he’s done. Are you ready?”

Ramsay nodded. “Go on.”

Presuming Mason hadn’t seen the point in going back to the alley behind the hotel, Xavier returned them to the highway.

Mason/Leslie: They would find the witch hunched over a young tree, head down and knees bent. Had been so long since teleportation, so long since seeing Charles that his body seemed to have forgotten.

But he forced himself upright, took a deep uneven breath through his nose, and spit.

His back remained to the group as he set to work. A bone and gold folding knife was pulled from pocket and opened, used to tear pieces of the flesh paper. The delicate sounds of ripping stifled by the relentless traffic.

He held his hand out again.

"This is all we have," said Mason.

"It's all I'll need," Leslie replied.

The vial was finally handed off, opened, and dripped onto the small bit of parchment. Just two drops. The calfskin was folded over itself and placed underneath the mage's tongue.

At once he crumbled. Shoulders rounded dead weight. Sitting upright on his knees by sheer force of will. Every muscle in his body felt loose. Throat dry. Breathing even and yet not enough. They might not understand his actions, but punching his own chest was important. Just maybe Charles would feel the same.

Charles: His eyes snapped open, wide and red-rimmed. White light blazed from everywhere. His gasp was more a strangled wheeze. His throat was on fire. His chest. He reached for the tubing he could feel grating against his throat, but his hand stopped short.

He was... bound. Bound. Arms. Legs. Chest. He twisted against his restraints. The hammering of his heart was matched by shrill beeping that drowned out all thought.

No. He could think. Despite the searing brightness, he let his gaze sweep first one way and then another. He was in... an ambulance? And he was moving. Bound to a gurney going God knew where. He renewed his efforts to fight against the straps that lashed him.

A gentle voice let out a string of curses from behind him. He'd only just made note of the IV needle sticking from his arm when a pair of gloved hands pierced the injection port with a syringe full of... something.

And the world went dark once more.

Xavier/Ramsay: Easily avoided nausea, Xavier thought as he joined his brother. Not that he would say a word or allow that thought any sort of projection. He had absolutely no room to judge Mason's impatience.

And besides, his time was better spent observing what he could of the utterly fascinating spell the mage was performing.

Blood, paper, and proximity. Was the spell forging a connection? Was it allowing the mage to see what Charles saw? If it was the former, the spell was not unlike the bond between familiar and magic user. If it was the latter, this might be a bit more difficult.

Beside him, Ramsay was observing just as closely, with just as much fascination.

Mason/Leslie: Long fingers slid over his chest, rubbed and scratched at his throat, then fell to his arm, rubbing with the same gentle vigor. Something was crawling all over him - Charles. Him.

This was only his second use of the tracking spell. Botan Nowicki didn't even make the attempt. He didn't need to. Seemed to know where everything was at all times. A twist of his finger and he had his answers, always. Something about his grasp on primal energy. The Ether mage would have been useful. He owed Charles that much.

At this moment, Leslie's confidence was only a budding remnant. The last time he had been sent on a hunt he had been caught, forced into a boon.

Three fingers rubbed against his temple, head tilting and eyes closing. Deep breath. No time for that.

"How long has it been since he was here?"

"An hour," was just off the top of Mason's head.

Judging the road, this seemed a major highway. "Take me... take me 80 miles that way."

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay was quicker this time. He was at Leslie's side in a flash, situating himself between the mage and any funny ideas Mason might have of more teleportation. "X, can you--?"

"Already checking." Xavier pulled up a map on his phone and input the distance they'd need to go and checked to see what was around. Even though it was night and they had the cover of darkness, they couldn't just appear in an area that might be potentially crowded with people.

He scanned the area for a safe landing spot and showed it to Ramsay. "Here."

The witch nodded. "Right then. Come on, you lot."

Mason/Leslie: Leslie looked between the two, to the man that had already outstretched his hand to take him, held off by his rescuers. Only to realize he didn't know either of their names.

"Leslie," he muttered. "What - What kind of porter are you? I don't feel... feel any nodes here."

Xavier/Ramsay: "John Ramsay, at your service," said the witch, giving Leslie a quick, boyish grin as he pointed to one of the many rings on his fingers. "The kind that carries a different sort of magic. We'll swap stories later." When circumstances were less dire and when he wasn't certain Mason would take a shot at him if he didn't make haste.

After ensuring that they were all together, Ramsay completed his ritual and took them all precisely 80 miles away, as Leslie had requested.

Their landing spot was another alley, abandoned save for a few rats scrounging their dinner from a pile of garbage.

Mason/Leslie: Sounded like a protagonist from an epic tale. A throwaway thought as he watched the porter create his spell. So different from Tyson Wright. It was a wonder he could do anything next to a major highway, but that was also a pending thought as they disappeared and reappeared. Much less nausea, but the same flip of his insides as he was accustomed.

He forced himself to his feet. Fingers gravitated to his temple again, but this time was pulled away. They didn't belong there. They didn't belong anywhere. He itched at his wrists and turned, absorbing their surroundings.

"Well?"

"Patience," said Leslie, gently. "We're heading in the right direction."

The witch readjusted his jaw, felt at his mouth with his tongue, and began the ritual over.

Xavier: It suddenly struck Xavier that they were going through roughly the same experience Abel had gone through the night he had rescued Xavier from the church.

Was this how his familiar had felt, wandering with desperate purpose to find him? Not knowing what was going to meet him at the end of his journey? They had the benefit of having each other but Abel had been alone.

Xavier took a deep breath. He’d never be able to repay what he owed.

“Which way next?” he asked quietly after a few moments had passed.

Mason/Leslie: "Need to walk."

Mason's hands had become fists.

"We don't have this kind of time."

Leslie could understand where this was coming from; he wasn't the one feeling Charles' itches, dry throat, and silent mind. He was running on faith in a man he barely trusted.

"Look, you came to me for a reason." Venomous words hesitated on his lips, tingled his tongue, but he just couldn't. "Please, trust me. What I'm feeling... gets muddled when... " He closed his eyes, pointed forward. He wasn't going to finish that sentence and frighten the group. "We're walking." He needed to feel something again. Charles was... not there. Not entirely.

Xavier/Ramsay: “Let him work,” Xavier said to his brother, daring to pat his shoulder. They couldn’t do anything if they didn’t know where Charles was and to know where he was, they needed to trust Leslie.

“Walking then,” said Ramsay, falling into step beside his fellow witch. “Just say when we need to make another leap.”

Mason/Leslie: Like touching a rounded brick. The attempt wasn't lost on Mason, just underappreciated in the moment.

Another leap would take nearly fifteen minutes. Northeast was all wrong. He turned north five minutes in, then west after that.

"What's the other chap's name?" he whispered to Ramsay.

Ramsay: The only thing stopping Ramsay from asking a barrage of questions was his reluctance to disrupt the witch's focus. Plenty of time to ask what he wanted to ask after they'd gotten the professor back safe.

In the meantime, silent observation was his lot.

"Hm?" Ramsay frowned, confused. "That's Xavier, Mason's brother. He said you'd met before."

Leslie: Leslie stopped dead in his tracks, making no attempt to hide his confusion nor his stare at the man called Xavier.

"You're Xavier Atlas?"

Xavier: Xavier stopped as well, regarding Leslie with an identical look of confusion before it dawned on him that, like nearly everyone in his life, the mage had met him before he'd gotten a new face. Although in this particular case, the lack of a meaningful connection between them meant that this realization didn't cause the dread it normally did.

The demon nodded. "Yes. I looked different when we met at my brother's wedding."

Leslie: There was a sense of relief that he wasn't mistaken. Wasn't losing all of his mind through this spell. Seeing faces perhaps influenced by Charles.

Leslie gave a singular nod, a deep breath, and pointed west.

"If one of you could... We need many miles that way."

Xavier/Ramsay: If only it was always that simple, Xavier thought to himself. He couldn't complain too much, however. It had gotten easier over the past two years.

"How many is many?" Ramsay asked, already preparing his ritual. "Another eighty?"

Leslie: Eighty miles in an hour, now considering the minutes lost, and the possibility of inhuman means, it couldn't be just any outrageous distance. Charles was closer now than before.

"We'll start with fifty."

Xavier/Ramsay: "Right you are then."

Like before, Xavier pulled up the map and found them a safe landing spot before Ramsay enacted his ritual. This time it was an industrial area not unlike the one Xavier's warehouse was located in.

Mason/Leslie: Each and every transportation was a test of Mason's will not to grab the witch by the shoulder and move them along. Limited the same way as Xavier; he couldn't simply will himself where he had never stood before. This was the leg of the journey where they relied entirely upon the power of witchcraft. But every step was now a memory etched in his teleportational power.

A name crossed his mind once more. A name he believed fortified behind a thousand bricks.

"Do y'all feel anything?" Leslie whispered.

Xavier: Xavier wasn’t all too pleased about the speed at which they were moving either but they had no choice. It would take far longer to wander around aimlessly than it was taking to be methodical.

At Leslie’s question, Xavier cocked his head and closed his eyes. Listening. Feeling. Reading the air.

After a moment, he shook his head. “Plenty, but not Charles. No magic save ours.”

Mason/Leslie: The witch turned to face the group.

"I can't get very far right now. I had him. I had him for a moment. I was able to... to wake him up."

"What do you mean wake him up?"

"He was... unconscious. That's all I know."

"You're telling me this now?"

"He's not dead," Leslie said, firmly. "I'd... I'd know that."

"What else are ya not tellin' me?"

Leslie shifted from one heel to another, rubbed at his nose before locking eyes. "Until he wakes up, there's - there's other methods, but they take time. We could reach out to Bo, maybe -"

"I've had about enough of fuckin' mages."

Xavier: "Mai," Xavier interjected softly. "We're closer to Charles now than we were before. I know we're not moving as quickly as you want us to be moving but we're making progress. Even if you can't bring yourself to trust Leslie, trust Charles."

He turned to the mage. "You said you can't get very far. Does that mean you can't track him at all or that tracking is slower because he's unconscious?"

Xavier fully expected every word he said to Mason to fall on deaf ears and depending on Leslie's answer, Xavier was going to have to make a decision, and quickly.

Mason/Leslie: "It's not impossible, but... I had him. For a moment I had him." To have lost him after the punch meant something. For a moment, he debated another solid knock to the bruise he had caused, but his gut told him not to. If they had given him something, beaten him, another force to his chest would only add to his pain.

All speculation, which was agony. And the mention of Bo had him realize he had left his phone.

"Fuck. Mason, please. We know where to return. We can find Bo. I'm - I'm sure he can help us."

"You were supposed to help." But the venom wasn't quite there. His attention was on his brother.

"Take him wherever. I've got an idea I'm gonna look into."

Xavier: Something made Xavier take his brother’s hand. A gut feeling, a premonition, something. He didn’t know. He didn’t question it. He just took Mason’s hand and squeezed it.

“Don’t do anything that’ll break Charles’ heart,” Xavier whispered, searching Mason’s eyes for any indication of what he was thinking. “Don’t do anything stupid. I can’t lose you on top of everything else. Promise me that I won’t.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie squinted as he watched the brothers huddle, trying to remember the exact shape of the man he had seen at Charles' wedding. Had to be the situation they found themselves in, but he couldn't remember a thing. Only that the body he inhabited better suited him.

Focusing on Xavier's pale and pointed face washed a sense of calm over his entire being. This was not the first desperate time in his life, and it would not be his last.

"If we don't move, there won't be a heart to break," Mason whispered.

"Wait. Wait, wait. We've already said he's not... he's not -," Leslie sniffed, rubbed his face with both hands. He didn't want to finish that sentence yet again.

"We have time. There's another spell, but it takes time."

"Ya said that. And I said-"

"You've had enough of mages. Right. The longer we stand here the longer this'll take. I need you with me for this spell."

Xavier: Xavier looked between Mason and Leslie and squeezed his brother's hand harder. "Please, Mai. We've made it this far. He's Charles' friend, he cares about finding him." Otherwise why would Leslie have agreed to help? "You don't have to like him, you just have to trust that he's acting in Charles' best interest."

Xavier hardly knew why he was advocating so strongly for this mage whose skill he had no firsthand knowledge of. He just knew that if someone like Charles trusted him enough to call him a friend, he had to be worth his salt in at least one regard.

"What do you require for this spell?" he asked Leslie.

Mason/Leslie: The road to Hell was paved with good intentions. Just look at himself. Intentions only got someone so far.

Only just realizing Xavier still had his hand, Mason withdrew from the trio with a roll of eyes.

Remembering his lesson with Logan, Leslie knew exactly what to say.

"A ring. Has to be a real stone, green, and shiny enough to see your reflection." This was said to Mason, attention on his expression, his willingness. "You're going to have to sacrifice something. Has to be something valuable enough to hate giving up. Something that'll make you cry."

He recalled the phone call he had with his mother that day with Logan. You don't put yourself in danger. Give her the ring and send her on her way.

She would absolutely have a conniption right now.

"I've got everything else at home. These two items need to come from you."

Mason knew immediately what he needed to give, and his expression was everything bleak because of it.

"Fine. Let's fuckin' go."

Xavier: Only a situation as dire as this could turn an eyeroll into a small ray of hope. Xavier knew that coming from Mason, it was as close as they were going to get to an affirmation. He'd take it.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Xavier asked his brother, feeling such a reluctance and dread at the thought of leaving him alone. Why, he couldn't say. Maybe to stop him in case he did anything stupid. Maybe just to keep him in his sights. "Ramsay can take Leslie back to his house to get whatever he needs ready."

Mason: Mason refused to look at anyone but nodded just the same. A finger was pointed at Ramsay.

"Ya take him back, we'll meet ya there."

Xavier was given a pointed look. He had anger to spare, and no one to throw it at. His brother seemed a right punching bag at the moment, and took considerable willpower to keep his venom to himself.

"I've got some shit in New Orleans. Might be a ring there."

Xavier/Ramsay: "I'll steal one if there isn't, it's fine." Xavier kept his voice quiet and carefully neutral. Mason's anger was a palpable thing that practically made the air shimmer with its intensity like heat waves in the dead of summer. His temper was on a hair trigger, and Xavier knew that, unintentionally or otherwise, he'd set it off before the night or even the hour was up.

It made no never mind. Better he take the hits or the punches or the insults than Leslie.

"Let's go. John."

Ramsay nodded, beginning his ritual to take Leslie back to Edenton while the brothers went off to New Orleans.

Mason/Leslie: Today was not the day Mason gave any shit about thievery, but he didn't have the energy to say anything worthwhile in any measure. Only looking at his brother with the assumption they were about to argue over which would use their magick.

And when Xavier pushed them south, Mason didn't say a damn thing. With Lawrence in their company, he had enough energy for the next.

Mason pushed past the front step and to the door, which swung open with a dismissive flick of his hand.

"Shoulda said somethin' sooner," he muttered.

A hand was waved at Xavier. "Not you," he motioned to his head. "Down in the library. That angel from - before ya." Arguably before both guests in his house. "He kept a box of bullshit. Think he had a ring."

Leslie's hand flicked nervously upon returning. He didn't expect to see his boyfriend or his daughters, but he was looking both ways as he crossed the yard, expecting to see someone in the herb garden. Half the town had an open invitation. Didn't hurt to be cautious, but he knew this was nerves.

"Talk to me, please. I don't know many, uh, not Verbena."

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier simply nodded and made his way downstairs.

It wasn’t remotely of importance but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering—privately—how anyone could stomach decorating with this much white. Walls were one thing but everything else?

Small, useless thoughts to occupy his mind while he helped his brother look for this box and the ring it hopefully contained.

The atmosphere felt much less fraught without Mason’s looming presence, although the same probably couldn’t be said for Xavier, Ramsay mused.

But it was precisely those thoughts that had him saying, “Wanna start a pool about how long it takes Mason to deck one of us and which one he decks first?”

Mason/Leslie: If only Xavier knew. This apartment had been decorated with someone else in mind. The same someone this box once belonged to. Someone Mason never gave a second thought to until this very moment, thankful to have lived with a magpie with angelic wings, however briefly, to save the man that truly mattered.

"A book box," Mason muttered, feeling at each of the books surrounding the little nook area.

"It'll most likely be me. He's not going to strike his brother, and you're too close to Xavier," Leslie explained as simply as a weather prediction.

A modest hammered copper cauldron was pulled from underneath his altar. He looked over his shoulder to the wood. Just a few logs left. The spell required oak. His hands flicked again as he crossed the living room to the fireplace, tossing a blue fireball onto the single log within.

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier nodded, brow furrowed as he considered the reading nook. If it were him, and he had a box disguised as a book among his other books, he'd put it within easy reach.

He checked the shelves closest to the seat, mirroring his brother and feeling all the books until he came across one that was off.

It was pulled off and shaken to check for a rattle from within.

"Found it."

Ramsay snorted. "You haven't spent enough time with these brothers, mate. They get along now but before?" He gave a long, low whistle. "Trust you me, Mason's got no problem lumping his brother one. But..."

He considered for a moment, nodded. "Yeah, it'll probably be you first if we don't move quick enough. But you're also his hubby's mate, so maybe not. Five bucks it's you first, ten it's Xavier first."

The witch stretched and looked around. "Need any help? I'm good at hunting and gathering."

Mason/Leslie: "Partially burned oak, a cauldron, the words, the item, the ring - this won't work if Mason doesn't allow it." He could do it. He knew he could do it because he had utilized the spell before. He had more now than he had then. This would work. It had to.

He wasn't much concerned about placing an actual bet. Felt rather callous considering the situation, but would not shun what he assumed was a man's coping mechanism.

The moment the box had rattled, Mason had crossed the room to snatch it from Xavier's hands. Urgency, not malice.

Within was an old assortment of magpie treasures. Shirt buttons, a gold tooth, a splintered angelic feather, the tip of an angel's blade, a thimble, and there, as Mason had hoped, were two rings. A bent dirty gold band with the name Robert Hooper 1979 etched within, and a heavy solid jade ring.

The book box was tossed onto the cushion. The ring was examined and tested on his middle finger.

"Let's go."

Xavier/Ramsay: Leslie gave Ramsay far too much credit. His callousness wasn't so much a coping mechanism as a bid to bring levity, which in his mind was absolutely essential. Levity re-centered. It shifted focus back where it was needed. Tunnel vision, while useful, often caused more problems than it solved.

"Guessing that's oak then," he said nodding toward the fire. "So how does this spell you're gonna do work? Why does Mason need to sacrifice something?"

If Xavier didn't know any better, he'd think the box belonged to Vincent. Although there weren't nearly enough rocks for that to be the case.

In any event, they'd found what they were looking for.

"Lead the way."

Mason/Leslie: Leslie simply nodded, circling his hand over the fire to extinguish the flame slowly. His hand hovered, quietly urging the embers to cool.

"Powerful spells like this need an equivalent exchange. Being able to track what you want whenever you want sounds fantastic at first until you realize anyone can have it. Someone that shouldn't. Someone hiding from a monster has nowhere to go."

And he was giving this to a demon, rather than creating one for himself. He didn't know how far Mason would allow him to travel, and he didn't know what he would sacrifice. He didn't want to think about it. It was selfish, and -

"I'll be back." He was heading back upstairs.

Leading the way meant back to Edenton. Back to the dirt driveway and the A-frame cabin. Appearing without warning, his hand on his brother's shoulder.

"When we find him, ya gonna stop me from gettin' my hands bloody?"

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay nodded along as Leslie spoke. “Makes sense. So does that mean that Mason is going to be the only one who’s able to use it once it’s done?” He had about a hundred more questions but they didn’t have time to get into all of them. Still, he had to indulge his academic curiosity just a little.

“All right then. I’ll be here.”

They were fortunate to be doing all this zipping around at night. Had it been day, they would’ve been spotted ten times over.

Xavier turned to his brother and shook his head. “No. Are you going to stop me from helping?”

Mason: Luckily they had minimal cloud coverage to excuse away the sudden thunder and unhinged lightning scattering across the night's sky with every unrestrained transportation. This was not the night for wasted energy.

"What's your version of help tonight?"

Xavier: Xavier looked up, considering the night sky, wondering if the magic users among Edenton’s citizens would be on high alert.

“Whatever you need.”

Mason: "I need fuckin' blood." Vengeance in one hand, with his husband in his other arm. "When we get inside n'I do this spell, I don't need ya sayin' shit t'me, okay? Just... don't stop me."

Xavier: Xavier nodded. He knew when he’d pushed his luck as far as it would go and begging Mason to allow Leslie to do this spell had been the tipping point. Anything beyond was a fool’s errand.

“Understood,” he said quietly.

Mason/Leslie: Leslie was returning downstairs by the time the demons walked through his living room. The door had been left unlocked on purpose. On a night like tonight it was necessary, though he would be considering wards in the near future.

The witch pinched the bridge of his nose, sniffed, and sighed. Both hands combed through his hair and nodded his greeting.

"Let's get started."

The oak, still considerably warm to the touch, was placed diagonally in the copper cauldron. The witch then took to his knees on one side, gesturing to Mason on the other.

"What have you brought to sacrifice?"

The demon only hesitated a moment. Hand hovering over the collar of his shirt.

"Has to be something you're going to regret." Leslie felt a need to emphasize. "This spell will fail otherwise."

Dark eyes closed. His shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a raised X scar over his heart. The sight caused the Verbena to straighten, feeling more inexplicably alive in those seconds than he had since their arrival.

"What - "

A knife was pulled from a sheath in Mason's boot, the tip brought directly to the edge of the scar and circled. No screams, no curses, only heavy panting as he turned from the group to finish carving.

Xavier/Ramsay: Until Leslie asked the question, it hadn’t hit Xavier that he and Mason hadn’t retrieved anything but the ring. That meant that whatever Mason was going to sacrifice was something already on his person.

Xavier wouldn’t get a chance to wonder what that could be, however, because the moment the thought formed in his mind, Mason was undoing his shirt. Then, before there was time to process the scar on his chest, there was a blade in Mason’s hand and in the next breath, the blade was carving into his flesh.

This was why Mason had asked his brother not to say anything or try to stop him. This had always been his intention.

Even though Mason angled his body away, Xavier still turned his head and closed his eyes. It wasn’t the sound so much as the mental image it conjured. He tried taking a deep breath but the smell of burnt wood lingering in the air only made it worse.

He barely lasted a moment before he was practically bolting out the door.

Ramsay started to go after him but instead opted to turn to Leslie, face grim.

“Where do you keep your cups?” he asked quietly, trying his best to ignore what Mason was doing in his periphery.

Leslie: This was not the Verbena's first time seeing blood. The witch didn't so much as flinch his eye. Blood was the reason he wasn't known as a Hermetic mage. Blood was why he could transform into an owl with relative ease.

And there was nothing he could do to heal a demon, so he didn't bother offering. Only looking up as Ramsay spoke, pointing towards the kitchen.

"First cabinet when you walk in."

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay nodded once and headed for the kitchen. He got a glass from the indicated cabinet, filled it with water, and went after Xavier.

It didn’t surprise him to find the demon retching a little ways away from the house or to see him shaking and struggling to breathe in between.

Ramsay simply rubbed his back and waited for Xavier to get everything out. “You’re okay,” he murmured in a voice he’d only used with his younger siblings and Devlin when he was a baby. “You’re all right. You’re not there anymore, I promise. You’re right here with me, right here.”

He offered Xavier the glass. “Rinse out your mouth.”

Mason/Leslie: Mason could think of nothing else, do nothing else until Charles' gift was removed from his body. A scar lovingly seared onto his skin with holy water on December 9th, 2019. By the time his skin was removed he was in tears. Less for the horrific mutilation; he was in mourning.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, choking on his own words. His palm pressed hard into his wound, utilizing Lawrence's pyromancy to burn the wound closed. It would make do for the time being.

"What the fuck now?"

Leslie took a breath through tight lips. "Now, you need to think about him. Think about why you're doing this. Every intention focused on your hands. While I'm chanting, place the ring, then your skin."

Leslie held his hands on either side of the cauldron.

“What is lost will now be found. With my magick you are bound. With my magick you are tied. Where you are, you cannot hide.”

The log reignited with the with the placement of the ring. The unburnt piece fell to the side as that within crumbled to ash. Blue-green flames rose in anticipation of the sacrifice. The stench was as unpleasant as it was familiar to both witch and demon.

Xavier/Ramsay: They each had their own methods for helping Xavier get through these rough episodes. They being what MJ called their coterie, of course. Ramsay may not have had the most delicate touch, but he knew what he was about nonetheless.

After all, there had been ample opportunities to practice.

He continued to rub Xavier's back even after he straightened, encouraging him to finish the glass of water after he'd rinsed his mouth out. Getting that breathing under control was the next order of business, then the shaking. Ramsay regrettably didn't have his tried and true method of calming on him at the moment, so counting breaths would have to do.

When Xavier had calmed, Ramsay pulled out his cigarette case and lighter. "Let's get that taste out of your mouth. Menthol or clove?"

"Menthol," Xavier said absently, staring off at nothing.

A menthol cigarette was lit and handed over, then a second for himself.

"Gonna finish this and then I'm gonna head inside," Ramsay said after the first drag. "You just stay here, okay? I'll come get you when we have to move again." He took Xavier's free hand and rested it on the grass they were sitting on. "You're not in the church anymore. You've got grass under your feet. Not carpet, not stone. Just grass. You're okay. You're here with me and your brother. You're safe."

Xavier nodded and fisted his hand in the grass.

"There's a lad." Ramsay squeezed the demon's shoulder and joined him in staring at nothing.

A few minutes later, he slipped back inside without a word.

Leslie: The spell was complete by the time Ramsay returned. Every speck of ash cleared from the cauldron, absorbed into the ring itself. The air was clear of the stench of burning flesh; the house had the same scent as before the ritual. The scent of pastries, lavender, cedar, and only a trace of the fireplace.

Leslie was slumped on the kitchen floor. An apple in one hand and the crumbled wrapper of a granola by his hip. He was staring off at nothing, the demon nowhere to be found.

Ramsay: Ramsay’s brow furrowed. Had Mason already run off to rescue Charles?

The witch took the empty glass to the kitchen, only to find yet another person with a thousand-yard stare.

“Mason take off or did he go take care of his wound?” he asked, going over to the sink to wash the glass. He almost hoped for the former.

Mason/Leslie: Leslie just shook his head and took another bite of his apple. He motioned to the back door and dropped his hand to his lap with dead weight.

"Testing the ring. Looking for his brother."

Which he had, with ease. Following the pulse of green light on the ground creating the most direct walkable route to Xavier's feet.

Xavier/Ramsay: The witch nodded. He doubted it would happen, but he really hoped Mason wasn’t looking for Xavier just to make him feel worse.

“What about you?” he asked Leslie. “You good, mate? No offense but you look like you’re about to keel over.”

Xavier wasn’t hard to find. Ramsay had sat him on the lawn close to the house and that’s exactly where he’d remained. One hand in the grass and the other on a cigarette.

He looked up at his brother’s approach, eyes falling to his chest.

Mason/Leslie: His shirt partially hid his wound, his hand covered the rest. Keeping pressure over his heart did little, but it was a comfort.

"It works." He didn't know what else to say. His warning hadn't been given in anticipation of this response. He just stood there, waiting for some reaction.

Meanwhile, Leslie shook his head with embarrassment.

"Diabetic. Working on it." In more ways than one.

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier nodded. That was part of the battle done and dusted.

He finally let go of the grass to offer his brother a cigarette. He looked like he could use it.

“Ahhhh.” Ramsay nodded. “That apple gonna be enough? Seems like a job for a sandwich.”

Mason/Leslie: "There's grape juice in the uh - the fridge. Please. Don't need a glass."

The cigarette was given the deepest inhale Mason could muster.

"I dunno what I'm supposed to say," he confessed.

Xavier/Ramsay: “You got it.” Ramsay got the juice and handed it over, taking a seat beside Leslie. Apparently it was a ‘sit on the floor while you got yourself together’ kind of night.

Xavier shook his head and lit another. “You don’t have to say anything. Do you need something to heal the wound faster?”

Mason: "I'll fuck with it when it's over. We need to get movin'. The witch's done. We're leavin' him here."

Xavier: Xavier nodded and got to his feet. “Are you opposed to John joining us?”

Mason: "Is your man gonna get his hands dirty or not?"

Xavier: Another nod. “Yes. He has before and he’s willing again.”

Mason: "Fine." The more energy between them the better. But he looked at his brother again. Really looked at him.

"Just leave him with me. Ya should go home."

Xavier: “I don’t need to go home, I’m fine.” He’d done a lot more feeling a lot worse than this. He wasn’t exactly the image of composure and vengeful intent he would’ve liked to be but no one got what they wanted all the time.

Besides, being a little pale and a bit haunted-looking behind the eyes wasn’t going to be a problem until he tried to sleep which was hardly a priority at the moment.

Xavier sent Ramsay a message telling him to come outside.

Mason/Leslie: He could try and be a big brother again tomorrow when his husband was someplace safe. If Xavier insisted he was fine, then that would have to be enough. For now.

"Fine," he repeated.

But it wasn't just Ramsay walking out the front door. The Verbena hobbled close behind, fiddling with the Dexcom on his arm.

Ramsay: “We all set to go then?” Ramsay asked, slipping his phone into his pocket as he approached the brothers.

Nothing seemed amiss between them. A good sign.

Mason/Leslie: A finger was pointed at the witch. "What are ya doin'?"

"I'm fine. I'm coming." Two chocolate bars were pulled from his back pocket. See? He would do fine. He'd already taken insulin. Not that it was anyone's business.

A look was given to Xavier, but he was in no position to argue.

"Let's get back."

Xavier: Xavier was hardly in a position to judge how ‘fine’ anyone was or wasn’t at the moment. If Leslie wanted in, who was he to object.

He nodded toward his brother’s hand. “Which way is the ring telling us to go?”

Mason: He was about to run out of patience, having expected Ramsay to already start his ritual. He took a forced breath. "Where we were last. Let's just fuckin' get there."

Ramsay: “Copy that,” said the witch, completing his ritual as quickly as he was able and taking the four of them back to the industrial area from which they’d departed earlier.

Mason/Leslie: Leslie would have his fill of this mode of transportation for a year if he could help it, but he knew it wouldn't last that long with Charles' return. Everything was about the next moment, and then the next moment. He didn't know how he'd feel when finally laying eyes on Charles. Even now, he'd yet to process his feelings.

Mason's hand was out in front of him the moment they arrived, and Leslie began tearing into the skin parchment for his own tracking spell. One would point the direction while the other signaled their nearness.

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay was just here to play his role as magical chauffeur. He’d take them where they pointed and in between, he’d stick to Xavier’s side like glue and check up on him as subtly as he was able.

For his part, Xavier was glad to assist in finding them safe landing places for every leap they made, all the while wondering what it was exactly that they were about to walk into. Not that it really mattered. Whatever it was, it would be dealt with swiftly and violently and at Mason’s hand.

Charles: It was the chill in the air that woke him. Slowly, at first, then all at once. His pulse spurred into a gallop as the night’s events flashed through his mind. It took a few moments of measured breathing to settle into the quiet calm that he’d mastered over the decades. Panic would solve nothing. If he wanted to get himself out of… whatever this was, he needed to think.

When the roil of his emotions had been shoved deep beneath a placid surface, Charles opened his eyes.

Blinking against harsh fluorescent light, his gaze swept slowly from side to side. He appeared to be in a hospital room. Though small and sterile, it seemed to have been designed with some degree of comfort in mind. The bottom half of the otherwise white walls were painted a soothing mint green. A tan armchair sat to one side, below a blandly abstract painting of interlocking shapes. The small white drawer on the opposite side of his bed held a carafe of water and a glass, along with a vase of cheerful yellow tulips.

Indeed, the entire space was about as welcoming as a medical setting could be. He might have thought himself safely recovering from a timely rescue, had it not been for the restraints that held him fast to the bed. He snorted softly at the irony.

There were no windows to be found, but a door sat closed on the left side of the wall opposite him. Closed and locked, no doubt. He had to be in an interior room. Or perhaps underground. Far from stuffy, however, the room was positively freezing. A massive vent behind him pumped dry, icy air into the small space.

That explained the gooseflesh that had pimpled along the skin of his exposed forearms.

Odd.

Yes, his forearms were bare. He took another deep breath and swallowed bile as he realized that he’d been changed from his comfortable, academic attire into loose cotton trousers and shirt, both pale blue. His shoes were gone. As were each of his rings. There would be no summoning Mason to his aid.

Charles/Haine: He let his eyes shut for a moment, refusing to let thoughts of his husband send him into a spiral. He had no idea how much time had passed since his abduction, but surely Mason was aware of his absence, by now. The worry his husband must have been experiencing didn’t bear dwelling on. Not if Charles wanted to remain steady enough to get back to him.

With yet another calming breath, he resumed his quiet examination. He pushed past the beginnings of a migraine to unfurl his power. The utter silence that greeted him was no surprise, but he still swallowed bitter disappointment. Beneath pleasantly painted plaster, the room must have been lined with psionic blocking panels.

His gaze had just snagged on the steady tally light of a surveillance camera in one corner of the room, when the sound of a bolt clicking had his head snapping to the door.

He kept his expression perfectly bland as a man stepped into the room. He was dressed as any practicing physician might be, pressed grey slacks and blue shirt beneath a crisply white lab coat. A dull metal band encircled his head, and the telepath knew without checking that it was a psionic blocker.  He was perhaps two decades Charles’ senior, his salt-and-pepper hair trimmed short and perfectly pomaded into place.

Under less fraught circumstances, Charles would’ve found him distractingly attractive.

The man’s greeting smile was broad and warm, bright hazel eyes crinkling at their corners. There wasn’t a hint of duplicity in his expression as he approached, pulling the door shut behind him as he did. The audible ‘click’ of the lock was automatic.

“Professor Xavier!” His tone was as open and friendly as the rest of him. Charles didn’t trust him for a moment. “I’m Dr. Christopher Haine. I’ve been following your research for a very long time. Your first published article was the single most influential piece of writing on genetics in my lifetime, at least. It’s truly an honor to meet you.”

Charles/Haine: Charles sniffed at Haine’s outstretched hand, his expression still entirely indecipherable. “There are simpler ways to schedule an appointment,” he croaked. His throat flamed, raw from disuse and a breathing tube he vaguely remembered being inserted.

The doctor merely chuckled at Charles’ cheek, claiming the armchair at his bedside like he was an old friend and not his bloody kidnapper. It took effort to keep his indignation from cracking his facade.

“I suppose so. But something tells me you would have rejected my invitation before you’d had a chance to truly consider my proposition. Your little organization burning down one of my facilities and stealing the patients there sent a pretty clear message.”

Charles blinked. This man was a complete stranger to him. His team had put an end to many an operation in the past, but he preferred to avoid outright destruction. It was bad for public image, and he always wanted as few casualties as possible.

Oh.

Oh.

“New Hope,” he wheezed, the realization bringing with it a wave of icy rage. His bound hands trembled with it, and he had to clench them into fists to keep from wrestling against his restraints.

Not the team, then. Mason. Exerting himself to the point of collapse to save a group of defenseless children. Their children. Yes, that horrible place had been burnt to cinders, and Charles didn’t regret it for a second.

He shook the memories from his head, confusion cracking his careful facade. “But, Scott…”

“Ah, yes.” Haine nodded, looking unaffected at the mention of the man driven mad by his own cruelty. He waved a dismissive hand. “A wealthy donor willing to facilitate our mission. Nothing more. Though, it was unfortunate to lose his funding.”

Charles shook his head. Any hope at hiding his emotions had vanished. Disgust and ire warred for dominance on his face. “You’re a monster.”

Charles/Haine: For the first time since he’d entered the space, the kindness in Haine’s eyes seemed to falter, replaced by a fervor that bordered on delirium.

“No. No, not a monster. A doctor. A scientist. You of all people should understand, Charles. You wrote it, yourself! Mutants are the next stage of human evolution. The potential for progress is… it’s limitless! Extraordinary strength and speed, superhuman cognitive abilities, infinite cellular regeneration! Imagine if we could tap into that genetic code, Charles. If we could harness it. We’d be looking at an end to aging, to disease, t-to death itself!”

Charles stared at Haine in open horror. The manic zeal in his hazel eyes was a dark mirror of the professor’s own passion. The man truly believed himself a hero; Charles knew better. He’d never been able to forget those gruesome photos: small bodies splayed out on lab tables in various stages of dissection. He pushed those thoughts aside before he could heave up bile from his otherwise empty stomach.

“By killing children.”

“A tragedy, of course.” The bastard looked genuinely remorseful. “But a necessary one, for what we hope to achieve. Millions of lives saved. Billions!”

“How Utilitarian of you.”

“Listen, Charles, as much as I’d enjoy a good philosophical debate, that isn’t why I brought you here.”

He scoffed. “No, I suppose not.”

“Our mission is bigger than any one person. Bigger than me.” The ‘or you’ went unspoken, but Charles heard it, all the same. “Unfortunately, progress is slow, with our current recruitment methods. As you might imagine. We plan to utilize your impressive abilities to… expedite the process.”

Charles felt his heart stutter to a stop. Though Haine continued laying out his plans, the telepath could hear nothing beyond the ringing in his own head.

No.

Nonononononono.

Charles/Haine: Cold sweat broke out over his face and neck, and the ever-present chill in the room settled deep into his core. He couldn’t feel it. Nor did he note the full body tremble that had taken hold of him. He was only aware of the icy terror that had gripped him at those words. His deepest, most private fear mentioned as casually as a plan for dinner. That he’d be used as a weapon against his own people.

He’d sooner die.

Had a plan in place to do precisely that, actually. But his study, and the small handgun he kept locked away inside it, were likely hundreds of miles away from wherever he was being held.

He was shaking his head before he realized it, cutting off whatever bullshit Haine was spouting. “No. You’re completely mad if you think I’m going to hunt down mutants for your sick attempt at ‘progress’. You’d have better luck carving me up for parts, like the rest of them.”

The gentle pity in Haine’s eyes seemed genuine; Had Charles been any less than himself he may have spat in the bastard’s face.

“I don’t actually need your cooperation, Professor. Although I would prefer it. Tracking down exactly who we need would prevent unnecessary loss of life. And think how useful you could be once we retrieved them! Soothing fears and easing pain. Your help would be invaluable.”

Charles/Haine: With a soft grunt, Haine stood from the armchair. Charles flinched violently as a hand came to rest almost paternally on his shoulder. “Please do consider helping our cause willingly. I’d like to get the ball rolling as quickly as possible, either way.”

He turned toward the door with a gentle squeeze to Charles’ shoulder. And though he knew it was fruitless, the telepath lashed out toward that wicked mind with every ounce of his power. It fell harmlessly against the shield. He nearly sobbed in frustration.

Somehow, he managed to keep the emotion from his voice as he rasped, “Whatever good you think will come from the sacrifice of innocents won’t save you. You’ll be damned, regardless.”

“I don’t believe in Hell.”

“Neither did I.”

Mason/Leslie: Charles’ blood underneath his tongue was too small for an honest taste, but the flavor was an unnecessary element of the tracking spell. Still, with the next piece of ancient parchment, the witch froze in place. The air around him seemed to have dropped by twenty degrees, forcing an immediate visible shiver.

What the fuck, was muttered sotto voce as he looked to the side and behind. Looking at Ramsay for any confirmation of the change. No one else had flinched.

His throat had become dry and sore. Cleared with a cough as he massaged his wrists.

And then it all clicked.

“He’s awake.” His voice felt a distance away. He shivered again. The urge to back himself into a corner was both bizarre and impossible. They were in the middle of nowhere by now.

“Can’t you feel him? Say something to him?” He recalled having heard Charles’ voice in his mind in Edenton all the way in Cameron. Surely they were near enough for telepathy.

But the crossroad demon just shook his head.

“He would have said somethin’ by now.”

“But he is. I know he is.”

“Yeah, n’somethin’s in the way. How much closer?”

Leslie closed his eyes, forced deep breaths as he held his hand out and circled his finger as he’d seen Bo do a hundred times, hoping it would somehow encourage his magick.

“More than a day’s walk. We need another fifty miles. Go from there.”

Xavier/Ramsay: Indeed, Leslie was the only one who felt a change. Ramsay felt absolutely nothing. He was looking at him but only for guidance. The moment he noticed the change in Leslie's demeanor, however, his eyes widened. Was his fellow witch finally getting something?

Xavier visibly relaxed at the word 'awake'. Charles was awake which meant that Charles was alive. They weren't too late.

"The same direction?" the demon asked, already searching for their landing spot while Ramsay locked and loaded his ritual. There was nothing on the bloody map that pointed to any sort of anything where a person might be held. Wherever Charles was, it was either extremely well-hidden or it was underground.

He said as much to the group.

"Humans don't know to ward, so that shouldn't be a problem. A cloaking spell will help us break in even if we can't see the layout of wherever we're going."

Mason/Leslie: "I can only cloak myself." Not that that went well last time, or the time before that. Mind readers caught Leslie each and every time, but with Charles' assistance the past few years, maybe not this time.

Mason didn't want to hide shit, ready to tear the door down and take every bullet walking the path to his husband, but the very real possibility of Charles being killed rather than reclaimed steadied his impatience.

"Northwest," he managed through grit teeth.

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier shook his head. “That’s not a problem.” He had enough tricks up his sleeve to conceal all four of them to varying degrees; the question was whether or not all four of them would be requiring it.

He and Mason were bulletproof to a degree. Ramsay and Leslie were not.

“Northwest,” Ramsay repeated, taking them another fifty miles closer to Charles.

Charles: The door shut with a final ‘click’. Utterly alone, Charles released a trembling breath to fight the rising panic. He willed his pulse to slow. Any hope of getting out of this would come only with a clear head.

He inhaled for a count of five, held for a count of three, released for a count of seven. Repeated. And again. He continued the cycle as his gaze found that surveillance camera once more.

He had no way of knowing how closely he was being monitored, how quickly they’d respond to any escape attempt on his part.

Though, he didn’t actually need to escape.

If this facility was even half as well staffed as the last had been, it would be incredibly expensive to arm every individual with psionic blockers. If Charles could damage the room’s paneling just enough to seize hold of a nearby mind, he could manage the rest from there.

When one wasn’t weighed down by anxiety, hospital restraints weren’t all that difficult to get free from. He scooted to one side, stretching his left arm to its limits as he reached over the edge of the bed to the rails on the opposite side. The thick, canvas straps were tricky to unlatch with a single hand, but he managed after several tense minutes. From there, removing bindings from chest, wrist, and ankles was quick work.

The tiles beneath his feet were fucking freezing, but Charles did not let that slow him. His thoughts were swift and focused as he rounded to the end of the bed, intending to use it as a makeshift battering ram against the back wall.

He froze at the deafening ‘click’ of the lock, but only for a moment. In for a penny. He pushed the bed toward the wall at a sprint, ramming into it with a satisfying crunch of drywall. Chalky, mint-painted chunks of it fell away, just a hint of dull metal peeking through.

Charles/Haine: Grunting, he made to haul the bed back again when a familiar pair of tree-trunk arms wrapped around him.

Fuck.

He’d already learned that wriggling free from that grip was beyond his capabilities, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try. He fought fruitlessly with every ounce of his strength as he was turned to face the deep frown of Christopher Haine.

The doctor tutted, shaking his head, sounding for all the world like a disapproving father.

“Really, Charles. You disappoint me. I was hoping you’d understand the significance of our undertaking, here.” A sigh. “No matter. We have to press forward.”

Charles/Haine: His gaze shifted to the man behind him, dismissing Charles entirely. “Ian, help our Professor here back to bed. And… ensure that he can’t make a run for it. It’s really only his brain we need intact.”

The implication of that statement chilled Charles to the bone and had him redoubling his efforts for freedom. He managed to loose a single arm, ramming it back to check his captor with an elbow to the gut. A deep, gratifying grunt was his reward for the maneuver, and he used the temporary lapse to pull himself away completely, stumbling to the hard ground.

He only vaguely registered the sound of soft footsteps retreating, the shutting and locking of the door. He clambered to his feet and spun to face the man –Ian, the doctor had called him– seeing him full-on for the first time.

He was unsurprisingly massive, slate grey hair cropped close and mostly covered by a thick, black helmet. He was armed to the teeth, but didn’t bother drawing a weapon as he reached for Charles. The telepath had no time to appeal to the man’s reason, pulling back a fist to knock him hard across the jaw.

The impact was solid. Decent enough. But Ian’s answering blow had him slamming into the tile once more, vision blurred and head swimming. A second punch nearly sent him under. Ian seemed to recall Doctor Haine’s warning about keeping his brain in one piece, because the next strike was aimed towards his ribs.

A booted foot drove into his torso over and over. It was all Charles could do to scramble away, curling in on himself in a pitiful attempt to protect his vitals. Without a word, Ian hefted him bodily from the ground and dumped him onto the medical bed.

“You don’t have to do this,” Charles rasped, as he was rearranged like a ragdoll onto the firm mattress. Ribs that were most definitely cracked wailed in protest, but he ignored them. “I have a family. Two little kids that deserve to see their father again.”

Charles: Ian set about strapping him into bed once more, expression impassive. Charles changed tactics.

“What information did Haine provide about me? Whatever he’s paying you, I can double it. Triple it, even.”

In the answering silence, he briefly considered moving on to threats. But he was in no position to act on them, and Mason couldn’t possibly know where he was, yet. If he did, this place would already be ashes.

Ian pulled a set of handcuffs from one of the many pouches along his belt, shackling Charles’ right wrist to the bed. If he made a second attempt, he’d have to formulate a new plan.

Charles: At last, he was fully secured to the bed. More firmly than last time. Ian seemed to hesitate for a moment, something akin to compassion tightening the corners of his mouth. He pulled a small, black cylinder from his belt, which expanded into a baton with a flick of his wrist.

His voice was gruff, but his tone unexpectedly gentle. “I’ll try t’make it a clean break.”

Without further preamble, he swung the baton down swift and brutal over the telepath’s right shin.

Charles screamed.

Leslie: The room was acrid. The stench of incense and blood flooded Leslie’s senses the moment he entered Belmira’s bedroom. Suzette sat at the head of the bed. Merlot and green sheets bunched in Belmira’s arms curled up against the telepath’s chest, rocked like a child. It was unlike Suzette not to meet his gaze, but the circumstances – in that circumstance, he hadn’t considered anything amiss.

Belmira whispered a retelling of events. Of a man named Leo Rosa and his many violations of her mind and body. A friend of the family. The shame and guilt tore her to shreds, unable to look at him, refusing a single touch of comfort. The blood beneath her fingers, the hair still clutched in her white-knuckled fist taken by Suzette with whispered apologies.

An innocent man had been nearly ripped in two. A learned spell from the very woman to have deceived him. A man mutilated so horrifically by Leslie's hand it took the combined effort of four blood mages to mend. Suzette and Belmira had insisted they did not mean for such carnage. They did not mean for their trial to end in so much bloodshed, but not one of their coven looked to Leslie for an apology. Not Edwin, Troy, or Tonya demanded repayment in blood. They had known, the same as Suzette, what Belmira was doing. No one would speak of this incident. Leo would never remember. His crime would go unpunished. Each and every one had proven their devotion to the coven. Each one with their own private crimes. All save one. Their most loving and gentlest member.

Suzette and Belmira were left unscathed by their vulgar escapade. Never once took pity on the tears Leslie shed. They just wanted his loyalty in action. Insisting again and again this was his reality. He was their hand of vengeance, and he was beautiful.

Mason/Leslie: And here, nearly a decade later, Leslie sampled another drop of Charles Xavier’s blood. Dull blue eyes had taken on a brighter hue, glossed over and on the verge of tears he could not explain.

Mason had noticed the change in his eyes. They were his husband’s eyes, and looking at them sent shooting pain through his encrusted wound.

“Awake?”

“I’d rather not be asleep, but this is worse.”

Dark eyes lingered over the witch as the ring pulsed. More miles to go, but the pale green light had widened its path, just as Leslie had explained it would upon nearing his desire.

“Hell is hopelessness, isn’t it?”

“As far as the eyes can see.”

“I’m thinking about Hell.”

“Sayin’ he’s thinkin’ ‘bout me?”

“Thinking everything all at once.” Leslie pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. Teeth had become clamped, biting into his cheek to the point of blood. Refusing to verbally acknowledge the excruciating pain cascading up his shin to his groin and spine. These two conditions were going to collide. The increase in Leslie’s body temperature, dilated pupils, and pounding heart. No, no. Charles’ heart was already slamming into his chest. He didn’t have to play the game of which came first.

“I’ve never felt so close to him. He’s right there. Another fifty and we’re there.”

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay looked from Leslie and Mason to Xavier and gave him a grim nod. They were finally at the point of no return.

Xavier returned the nod and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a length of braided, gossamer black silk. Woven into the silk with fine gold thread was a spell in ancient Arabic that Xavier knew by heart.

"We need to conceal ourselves," he said, pulling a strand from the braid. "If Leslie is correct and fifty more miles will get us to Charles, then we're about to encounter guards and security measures from the moment we arrive. They cannot under any circumstances detect anything amiss."

The demon tied the strand of silk around Ramsay's wrist and murmured the incantation. A haze began to form over the witch as Xavier spoke that grew more and more opaque until he disappeared from view completely.

Xavier pulled another strand from the braid and held out his hand for Leslie's wrist.

Charles/Haine: He was only vaguely aware of Ian's departure. Breathing exercises to manage the pain of his fractured tibia caused his ribs to flare. The lesser evil, he supposed.

Such was his distraction, he did not realize that Haine had returned until he felt a gentle hand press to his forehead. He flinched away from that contact, and then again at the resulting pain.

"Oh, Charles. I hate to move forward with you in this condition, but you did bring this on yourself. "

Charles glared up at the man as best he could with the entire left side of his face rapidly swelling. The pain was secondary to the overwhelming rage he felt in this man's presence. He refused to dignify his false sympathy with a response.

It was a silence that he maintained even as he was wheeled from the room and into a glaringly bright hallway. They were joined by a slender woman, her thick, blonde hair twisted up into a bun and crowned with another of those fucking blockers.

Charles drowned out their clipped conversation. He struggled to ignore his pain. He was out.

Keeping his expression as impassive as he could, he unfurled his telepathy. As ever, it was the minds of his fellow mutants that shone the brightest. Their pain, anger, and despair were beacons in the dark.

He had no time for this, but he could not abandon them. He sent out a blanket soothing to every glowing mind he could reach. It would have to be enough, until he could get out of there.

He pushed his power out a bit farther, and came up against a wall. Damn. It seemed that the building itself was a barrier against his gift.

He'd have to compel someone on the inside.

Leslie: Leslie watched Xavier’s hands with a fixed expression as he worked the spell.

“We won’t be able to see each other?” was the only question that came to mind as he reached for his Dexcom, hesitating a moment before ripping the device from his arm. Everything was shut off and that would have to be enough. Abandoning his electronics completely wasn’t off the table.

That in mind, he offered his wrist.

Xavier/Ramsay: “We will,” said Xavier, tying the silk around Leslie’s wrist. “We don’t have time to get into the specifics of this spell but since the silk all comes from the same braid, we’ll be able to see and hear each other clearly. To all others we’ll be invisible and almost completely silent. Don’t speak above a whisper and you’ll be safe.”

As he repeated the incantation and Leslie began to disappear from view, Ramsay would come back into view for him.

Ramsay gave a little wave. “Neat little trick ain’t it?” he whispered.

Mason would be next.

Leslie: Leslie nodded. That was all he needed to know. A better spell than his own, by the look of things. Probably older and by the material, more expensive. Something for another day, if he would remember when the dust settles.

"Neat," Leslie swallowed. Long fingers reached out, only to retreat and rub the side of his face with a wince.

"Mason," he whispered, "something's horribly wrong."

Xavier/Ramsay: They were long past the point of wasting any time. While Xavier finished cloaking his brother and then himself, Ramsay began his ritual. They knew how far, in what direction, and exactly where they were going now.

From here on, every single move they made would have to be calculated.

Unfortunately, Xavier joined them beneath the veil of shadow just in time to hear Leslie’s ominous words.

“John,” the demon said. “We need to go now.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie was pulling his knife out as Xavier spoke. Everyone was mentally and magically preparing and the Verbena was no exception. He expected someone would comment about the thin spiral he was cutting into his forearm, but there would be no explanation this time. Neither would there be for the removal of his boots and socks.

Mason had yet to say a word. Knowing the witch felt akin to his husband, knowing he was just within reach, in pain, possibly terrified - the demon was someplace else entirely. Reaching down into that place disallowed in Charles' presence. That circle of Hell belonging to him, where actions had no consequence.

Lawrence knew every image. That place never to have been, recognized only by the depths of his soul. The two were one in agreement.

What appeared before them was not at all what Leslie had expected. His knife was put away, hands quietly clapped and rubbed together, expanding outwards to test the strength of Quintessence.

"Ramsay?"

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier and the map he’d been consulting had been correct: Charles was being held underground.

In the demon’s experience, the more unassuming something appeared to be on the outside, the more dangerous and insidious it was on the inside. Effort had been made to make this place impossible to find and attract as little attention as possible. Whoever was in charge hadn’t even bothered to put a single guard outside.

Of course, human guards wouldn’t have been equipped to handle what had arrived at their doorstep even if they had been present.

“Yeah?” Ramsay whispered. He was staring intently at the door and twirling the ring on his pinky.

Charles: There.

A lab tech taking blood samples from a young man with a striking pair of antlers. He couldn't have been older than twenty. Charles seethed, but he would not allow himself to be distracted from his goal.

Without a psionic blocker, it was laughably easy to slip into his mind. He seized full control. Never mind the ethics of his actions. Desperate times.

The tech's eyes went glassy and his hands stilled at their task. Without a word, he left the exam room, leaving the door ajar for the confused boy to go free, if he chose.

A quick rifle through the man's thoughts and Charles knew precisely where he was. If he could just open the bunker doors, he stood a slim chance of signaling for help.

Leslie: “If… something happens to me,” Leslie swallowed, “could you please tell Tristan Seger what happened. We live together. He’ll worry.” A horrible goodbye, but it would have to suffice, should this go terribly wrong. So long as he could feel Charles Xavier, this wasn’t a hopeless endeavor. Tristan would understand. He hoped he would understand.

The people within had to believe in something. There was enough Quintessence in the area to carry his magic as if in the presence of his coven. Of course; if these people believed in Charles Xavier’s existence, then their logic had to expand beyond that of the average sleeper. But still, despite this, he could not feel a single ward.

“Y’all don’t feel anything either?” he whispered, already having to catch up with Mason's pointed gait.

Xavier/Ramsay: "Oi," Ramsay chided, turning to Leslie with hands on his hips. "None of that. Nothing's gonna happen to you, you hear me? Only five people are walkin' out of the heart of bloody darkness and it's gonna be us four and the prof, not one of them fuckin' wankstains in there doin' god knows what. The body count's gonna be on their side, not ours." Words that were sincerely meant, even if they were said in a whispered shout.

Xavier's silence could very reasonably be interpreted as him feeling out the energy of the place before them, his furrowed brow merely an indication of his concentration.

He shook his head at Leslie's question, falling into step beside him. "Nothing," he confirmed in a whisper. "They're not using magic as we are. Can you still feel Charles? Mason's ring should lead us straight to him, yes?"

Charles: He'd lost hold of the lab tech for a moment or two, distracted as he was wheeled into a poor imitation of Hank's original psionic amplifier. Tiny needles had slid beneath the membrane-thin skin of his temples and he'd writhed against the intrusion, despite his body's throbbing protests.

But he'd regained control. He prayed to any entity listening that he would be able to reach the outside world before he no longer belonged to himself.

The massive metal doors slid open, revealing an exasperated looking guard, gesturing with his weapon at the quiet night air.  He glared down at a short, auburn haired young man in a lab coat.

"I told you there's nothing out there. We're not due for another delivery for three days. And nobody told me about an extra supply drop. You need to get back inside."

From his confines, Charles reached out desperately for the nearest mind.

Mason/Leslie: Ramsay was given a look as they walked. There was every reason to believe something could happen to one of them. After all, Charles was here. The Charles. Their Charles. A man capable of controlling minds and speaking telepathically for hundreds of miles. Despite knowing with every fiber of his being that he was here, that familiar breezy hatchet, as he so lovingly named the sensation, still eluded him.

Mason’s only concentration had been on his hand and the pulse in front of him. Only considering the door when within arm’s length. No, he hadn’t felt a single ward. These people had no idea what was coming.

No show of strength. Not a ball of fire. Not a flex of telekinetic rage. The door opened as if of its own accord. Considerable patience was utilized in feeling each mind – no, not each. That ridiculous getup on the guard’s head prevented entry. The same barrier utilized in their England home. The only obstacle capable of repressing their connection. It was fucking offensive to look at, and one open-handed strike to the guard’s throat was enough of an unwelcome surprise to remove it as the guard fell heavy on his knees.

Only then did he bother reaching into the scientist’s mind.

Xavier: And here Xavier had thought he'd have to put at least a modicum of effort into breaching the door when it was so obligingly opened for them. There were some security measures out here then. Something had roused suspicion, and it was likely their shadows being picked up on a camera somewhere.

No matter, entry was entry.

The demon stepped inside quickly, walking past the downed guard and the man in the lab coat as if they were merely inconveniently placed lamp posts before urging Ramsay and Leslie to follow him.

"Stay close and behind me," he whispered to them. They may have been invisible, but taking out the guard had still made noise and it was only a matter of time before attention was drawn.

Especially given that the guard Mason had punched was not the only one in the parking garage they'd emerged into.

Charles: "What the fuck?" the guard wheezed, down on hands and knees as he struggled to drag air into his abused throat. The blow had come from nowhere, the night just as empty as it had been a moment earlier. But everyone on site was well aware of what types of beings were being held there. A mutant was definitely capable of an invisible attack. He raised a trembling hand to flag down the nearest guards, still unable to call out.

Charles had watched the entire display through borrowed eyes. Like the guard, he could see nothing, but he didn't need to understand the phenomenon to know who'd caused it.

"Mason?" The voice would be unfamiliar. The eyes vacant and staring off into the darkness.

The telepath reached farther, seeking the perfect familiarity of his husband's mind. Deep inside the facility, he swallowed a sob.

'You're here.'

Not a question.

Mason/Leslie: “Shit,” Leslie whispered, his voice barely carrying past his hand. Here he could be useful, he thought, and covered the guard’s nose and mouth with his tattooed palm. He could do nothing to the guard’s mind the way Charles could, but he could force melatonin into his system instantaneously. This is what Charles would want. He knew in his bones he wouldn’t want a pile of bodies, but ultimately, this wasn’t his decision. If this had been Tristan… he knew what he would do.

But what were they meant to do with the taciturn scientist? Mason was staring at him as though –

“Baby?” The demon whispered in a tone Leslie had never before witnessed. Desperate and relieved. He'd never heard that vulnerability from him.

Mason reached into the scientist’s mind before pushing deeper into the facility. Of course. Charles had managed to latch onto someone without a barrier, which meant he no longer needed the ring, so long as they could find each other’s minds.

‘Yeah, baby. I’ve got ya. Just hold on. Lemme see where ya are.’

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier, for one, wasn’t opposed to a pile of bodies but speed and stealth mattered more. At least until they had Charles, then all bets were off.

While Leslie silenced the guard, Ramsay rushed forward to remove any visible weapons from his person before he could get his bearings. Hopefully they got him to pass out before he managed to.

Xavier noticed the tone as well and let his eyes black out in response. With any luck, it would be enough make any security cameras they encountered glitch out until they got to Charles.

“Don’t waste time trying to open doors,” he whispered as he stalked toward the interior door. “We’re teleporting past any barriers from here on.”

Charles: He couldn't see anything. He had no idea how Mason had rendered himself invisible, and was that... Yes, that was Xavier's hushed voice he'd heard through borrowed ears. There was no time to ask questions; he'd take full advantage of whatever shrouded them and figure the rest out, later.

'Yes. Yes, all right. Follow the tech. He knows the way.'

He'd stop only once, just inside the interior doors, explaining to concerned guards that their colleague had collapsed unexpectedly. A heart attack, perhaps. Best go look after him.

The tech pushed into the brightly lit corridor, expression blank. Charles trusted Mason and his brother to keep pace. He pushed the tech to walk as swiftly as his body would allow without breaking into a run. It wouldn't do to draw attention. On that note.

'There are cameras every-bloody-where. Can you be seen through them?'

Mason/Leslie: There was no need to share space in the lab coat’s mind. Charles was plenty capable of multitasking, but Mason was still blind to his condition, and until knowing the extent of his injuries, if any, a finger was kept on the stranger’s mind.

Lawrence itched to be released, but under the circumstances, he would leave himself vulnerable without a shroud. Together, Mason’s abilities were whole.

Red eyes cast a glance to Xavier, to a nearby camera, and down the corridor they had taken.

“Still don’t understand. Moving through places you’ve never been,” Leslie whispered.

“Just shut up and follow Charles,” Mason hissed. Internally, his voice was much softer, soothing as he said, ‘Like a malfunction.’ If that. ‘Don’t worry about us.’ Was Charles going to allow him to see from his point of view? It had been his intention when asking to see where Charles was.

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier's pitch-black gaze met his brother's blood red one and then looked directly into the camera. Whoever was monitoring would see the mass of shadow that was the four of them following the lab tech but nothing that, on the surface at least, would explain any technical glitches.

The demon's hands ached to simply flick any cameras away with his telekinesis and he had to fight himself not to. Their presence--or rather a presence--had already been noticed, the tech and the incapacitated guard were proof. All he could do was allow as much of his demonic aura as possible to permeate the air around them to force those glitches to happen.

It would fill any surrounding humans with unease, including Ramsay and Leslie, but it couldn't be helped.

Ramsay patted Leslie's shoulder and shook his head. Later. They could all have a nice chat about the wonders of teleportation later.

"Ask him how many people are around him," Xavier whispered to his brother.

Charles: Leslie?!

That was a voice he'd know anywhere. He just couldn't wrap his mind around his friend's presence here. And with Mason, no less. Another discussion that could be put off for later.

'Of course I'm going to worry about you. Be careful.'

He hesitated. Mason was under enough strain without adding Charles' pain onto his shoulders. But he was likely to cause as much stress by leaving him blind.

Reluctantly, Charles lent Mason his vision. Machines lined the walls, being tinkered with by a pair of technicians. He let his gaze sweep to Haine as he spoke in hushed tones to the blonde-haired nurse. Ian stood in one corner, well out of the way, but with his gaze locked on the telepath.

Charles deliberately avoided looking down at himself during this exchange; every sense but sight was kept under lock and key.

Mason: Electronic malfunctions accompanied demonic exposure, and so too did the sulfuric stench now saturating the body Charles inhabited. The stronger they allowed their true selves forth, the stronger they signaled their presence. Luckily for them, the only man in this building to understand the signs was tied to a bed, surrounded by walking-dead ignorance.

"Five people," Mason whispered. "We're close."

By now, the pale pulse at their feet had spanned wide, rhythmic like a heartbeat.

Xavier: Xavier didn’t like that number. They were outmanned, by a slim margin but even so, he’d feel a lot better if Charles was surrounded by fewer people.

“How does this play out?” Speaking in whispers was starting to annoy him. “I can make sure no one else enters the room once we reach it, but I need to ask if we’re the only ones walking out of it.”

Charles: Leslie had been correct in his earlier assumption about Charles. Even broken and bruised as he was, he had no interest whatsoever in a bloodbath. He wanted himself, his family, and the captured mutants out of the facility with as few casualties as possible.

It was a long shot, he knew.

'Tell your brother that there is only one armed man, here. No one else will put up much of a fight.'

Inside the room, at least.

Their mindless guide stopped dead in his tracks, whirling on his heel to face the seemingly-empty hallway. For the first time since Charles had taken hold of him, his eyes were bright with awareness and fear. He took off back the way he'd come at a sprint.

Charles: "Indeed." Charles joined in the laughter, popping his son's discarded crusts into his mouth before nudging him toward the island, plate in-hand. "Are y-"

He paused to finishing chewing and swallow before continuing. "My apologies. Are you ready for me, then? Do I need to bring anything?"

Leslie: "Not unless you wanna see Rafflesia again, just bring yourself."

Charles: "All right. I'll be just a few minutes."

Leslie: "Same place, but... might want to have Kurt think of the driveway instead. It's a bit wild here right now."

Charles: "Oh?" Leslie would have to hear, rather than see his raised eyebrow. "That shouldn't be a problem."

Leslie: "Roger that. See y'all soon."

Tristan was given a smile. "On his way."

Tristan: Tristan took a deep breath, returning Leslie's smile. He felt kinda nervous but he was doing his best to combat it.

"Good. How we feeling?"

Leslie: "I'm alright, but this has been on my mind for months now, so... maybe I'm numbed."

Tristan: "Don't know if that's better or worse than being so nervous you hurl."

Leslie: "Have you hurled?"

Tristan: "Nope, no hurling." Just a vaguely queasy feeling.

Leslie: "It's been a year." He waited to see if Tristan would catch what he'd meant.

1:46 AM] Charles: True to his word, Charles appeared in a cloud of sulfurous, blue smoke a few minutes later. He closed his nephew's fingers around a crisp bill and watched him depart before turning to find his friend.

Tristan: Tristan's smile threatened to split his face right in half. "It sure has," he said softly, reaching for Leslie's hand. He had to fight every day to keep the weight of his love and devotion from spilling out of his body and drowning this man; he knew exactly what Leslie meant.

He didn't even notice Charles' arrival as he got swept up in the moment and leaned in to kiss his witch.

Leslie: "Here's to another year," he said into Tristan's hair.

Ah. That familiar whoosh of Kurt, given a wave from the side of the road. The A-frame cabin was long gone. Replaced by a much larger foundation and the unmistakable headache-inducing sound of construction.

"Over here!" he called, waving Charles over.

Charles: Charles was grateful for the distraction of the demolished cabin, both surprised by Tristan's presence and feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment.

But of course he'd been invited. He lifted his hand in greeting and made his way to where the pair stood.

"Hello, Tristan. Les," he began, voice slightly raised to be heard over the din. "Looks like you've come a long way! I didn't even know you'd started the expansion. Or, rebuild, it seems."

Tristan: Tristan greeted Charles with a warm smile. "Hello back," he called above the noise. "You ain't kidding. It's at that point where it looks so bad you can't imagine it ever looking good."

Leslie: "Nothing gone to waste. The same wood from the old cabin for the floors. You know me," he laughed quietly. "Clive talked me into what's basically a hotel room for a guest room near the garden. It's for him and Hazel, he insists. When the time comes."

Charles: "Not a bad idea," he said, eyeing the mess and trying to imagine the future house in its place. He wasn't doing a very good job of it. "How long do you predict it will take to finish?"

Leslie: "They've said at most seven months. Oh, my father had some shit to say, but he's in Charlotte, so he'll have to put up with it."

Charles: "About your design or the construction?"

Leslie: "The construction. The design was - well, he had a few in his pocket the moment I moved out."

Charles: "I'm sure he'll be pleased with the finished product, then."

Leslie: "Blueprints are on my laptop back at Tristie's. Interested in walking around and using your imagination, or heading to his house for our lesson?"

Tristan: "Not for nothing, but the second option also comes with fried fish and yellow rice if you're hungry."

Charles: "I could eat," he confessed, despite the crusts he'd eaten less than an hour ago.

Leslie: "I'll drive," he smiled. But first! No proper greeting without a hug from the professor.

"Been too long since a proper lesson. Now you have a partner."

Tristan: There was that pride again, as brilliant as the first day he'd practiced with Leslie.

"You're not the only one who can magically light candles now, prof."

Charles: Charles returned the embrace, clapping his friend warmly on the back before releasing him. "Oh? Congratulations! It's incredible, no?"

Leslie: "He's incredible. You'll see. I've been saving something because I'm curious, want you to witness, and I have something to ask you."

Tristan: "It's awesome, I feel like friggin' Superman."

Charles: He laughed softly. "Before you know it you'll be leaping tall buildings in a single bound."

Leslie: "Now that I'd like to see."

Tristan: "I wouldn't go that far but lighting a candle without a match? Does not get old."

Charles: "Come now. The sky's the limit. But you're right about the candle lighting. Quite entertaining."

Leslie: "There will be no modesty in this classroom today or any other day. You both can light an actual fire. Move past the candles."

Tristan: "It's cheap entertainment," Tristan chuckled. "Like walking Opal."

Charles: "Agreed. Don't rob us of the simple pleasures, Les."

Leslie: "Is a bonfire not as pleasurable?" asked before climbing into the driver's seat.

Tristan: "Sure, but I can't fit one of those in the living room without running the risk of burning the house down. Want shotgun, Charles?"

Charles: "Can't argue with that logic." He shook his head, already opening the back door. "You go on."

Leslie: "Just wait. We'll have a proper fireplace when the house is finished. And a green house. And a fire pit. I've kept all of my rocks. Ruby and Ester want to help with the redesign."

Tristan: That made Tristan smile. "Yep, we sure will. And I was serious about getting us those Adirondack chairs. We can have one set for the deck and another to put around the fire pit."

Charles: "Do they?" He hadn't known they were aware of it at all. "I'm sure it'll be lovely. I look forward to seeing the finished product."

Leslie: "Mm." A glance back for traffic before pulling out. "Halloween was the last day it stood."

Charles: "That long? You've been busy!"

Leslie: "Had to talk Clive into staying in Charlotte. Teachin' Tristan as I've taught you. Moving to Tristan's place came first."

Tristan: "Feels like they only took it down a couple days ago, to us at least. Poor Logan across the street has had to listen to the racket from the very beginning. We'll make a plate for her," he added to Leslie.

Charles: "Makes sense," he nodded. Charles didn't know a Logan outside of his own, but he could sympathise. "Perhaps buy a nice pair of earplugs as a gift."

Leslie: "I've wanted to get her something noise cancelling, but that was even before the destruction. Her house is loud with memories and bad energy."

Tristan: "Mama has noise cancelling headphones she really likes. I'll ask her what brand they are and we'll get one for our very gracious neighbor."

Charles: "That's very kind. I know I'd appreciate it, in her place."

Leslie: "What have you been doing since Samhain?"

Charles: "Oh, you know. Much of the same. Work. Wrangling the kids. More work." Then there was the matter of the home he and Mason were designing for their family. Small world.

Leslie: "Should I be surprised you have time for yourself?"

Tristan: "Gotta find the balance in life, prof. Can't be burning the candle at both ends all the time."

Charles: "Of course not. I make time. My kids would protest if I didn't. Besides, winter break is just around the corner."

Leslie: "Did you make time before the children?"

Tristan: "Got any plans for the break?"

Charles: "I did. Perhaps not as frequently, but I did." He lifted a shoulder. "Not aside from the usual holiday celebrations. I'd like to spend a few quiet days with the family. Perhaps in Cameron. Nothing concrete."

Leslie: "The house in Cameron looks like a novel," he said to Tristan. "Something Hazel read to me, but for the life of me I can't remember the damn name."

Tristan: "Size wise or decor wise?"

Charles: "Decor, I'm assuming." He gave a little chuckle. "It's a rather unique design. I was fascinated the first time I saw it. Now, it feels very much like home." He'd miss the old place, when the time came.

Leslie: "Like a Victorian home from a child's ghost story. It's the definition of lovely, but not at all my taste."

Tristan: "Oh cool, like the Addams house?"

Charles: "Something like that." The corner of his mouth curled in a tiny, private smile. "I used to feel the same way you do, Les. But it's grown on me. I suppose that's to be expected."

Leslie: "Do you prefer it to the school?"

Charles: He hummed thoughtfully. "Sometimes. It isn't about the building itself. I love what I do, but I'm never alone when I'm there. It's nice to be with only my husband, on occasion. With only my family. My nuclear family, at any rate."

Leslie: A side-glance was given to Tristan.

"I can understand that, when it's all day every day. Must be a relief, having other teachers live with you."

Tristan: Tristan caught that glance and smiled in response. That was a good sign, wasn't it? Or at least a sign.

"Do your kids go to your school, too?"

Charles: "Yes and no. My school is technically for middle and high school aged children, but when the younger children arrived, we got a tutor for them."

Leslie: "How are they adjusting, the little ones? Almika? Rory?"

Charles: "Quite well, given the circumstances. Fewer nightmares, overall. And I no longer have children asking me if I'm going to send them back. We've earned their trust, at the very least."

Leslie: "Blessings to that."

Deep breath. "I'm eager to have my progress assessed today, in a new environment. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement for Tristan, to shield his mind?"

Tristan: Tristan's brow furrowed. "Shield my mind...?"

Charles: "I... sure? I don't see why not." Charles nodded, though Tristan likely could not see him. "From telepathic ability," he explained.

Leslie: "I want him to become familiar with protection first and foremost."

Tristan: Tristan turned in his seat to look at Charles with that same delighted expression he always got when discussing magic.

"Charles, can you read minds?"

Charles: "I can," he confessed, with some amusement.

Tristan: "Is it an all the time thing or can you pick and choose where and when?"

Charles: "Bit of both. I can hear surface thoughts without trying. It's taken decades of practice to master blocking them out. Even now, the occasional pointed thought will slip through. Doing anything more takes conscious effort."

Leslie: "So keep your thoughts PG-13 in his presence. Or not. Spice up his life."

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "I'll keep it PG-13. My R and XXX thoughts are only for you, puddin'. I'll think ocean facts at the prof."

Charles: Charles dragged a hand down his reddening face. "Appreciate it. My life has plenty of spice, thanks." They didn't know the half.

Leslie: "Oh, I'm sure it does," the witch laughed.

Tristan: "What's the weirdest thought you've ever caught, Charles? Or most memorable?"

Charles: "Nothing is really strange, anymore. The most memorable minds are the ones I can't get a proper read on."

Leslie: "What's not a proper read?"

Tristan: "People who shield from you?"

Charles: "Not exactly. It's usually a physical ability, of some sort. Brain chemistry, or a psionic blocker. I once knew a telepath less powerful than I was, in that regard, but she possessed the ability to turn into some sort of crystalline material that I couldn't penetrate. I don't believe that it was diamond, but it might've been."

Leslie: "Another Ester?" Leslie perked. "Is she still around?"

Tristan: The wonder and delight were back. "There's a second person who can turn into a diamond on this planet?"

Charles: "Not exactly. And I don't know. After she and her companions attempted to murder me and mine, we didn't part ways amicably. Last I heard, she'd allied herself with the Brotherhood."

Leslie: "Seems every species has some... fracture. My people are no exception."

Tristan: "Well that blows. Also, the Brotherhood? That's a cult name right there. It's not a cult, is it?"

Charles: Charles laughed, softly. "Isn't it? It has all the makings of a cult, if you ask me. But its leader disagrees. Not that he and I agree on much. I love him, but he's so very wrong about... a lot."

Leslie: "Knowing oppositions, he probably feels the same about your beliefs."

Tristan: "That's the way it always goes. Everyone thinks their way is the best way, and some are even right."

Charles: "Well, considering that the actualization of his beliefs ends with the two of you dead or enslaved, I'm fairly confident in mine."

1:07 AM] Leslie: "The Technocracy believes everyone should be asleep. They gaslight, institutionalize, and murder dreamers. They say it's for the good of humanity, the universe. They work with hunters. Started the inquisition to murder my people and vampires alike, as though we're the same. I have no doubts they're the same people saying your kind are dangerous."

Tristan: Tristan shook his head. "Definitely a fuckin' cult," he sighed. "They all think they're special but end of the day, some jagoff or consortium of jagoffs is fucking someone over to water their ego flower same as all the others that came before and will come after."

Charles: "If they are, they aren't the only ones. He isn't wrong about the danger or the hate, just about how to combat it." He lifted a shoulder. "I like our odds. We're making strides all the time."

Leslie: "Every species has their villains. Blanket statements bother me greatly."

Tristan: He nodded. "It's part of the human condition as Meg says. Or the people condition as the case may be."

Charles: "Naturally. That's why it's so important to stand against them."

Leslie: "We are as bias as they are. We believe we stand on the right side of history, and history is told by the victors. Only time will tell."

Tristan: "Just have to make sure the prof back there wins. I like his odds, too."

Charles: "Thank you for the vote of confidence." Said with utmost sincerity.

Leslie: "Of course he will! I know exactly what he would be otherwise."

Tristan: "Absolutely, Charles. Now talk to me about the kind of seasonings and vegetables and fish you like. I'm no Leslie in the kitchen but I hold my own."

Charles: "I'm sure whatever you have on hand is fine. I'm not particular."

Leslie: "Always modest." Leslie was grinning. "That modesty will give you whole chicken like the Beltane festival. Remember that? Immature egg yolks and cockscomb?"

Tristan: "Leslie, my love, I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

He turned in his seat again. "At least tell me if you're a spice person or not so I don't accidentally set your mouth on fire."

Charles: "Oh, definitely not. Let's just assume I have the palate of a toddler. The milder the better, please."

Leslie: "So a chicken liver pâté with stuffed mushrooms? Got it."

Tristan: "There will be no liver in the house ever," Tristan chuckled. "I gotcha, Charles. Got some lemons from my mama's tree, I'll go lemon pepper."

Charles: "Sounds delicious."

Leslie: "No liver?! You've stabbed me, merman."

Tristan: "Blame Mrs. Pennyapple for scarring me for life as a child and making me hate liver."

Leslie: Leslie smiled a knowing smile and shrugged. "Does mild mean no liver for you, Charles? I forget what you pushed off your plate in May."

Tristan: "Don't let him goad you with the evil liver, Charles!"

Charles: "You heard the man, Les. No liver."

Leslie: "I'll be sous chef tonight, then. No liver."

Tristan: "What would you like, sous chef? Want lemon pepper on your fish too?"

Charles: He nodded, satisfied, and settled back against his seat, head tilting to gaze out of the window.

Leslie: "I'm under your orders, chef. But also that sounds good so why not." Leslie smiled.

Tristan: "Bitchin, lemon pepper fish it is. And just in time," he added as his house came into view.

Charles: "Wonderful!" Charles watched the house through his window, straightening in his seat as they approached.

Leslie: Leslie parked behind Tristan's truck, tossing the keys between his hands as he so often did when his mind was clamoring.

"Go ahead and give him the tour? Gonna get some stuff from the trunk."

Tristan: "Sure thing, doll."

Tristan hopped out of the car and spread his arms wide. "Welcome to our humble abode, prof."

The house was simple and modestly sized but in a prime location right on the water. The nautical decorations on the front porch gave a hint as to what was inside: an unmistakably masculine shrine to maritime history and nautical odds and ends.

And fish.

"Come right in and make yourself at home. Can I get you anything?"

Charles: If nothing else, Charles lived for the view. It was precisely why he enjoyed looking out over the lake from the roof of the school, and why he'd chosen the location he had for his family's new home.

"It's lovely," he said, sincere, and shook his head at the offer. "I'm fine, thanks." His mouth lifted into a crooked smile, eyes warm. "If I hadn't already known what you did for a living, I might've guessed."

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "We Segers do like to wear our professions on our sleeves. My mama's a literature professor; bet you can guess what she's got all over her house."

Charles: "Oh, I'd love to see her collection. I teach literature at my school, among other things. I'm running out of space to put my books. I'm just grateful my husband is willing to indulge me by building shelves." He smiled wryly, thinking of the house again.

Leslie: Leslie paused in the living room to argue with his jacket. Two brown bags in his arms and keys in his mouth.

Tristan: "Oh she ran out of space aaaages ago." Tristan rushed over to help Leslie with his cargo. "What she does is, every quarter, she goes through and picks out the ones she didn't like and sells them to the used bookstore."

Charles: "Wise. I keep everything that isn't completely falling apart. If even one of my students gets something out of a book, it's worth having."

Leslie: "Would be nice to have the space," said Leslie. Made sense that he hadn't a collection. Leaving Charlotte meant leaving many of his books behind in his old bedroom. Fitting only what was essential in his Jeep. Now, with a new home, he could begin again.

"Got some things for games today." The brown bag still in hand was placed on the dining table. Three red jars of wood wick candles, black, were placed in a row; a spool of twine; two fist size, smooth rocks.

Tristan: "My mom would agree with you. Feeling more and more like I should introduce ya'll."

Tristan poked his head into the bag he had taken. "Oh yeah? What kinda games? Are there prizes?"

Charles: Charles lifted an eyebrow at the items. "I have the same questions, actually. This doesn't look like any game I've ever played."

Leslie: "I should hope not! These are games I learned from the Order of Hermes when studying Force. They're about as competitive as a Tradition gets."

He pointed to the twine and rocks. "Racing games. Who can control their flames and get to the center first. Wrapping the rock in twine and throwing; who can light it midflight."

Tristan: Tristan grinned and kept on grinning as Leslie described the games. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

"Are we about to have a magical field day?!"

Charles: "Sounds entertaining," he said, with a crooked smile. "And it'll definitely be a first, for me." Who didn't love novelty?

Leslie: "Be the first for him, too. Look at his face," Leslie laughed. "I got wood wick candles because - just because. I like the sound. Wanna keep y'all on your toes. By all means, use your wands if you want."

Tristan: "I definitely will use my wand and I also approve of your candle choice. I do have a very important question: are we getting prize ribbons?"

Charles: "That is an excellent question," he agreed, grinning.

Leslie: "I uh, I'll make ones," he laughed. "Ah! The winner gets a choice dessert!"

Tristan: "Sold, that's even better than a ribbon! I'm in. We doing this before or after food?"

Charles: "Oh, Tristan, I'm sorry but this will not be a friendly competition," he chuckled. "Not with dessert on the line."

Leslie: "How hungry are y'all?"

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "You're on, prof. Also, I could stand to work up an appetite. Fish and rice don't take all that long to cook."

Charles: "I'm fine to wait. The food will taste all the better with victory."

Leslie: "Alright. Let's begin with a friendly race." Twine was unraveled by four feet, approximate by eye, and severed with his pocketknife.

"Let's go outside for this." The ball of brown twine was tucked under his arm. Out the backdoor and back into fresh air.

"You have a folding table you won't miss?"

Tristan: When fire was involved, a fire extinguisher was always a good idea. Tristan grabbed it on the way out.

"Don't go counting your chickens!" he called to Charles as he went around the side of the house. He had just the thing Leslie was after. "Does it matter if the table smells ever so slightly like fish?"

Charles: Charles laughed and turned to Leslie when Tristan disappeared. "Anything I can help with?"

Leslie: "Don't matter, babe!" He smiled briefly at Charles. "I'll be tying the rocks while y'all race. Playing ref has its perks. Still prefer hands to your wand?"

Tristan: "'Kay!"

Tristan grabbed the slightly fishy table and carried it back to where Leslie and Charles were. Up until recently it had been used on his ship to clean fish, but a new, sturdier table had rendered it obsolete.

"Here we go. One expendable table."

Charles: "Alright," he bobbed his head once. "I believe so, but we'll see how this goes."

Leslie: "Excellent!" The string was laid the length of the table. He pointed to either side for them to stand. A small pale rock nestled against the steps was placed middle of the string, resting delicately on top.

"This is as much about control as it is speed. Burning the string evenly from tip to pebble. Not one long flame, but like, a uh, a fuse."

Tristan: Tristan contemplated the task before him and weighed his options. To wand or not to wand?

"So we're going full Wil E. Coyote, huh? Hmmm....."

Yeah, this seemed like a lightning rod sort of situation. Wand it was!

Charles: Charles nodded his understanding, fingers flexing in anticipation of the exercise. "Seems straightforward enough."

Leslie: "This is the most straightforward it's going to get. Would y'all rather practice with the candles first?"

Tristan: "Yes, please. I need a warmup before I kick the prof's butt."

Charles: "Oh, I do admire your ill-advised confidence," he grinned, in good humor. "If the Captain wants to practice, we'll practice."

Leslie: Leslie would gather the candles, bringing two of the red jars to the table. A new environment. One with a light but stimulating breeze. He was interested in observing how they adapted outside of a quiet room with closed windows. Wondered how he could further disrupt their expectations.

"Boa sorte! Good luck!"

Tristan: Lighting magical fires in a windy environment was new, but doing it outside wasn't. Tristan had taken to practicing in the wee hours of the morning while waiting for Oliver before they headed out to sea for the day.

Surely the wind wouldn't make that much of a difference; if anything, it was soothing.

Tristan took a deep breath and did his bit, psyching himself out at the last second by worrying the wind was going to blow out the candle and failing his first try. But a quick rally later, he was able to get it on the second.

Charles: Inclined to practice in those rare moments alone, he sometimes found himself on the roof of the school, lighting and extinguishing the fire pit his husband had placed there. This couldn't be much different, could it? He took a beat to examine the candle before making his attempt. It sputtered for a moment and caught. A little rusty, perhaps, but not terrible.

Tristan: "Nice job, prof! Got it in one go." Not bad for a man who'd dealt with science for most of his life. Then again, that was probably how Leslie had felt about him when he'd managed to light the candle that day in the living room.

And look at them now: a fisherman and a professor, lighting candles with magic.

A few more successful lightings later, Tristan was ready.

Charles: "Your witch is a good teacher. Took me awhile to get the hang of it." He smiled crookedly at the fisherman before turning back to the candle. Extinguishing was always trickier, but what better time to practice? Charles stopped when Tristan did, looking to Leslie with hands stuffed in his pockets.

Leslie: Leslie had taken to the steps, wrapping twine as a net over various sized rocks.

"Y'all don't need me for the next bit. Time to try your hands - or wands - at the fuse trick. Anyone wanna place bets?"

Tristan: "He is, isn't he?" said Tristan, beaming with pride. Despite his limited experience with magic, he was certain he couldn't have asked for a better teacher than Leslie Issott.

"I bet a round of proper Carolina hot dogs that I'll beat the prof."

Charles: Charles gave a soft snort. "Winning is its own reward. I'm ready when you are, Captain."

Leslie: "I want a nice clean fight," Leslie laughed. "Wands or no wands. Remember: consistent like a fuse!"

Tristan: "Sound like my mama, Charles," Tristan chuckled. "Must be a professor thing."

A moment's consideration had Tristan deciding against a wand for this particular event, much as he enjoyed using it. He trusted his hands just fine to keep that fuse going.

"All right then. Ready, steady, aaaand...go!" Tristan lit his string and let his inner Wil E. Coyote loose.

Charles: "Must be," he chuckled, focusing his attention on the thread and debating how best to approach this task. With a nod, he sparked a flame, urging it forward with all of the careful control he could muster.

Leslie: Leslie wanted to keep his distance. To move would possibly cause a distraction. The last loop of the last knot finished the netting of another smooth stone. Looking at his creation reminded him of his own trials. The matches played against Tonya and Troy in their youth. These were moments he hoped would be ingrained for Tristan and Charles' remaining years. These were milestones.

Tristan: This was like sailing. You picked a spot on the horizon and rode the wind. The pebble was his horizon and magic was his wind and he was going to ride it all the way to the pebble and beat Charles.

"I got to the pebble!"

Charles: The telepath wasn't too far behind. Even after Tristan announced his victory, Charles pushed the last inch or so to the finish line. "Done!" In the spirit of good sportsmanship, he extended a hand to the sailor, grinning widely. "Fair and square, my friend. Congratulations."

Leslie: Leslie rose to his feet to inspect, grinning from ear-to-ear and raising his arms. "Look what y'all did! You did that! He wanted them to feel proud. Every ounce of confidence would only aid their next game.

Tristan: "Fuck yeah we did!" Tristan clasped Charles' hand and shook. "Congratulations yourself! Good job, prof. Ready for the next one?"

Charles: "Certainly. What's next on the agenda, Les?"

Leslie: "What's next is taking these rocks and alighting them midair. Hand or wand optional. I've got y'all covered if something goes afoul."

Tristan: "Magical skeet shooting, got it. Do we get to say 'pull'?"

Leslie: "Use me as you will. Not gonna warn for all of them."

Charles: He lifted one chestnut coloured eyebrow. "We're setting rocks on fire?"

Leslie: "It's why I've been making nets around them."

Tristan: For this next event he was definitely using the wand. Thinking of it as magical skeet shooting was actually getting him in the proper frame of mind.

"I think we should move this over to that dirt patch over there. Doing this over flammable grass seems like we're tempting fate."

Charles: "Wise. I'd feel awful if we burnt the place down."

Leslie: "I'm here. I won't let anything happen that shouldn't. I promise."

Tristan: “I believe you, doll,” said Tristan, shooting Leslie a winning smile. “It’s more for me than the risk of actual fire. One less distraction.”

Charles: "You're the teacher," he shrugged, flexing his fingers. "I'm following your lead."

Leslie: "Have to start somewhere. Failure breeds progress, don't be ashamed of it. Let's start with something controlled." Leslie walked into their line of sight and held his arms out, not intimidating in the least.

"Throw a fireball at me."

Tristan: Tristan's eyes widened. He was fine with potential failure but he was very not fine when that potential failure could affect Leslie.

"What--no! What if something happens and we hurt you?!

Charles: Charles nodded toward the fisherman. "I must say, I'm with the Captain, on this one. Seems like a terrible idea, Les. 'Failure' really shouldn't lead to serious injury."

Leslie: "I think you're both forgetting I'm practically from the Order. Failure would only be in your learning - won't be in my catching whatever mistake you make. I promise."

Tristan: His uncertainty--which was written all over his face--was due more to his own inexperience than to Leslie's ability to neutralize a problem or move out of the way. He completely believed Leslie could protect himself. One hundred percent.

Tristan just wasn't sure if he believed he'd have enough control not to create a situation where Leslie wouldn't have to protect himself. But Leslie sure seemed to believe. That was worth a hell of a lot.

Still--"You plan to catch the fireball? Or do plan to move out of the way with lightning quick reflexes?"

Charles: Charles raised a skeptical eyebrow. He had placed himself in danger for the purposes of education more than once. Perhaps his hesitation was a bit hypocritical. Still, he waited for Leslie to answer the posed question.

Leslie: Leslie smiled, patient. "Whatever the situation calls for. Depends how terribly this goes - which it's not gonna be a disaster! Y'all are too cautious and too advanced. You've been practicing throwing fire onto wood. It's been your homework for months."

Tristan: “Yeah, wood! Not a loved one!”

Forget magic, this was a trust exercise with multiple layers. Leslie’s trust in them, their trust in Leslie, their trust in their own abilities.

The real kicker was going to be not psyching themselves out and being unable to do it at all, which…yeah. That was a big possibility.

Tristan turned to Charles. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Charles: "Wouldn't be fair." He gave his temple a pointed tap and shook his head. "I'll go, if it makes you feel better."

Leslie: "You'd be the best poker player in the world," Leslie laughed at this epiphany.

"How about this. We'll start light." He had assumed the little game to be a proper warm up, but maybe not.

The witch stood between them, held his hands together in diamond shape, expanding outwards to create a pale blue and orange flame.

"Take it from me."

Tristan: "Oh yeah, the mind reading deal. Yeah, you're right." Rock, paper, scissors definitely wouldn't be fair against Charles, but Tristan did find himself wanting to play with him. To test. Who knew, maybe there was a way to beat him if he--

Focus, Tristan.

He smiled. Apparently their theme was still fire but this was a lot less nerve wracking. "Now that's a horse of a different color."

Tristan had no idea how to take a flame from someone, but decided to try to draw it toward him with his wand to test the waters.

Charles: Charles gave a gentle snort. "If I needed a large sum of money quickly, I suppose. But I think telepathy would take the enjoyment out of the game." And if he were going to become a thief, there were simpler ways, for a man of his abilities.

He watched on, curious to see if Tristan would be successful, and internally debating how he would tackle the task, when it was his turn.

Leslie: Leslie watched calmly, intent on refraining subtle cues based on Tristan's body language. Should Tristan obsess on action rather than will, nothing would happen. The same as every learned spell leading to this moment.

And yet, despite his objective, Leslie took a slow deep breath. Just the smallest hint, he swears.

Tristan: The small hint was more than enough. Even though Tristan hadn’t been practicing magic for very long, he’d learned enough to know it wasn’t just about the magic itself.

It was about him, and about belief.

He had to believe the flame closer for it to move anywhere, to exert every bit of his will to make it happen. Not enough to lose his head or his cool; just enough.

“Come on, little flame,” he murmured. “Come to Tristie.”

Charles: Charles stifled a laugh, not wanting to seem rude or break Tristan's concentration. But the self-encouragement was delightful. He watched on curiously to see if it would benefit him.

Leslie: The flame appeared influenced by Tristan's intent. Flicking towards his wand as though caught by a nonexistent breeze. It was a start. For never suggesting such a spell, Leslie had expected next to nothing.

"Remember how it feels moving a flame from your hand to the fire pit. Rather than throwing it, you're simply taking it back."

Tristan: Tristan grinned from ear to ear. His little victory encouraged him enough to bring the flame all the way home, marveling at it as it hovered over his wand. Not bad for a first try, if he said so himself. Not bad at all.

"Gotcha! Okay, prof, it's your turn."

Charles: Charles bobbed his head, turning to face Leslie fully. His fingers flexed experimentally. He knew the motions and emotions that helped him conjure flame. He considered the mechanics of drawing the flame closer. Another nod, and he extended his hand, curling his fingers inward and trying to will the ball of flame toward himself.

Leslie: "Don't hold it for long, still wood." Leslie waved his hand over the wand to extinguish. "Take it and give it back, or take it and blow it out," he said to Charles, squaring his shoulders and resetting the spell.

Like Tristan, the flame considered Charles' intention. Flickers of blue and orange began to flutter in his direction with as much care as a firefly.

Charles: Is confidence only grew, the telepath delighted at the gentle progress of the flickering ball. When it was close enough for him to feel its heat, he extinguished it neatly. That, at least, was familiar.

Leslie: Leslie's smile was pure praise. Both men certainly deserved it. "If y'all can do this, if y'all can light a fire pit, y'all can light a moving object."

Tristan: “Kinda think I believe you now, babydoll,” Tristan said with a grin. He did feel a little more confident, but it remained to be seen whether he could react quickly enough to light something in mid-air.

He turned to Charles. “Who goes first this time?”

Charles: Charles dipped his head, gesturing between the pair of them. "The floor's yours, my friend."

Leslie: As much confidence as Leslie had in these two, they needed it themselves. His summers in the Order were quick paced. They would have been burning rocks two weeks into their training. But those were awoken children, and these were adults only scratching the surface of their capabilities.

He had to be patient. Wait for them to believe in themselves.

"So, starting light again." A rope was tied around one of the netted rocks, holding it like a sad yo-yo. Slowly, rocked like a pendulum.

"Light it up, captain."

Tristan: "Starting light," Tristan repeating, rolling up invisible sleeves. He'd pictured something similar to skeet shooting so this was already doing even more wonders for his confidence.

A steadily moving target had to be easier than a randomly moving target, right?

He considered his approach, immediately scrapping the first one that came to mind in favor of a more abstract one. Rather than focus on the rock and where it was, he was going to focus on producing a flame and sending it where it needed to be. Willing it there, just like he'd been doing this whole time.

So that was exactly what he did. Tristan willed his little flame into existence and willed it onto the rope around the rock.

Leslie: They would graduate to skeet shooting eventually. Leslie seemed to have more confidence in their abilities than they, so yo-yo they did. And surprise surprise, Tristan was a natural. Why he was a natural was an unanswered question. How he was raised was only a factor. Tristan was an open-minded man, and that was another factor.

Leslie was proud of him, to say the least. As much as he wanted to reward him with a kiss, he wanted to keep the momentum going. When it came to Charles' turn, the witch expected similar results.

Tristan: "Fuck yeah! I did it on the first try!" Almost as unbelievable as being a secret magical prodigy.

They would absolutely celebrate with a kiss later but for now, Tristan celebrated by doing a victory lap around the yard while Charles took his turn.

Charles: Much simpler than he was expecting the task to be. And certainly less concerning for Leslie's wellbeing. Charles snorted softly at Tristan's chosen method of celebration and turned to face the witch. The pendulum swing was steady enough for him to mark the rhythm before he sparked the flame and sent it forward on an invisible current.

Leslie: Leslie softly laughed, watching Tristan with Charles a moment before refocusing. In this safer setting, both men seemed at ease with their magick, allowing it to create as they imagined. The flaming rock was tossed up, landing in Leslie's palm extinguished.

"Child's play. I've got another idea. If y'all can do it, I'll call this a successful lesson. We'll leave skeet shooting for next time. Deal?"

Tristan: It was absolutely child's play, in that Tristan felt like a little kid on Christmas morning whenever he managed to get his magic to do what he wanted it to do. He wished he'd been doing this his whole life.

"Deal. What's your idea?"

Charles: Charles nodded his agreement, flashing a smile at the two of them. Child's play, indeed. He was enjoying this time, flexing muscles that were often left stagnant. It was nice to have a break from responsibility, however brief. "I'm all ears."

Leslie: Leslie stepped further into the backyard, bringing his pile of stones with him to stack neatly into a pyramid.

"We're gonna build a bonfire. Each log I stack, you'll set ablaze yourself. We'll celebrate with some wine for your successes."

Tristan: "Great! Let's do it. We're celebrating with food though, I'm working up a hell of an appetite." That lemon pepper fish he'd promised was calling his name.

"Are Charles and I taking turns? I do one log and he does the next?"

Charles: "You had me at wine," he said with a smile. Food would be a lovely bonus, he supposed. Charles tipped his head in Tristan's direction, still looking at Leslie. "An excellent question, actually."

Leslie: "Could be, or could be a race for each log. Loser drinks," the witch grinned.

Tristan: "A race is just fine by me," Tristan said with a matching grin. As much as the idea of food was starting to creep into his mind, a good contest was hard to resist.

So he would shift his concentration to the task at hand and focus on building this bonfire with Charles as accurately and quickly as he could manage. And after so much practice, he thought he managed pretty good, win or lose.

Charles: Charles was game for more healthy competition. He rolled his shoulders and turned to face the beginnings of the bonfire, ready to light when the first log touched down.

When the fire was crackling merrily away, giving off incredible heat, Charles turned to his hosts, sleeves long-since pushed up to his elbows. "That was fun. And I believe we were promised wine."

Leslie: Each log ignited by his apprentices before added to the inferno. It was slower, safer, but these were not Hermetic mages. They were not the only ones learning something tonight. He had to have patience, and a gentler hand. The craft was not their first and only passion.

"Wine and good food. Maybe smores, if we have everything. Do we?" asked as he disappeared inside.

"There's something else I'd like to talk about, once I've popped the cork."

Tristan: "Uhhh...." Tristan took a mental catalogue of the pantry. "Yeah, we do. I think we even have some of Logan's fancy marshmallows left."

And who was to say that fancy homemade marshmallows wouldn't make Charles more open to what they had to say? Maybe that would make all the difference.

"You pop the cork, I'm gonna get going on the food."

Charles: "Sure. I'm all ears, whenever you're ready." Charles trailed behind, lingering by the door. "Do either of you need a hand with anything? I've got two."

Leslie: Gia, how to begin this conversation. He'd gone through it before with Tristan. More than once, in fact, and now with Charles just feet away he felt like a child. Perhaps that was where this should come from. No sense in withholding honesty, verbally and emotionally.

"If you wanna make a tray for the smores." Deep breath. "We wanna discuss... the idea of adopting Ruby and Ester."

Tristan: Tristan felt something catch in his throat and chest. "Yes, that's right," he said with a nod.

They had gone through it but even so he was nervous. The two of them practicing in the living room was very different from actually telling Charles.

Charles could say no. He could say yes but he could also say no and Tristan was...scared of that potential no. The possibility of it--which they couldn't just ignore--made every insecurity he'd ever had since birth come bubbling to the surface. Leslie was good enough to be a father to those two little girls but was he?

Taking a deep breath, he got the smores supplies from the pantry and set them out for Charles to arrange.

Charles: Charles dipped his head in agreement. It was a task nearly impossible to muck up. He was about to ask where he could find the marshmallows and chocolate when Leslie broached the true topic of this visit.

Was this where all the nervousness and hesitation had stemmed from? It might have been a touch insulting, if he didn't empathize so much.

He smiled kindly. "I can't say I'm surprised, given that you've taken to each other so well. That's a wonderful idea. It's an involved process, as I'm sure you know. But as long as the girls are amenable to the idea, you have my full support. I can contact my attorney, if you'd like. She's experienced, and helped the process run smoothly with Rory and Cee."

Leslie: Leslie all but laid over the kitchen island. Forearms crossed on the counter. That child-like feeling had yet to dissipate. Only churning his stomach and warming his entire being.

"That would be great. Thank you. Thank you. I haven't broached the subject with the girls yet. I wanted to speak with you first before ever -" he just gestured. "There was no need to plant that thought if it wasn't going to happen. If they say no, they say no. But, we've done our research. Let this sit for months to make absolutely certain, but there was no need. Nothing's changed."

Tristan: It was too soon to feel relieved. He'd been so worried about Charles saying no that it hadn't occurred him that the girls could say no. What if they didn't want him and Leslie for parents? What if they wanted Leslie but not him?

Tristan couldn't let himself think about that. Wasn't his mother always telling him that negative thoughts invited calamity?

"Les is right." Deep breaths, just deep breaths. "We're sure. We are making a very informed decision and we're sure of that decision. And thank you, for not saying no. Really, Charles. Even if they say no, thanks for not saying it."

Charles: "Of course."

He offered kind smiles to each man in turn, reaching out to give Leslie's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Leslie: Leslie had made a point to distance himself from Meg during the ordeal. It wasn't his place to speak up and interrupt the whirlwind of emotion to process between herself and her son. Refusing to influence how she felt about the supernatural simply because he was a part of it. Instead, he busied himself by updating his passport, learning key phrases and possible responses in Spanish. An easy feat, thanks be to his fluency in Portuguese.

Something for them to practice together. His version of healthy distraction. But now they were in Mexico. First time. He wanted to sample local cuisine. Browse local markets. Something to occupy himself further. Give them something other than their reason for being here.

But they couldn't avoid reality for long. Leslie wouldn't allow it.

First, he would gently throw his pillow at Tristan's back.

"You're slowly pulling a Band-Aid."

Tristan: Tristan startled far more than a soft pillow warranted, providing evidence enough of how far his mind was wandering.

More than anything he wished they were here just for pleasure. An actual vacation was so much better than this.

He sighed and held it on his lap. “Worried I’ll see my breakfast again if I rip it off. Can’t seem to make myself move either. It’s like I’m glued to this chair.”

Leslie: "You can't walk backwards from this. You can mourn what was, but you can't go back, baby. I'm sorry you have a shitty father, but you don't have a shitty life."

Tristan: He shook his head. “No. I don’t have a shitty life. I have a damn good one. I’ve got a mama that did her best to raise me right. I’ve got a roof over my head and a job I enjoy.”

He stood and walked over to Leslie. “And the man I love and I have got two beautiful little girls. That’s a damn good life, and I’m proud of it.”

Leslie: "Then there's nothing he can say or do that'll change that. You already know the man he is. There'll be no surprises. We just need a few answers."

Tristan: Tristan shook his head. “Nothing he can say or do will change that,” he repeated in an effort to reassure himself. Knowing what he had and that whatever happened today wouldn't change it did make him feel better, but the dread was still there.

“I know what kind of man he is but not the man himself. He made sure of that when he took off and if we’re being honest, I don’t really want to know him. I’ve got a parent. I just want answers.”

Leslie: "Then that's what we're walking into. With that, there's nothing to be disappointed in. Your mother is waiting for you in Edenton."

Leslie leaned back, taking Tristan with him.

"Can always be tomorrow. Rip the band-aid off, or sex and food market."

Tristan: Although he nodded and smiled, there wasn't a doubt in Tristan's mind that there could still be very much to be disappointed in. His father could refuse to talk. He could've taken off at some point between Dakota's investigation and their arrival. He could take off the moment he saw them and disappear into the sea.

There was so much that could go so very wrong. He hoped it wouldn't, but he couldn't discount it.

Tristan smiled and shook his head for a third time. "Whole point of ripping off a band-aid is to get it over with. Let's go ahead and get it over with. 'Sides, much as I appreciate your confidence in me, I wouldn't be able to get it up right now, sweetheart."

Leslie: "You don't always have to be on top, you know." His smile was tempered. Even the playful nip at Tristan's face was delicately measured.

"Was hoping you'd want to get this over with. Sooner you see him, the sooner you can move to the next step."

Back to their feet, then. One more kiss for the road, cradling Tristan's jaw in both hands.

"Just gonna lock up some things and we'll go."

Tristan: The next step...

Just what the hell was that exactly? Damned if he knew.

He'd take that kiss gladly, promising Leslie another when they'd done what they had to do. He grabbed his bag from the closet and made sure Luke's file was inside, along with all of Dakota's surveillance photos and a few others he'd brought along just in case.

There would be no mistaking the man, and there would be no room for denial once he was found.

"The boat rental place is a ways away. I'll call the front desk so they can get us a taxi." Boat rentals. Another of many jobs related to the water.

Fitting, for a merman.

Leslie: "How's your Spanish?" Leslie asked, hands stuffed into his pockets. His Portuguese would play a crucial role, if Tristan had nothing to go on. Wouldn't be the first time Leslie would have to pretend. Never before in this setting.

Tristan: “Passable. Won’t win any awards but I can get by.”

Tristan called down to the front desk and, not wanting to wait in the room, took Leslie’s hand and led him downstairs.

He had the address of the boat rental place so finding it wouldn’t be a problem. The taxi driver probably thought they were just two more tourists out of many wanting a day out on the water.

Not that Tristan could even be in the water in public anymore. The man they were going to see had made sure of that.

When they arrived, he paid the driver and mumbled a thank you before getting out.

Leslie: Today, Leslie was easily led by the hand. He checked himself yet again for wallet, keys, and phone. He'd never left his passport in a hotel room before, and today was no exception. Perhaps once he mastered a better lock spell for safes.

This was Tristan's turn to lead. No more jokes, no more teasing to coax a smile. His intention to be nothing more than a quiet support beam while Tristan confronted his biological father.

Tristan/Boone: The boat rental shop was a tiny faded blue building with a rusted sign, barely noticeable among the sea of tourists and dozens of other rental places and stalls and shops up and down the road by the docks. A few people stopped to read a second sign with the hourly and day rates, but very few—if any—actually went inside, and no one was coming out.

He’s probably alone.

Tristan stared at the building and swallowed, limbs like jelly and heart beating a tattoo in his chest. This was it. After months of searching and waiting, after years of wondering, he was finally going to set eyes on the man that was his father.

He felt himself take Leslie’s hand and walk forward as if in a daze. He didn’t really feel the doorknob as he turned it or hear the little bell above it chime its welcome. The warmth of Leslie’s hand in his was the only thing confirming that this wasn’t a dream, until he saw him—

A burly man with a strong, bearded face and a mane of salt and pepper hair. This was Gideon Clare Boone.

His father.

The man turned to face them, nodding in greeting. And, gauging them to be American—or maybe Australian—said, “Folks here to rent a boat or some jet skis?”

Leslie: The man looked almost exactly as Leslie had imagined. Tristan, having never laid eyes upon his father, shouldered many similarities. If ever there was debate between nature versus nurture, Leslie knew once and for all the answer was both, slamming together at once.

His instinct was to speak. As much as he didn't want to shield his companion, just a moment longer would do no harm.

"Depends the price," he offered, making no effort to hide his blended accent.

Tristan/Boone: Ah. Gideon nodded to himself. Brits. Figured.

"Won't find better in town." His voice was surprisingly gentle and clear despite its depth. There might have been an accent there, or a combination of them even, but it was too light to distinguish. "How long are ya'll here for? I can offer you a weekly rate if--"

"Are you Gideon Boone?"

Gideon's easy polite smile froze as he turned to face Tristan, who seemed to have at last found his voice and was fixing the man with a cold stare.

"...Who's asking?" Subtly, he reached beneath the counter.

Leslie: Leslie took a single step backwards, his angle towards Gideon Boone somewhat sideways. It was a strategic and defensive stance, though his expression remained calm. His right hand, furthest from view, had become warm with Quintessence, index finger slowly circling, pointed at the floor. A gust spell in his arsenal, though the concern now was whether or not he could complete the ritual before something happened.

Tristan/Boone: Fortunately for him, Tristan had seen enough movies and had spent enough nights drinking in Charlie Brandt's sketchy dive to recognize what that little gesture meant.

Unfortunately for Gideon Boone, rather than have the intended intimidating effect, it just pissed Tristan right the hell off.

"What?" he sneered, nodding towards the counter. "You gonna shoot your own son?"

The question hit Boone like a bucket of ice water.

He froze once again, taking a minute to fully, properly look the guy over. When he'd been asked for by name he'd expected a debt collector or a bounty hunter or a pissed off jilted husband who'd joined forces with another pissed off jilted husband to confront him, but a son? His son?

Boone paled, and Tristan noticed.

"Coming back to you now, ain't it?" He left the comfort of Leslie's side and took a step closer. "'Bout forty years ago, Kitty Hawk? Woman with wavy blonde hair? Taught high school? Is it all coming back?"

"Now, wait--"

Another step. "Her name was Megan. Told you she was going to have your baby and you took off. Called, wrote, went to your place, you were nowhere to be fucking found."

"Look, man, you've got the wrong--"

"But before you took off like the dickless fucking coward you are, you forgot to tell her that the baby she was carrying was a fucking merman!"

Tristan dunked his arm in the fish tank on the counter and pulled it out again, revealing the shimmering iridescent scales on his skin. Some of the water that had splashed landed on Gideon's skin and had the exact same effect. Even their color was the same.

"Gonna tell me I have the wrong guy again?"

Leslie: There was a lot to take in. The shouting, body language, nuance of expression - but his world revolved around Boone. He had all the time in the world to discuss and comfort Tristan; not if the man was dead. One wrong move and his spell would throw his intended through the tattered excuse of a wall.

But, at least for the moment, he didn't seem required. Tristan had this planned, at least in appearance. Must have gone over his speech a hundred times, or perhaps an outline. Whatever had been prepared now felt like a burst dam, and well deserved.

For his part, he remained a statue.

Tristan/Boone: Boone had enough experience with debt collectors, bounty hunters, and pissed off husbands to be able to tell who was a real threat and who was more bark than bite. This guy? His--fuck, his son--absolutely did not fall into the second category. He was taking a swing if he got the chance.

There was a tiny part of him that was just a little bit proud of that. The part that wasn't looking to get decked.

The rest of his parts were trying to think on the fly. Even if he had wanted to deny anything or hide his skin, it was impossible. He'd been caught off guard.

"All right all right all right, look." Boone raised his hands defensively. "Why don't we all just caaaaalm the hell down. I'm tryin' to run a business here and I can't have anyone seeing shit they ain't supposed to. Why don't you come back later and--"

Tristan scoffed. "Are you fucking kidding me? You think I'm gonna give you a chance to skip town before I get what I came here for? How stupid do you think I am? We're gonna talk about this now."

He turned and stalked over the door, flipping the lock and the 'open' sign to the side that said 'closed'.

Leslie: Leslie took his eyes off Boone long enough to check for a secondary exit. Anywhere this man might run to slip away. Hell, an open window would probably be enough, if given the opportunity.

He didn't want to dismiss his loaded spell, but neither did he want to allow any chance of escape. The smallest silence was disturbed by a thick pop of his joints. Left hand raised and fingers painfully tense and kinked. A brief chill overwhelmed the room, gone as swiftly as it had appeared. This was all he could do; restraint and a single offensive.

Tristan/Boone: The rental shop was little more than a shack but it was larger than it appeared from the street. There was a beaded curtain back behind the right end of the counter that led to a room that doubled as a living space and office, beyond which there was another door that led to the outside.

Boone, however, wasn't thinking about any of that. He might have, though, if he hadn't felt that momentary chill and a crackle of something in the air that felt distinctly like magic.

It wasn't coming from his son; it was the other guy. Something told him that one would take a lot more than a swing if Boone made one wrong move.

Nothing for it then.

"All right all right, fine. You win. Come around ba--"

"Uh-uh."

Tristan interjected before Boone could take a step, going behind the counter and putting himself between his father and the doorway with the beaded curtain.

"What'd I just say? I'm not giving you a chance to escape out of here, I'm going first."

If there was another door or something back there, Tristan was going to make damn sure his father didn't get anywhere near it.

Leslie: Windows were no longer an option, but there was no need to explain himself. No need to make this man feel any more like a cornered animal. He was primed to strike defensively with any provocation, and while Leslie would not blame him, he also would not allow such action.

The readied fire in his hand, set to explode with a final flick of his fingers, warmed his skin uncomfortably, but still, he said nothing, waiting to follow behind and stand guard in the doorway.

Tristan/Boone: Boone felt more like a man being dragged to the gallows than a cornered animal but it all came down to the same thing. Couldn’t run forever.

“Fine, whatever you say,” he grumbled, following his son into the other room. “Wasn’t gonna try anything, geez.”

There were two doors in the room: one led outside and the other to a bathroom. Tristan locked the outside door and then planted himself in front of it. Boone might say he wouldn’t try anything but Tristan didn’t buy it.

He doubted Leslie did either.

For his part Boone just sighed and shook his head, taking a seat on the small couch against one wall.

“All right, you got me where you want me.” He turned to his son. “What do you want?”

Tristan gave him an incredulous look. “Are you serious? The hell do you think I want?”

Boone turned to the other guy. “Help me out here.”

Leslie: The witch took a breath, refusing the swallow the lump in his throat. It wasn't so unreasonable to give an answer, at least, one suitable to the situation, and the man on the couch.

"Pretend for the next thirty minutes you're Pinocchio. Or truth serum. Whatever gets you through this."

Tristan/Boone: “Yeah, Pinocchio.” Tristan stepped closer. “Except instead of your nose growing, I stick a fishing lure under your fingernails every time you tell a lie.”

Again Boone looked between them. It was almost as though he were watching some sort of deranged tennis match.

“Is he serious—are you serious?”

Leslie: Leslie looked at his beloved, doing his very best not to seem concerned in front of Boone. Not to give anything away and cause vulnerability. Never in a hundred years would he have expected those words out of that mouth. But this was his man. There would be no contradicting.

"You'll not find out if you just comply."

Tristan/Boone: Tempting as it was to keep his mouth shut, Boone knew when he was beat. He wasn't entirely sure if his son was the type to actually carry through a threat like that but the look in his eyes was tipping the scales toward 'yes' even if the other guy didn't look too sure.

"Fine, fine!" Boone raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Ask away. What do you wanna know?"

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. "For starters, I wanna know how the hell I managed to live nearly thirty-nine years of my life without knowing what the fuck I am."

"Thirty-nine?" Boone repeated incredulously, regarding his son with utter shock and turning to the other guy for confirmation. "You're thirty-nine?"

Tristan scoffed. "What, didn't realize it had been nearly four goddamn decades since you walked out on my mother?"

Leslie: Hearing his age always startled Leslie as well but for a different reason. The man before him was strong, quick-witted, youthful. A year older. Perhaps two. Seven and a half years seemed too many.

It wasn't his place to say anything. No intervening. Nothing until Boone made an inappropriate move. His role was silence, if not intimidation. Tristan had plenty and to spare.

Tristan/Boone: No he damn well had not. Time was a son of a bitch.

"Fuck me running," Boone muttered, crossing the room before either of them could stop him. There was a bottle of tequila in his desk and he was going to take a swig or three whether they liked it or not. He needed it.

Thirty-nine years since Meg had come to him to tell him she was pregnant. Thirty-nine years since he'd packed up his shit and put Kitty Hawk in his rearview mirror. Thirty-nine years since he'd snuck into Meg's hospital room and seen that tiny little thing sleeping in a basinet beside his mother.

Thirty-nine goddamn fucking years.

"I'm waiting, Boone."

Boone turned to look at his son, at the tiny little thing who had grown into the pissed off man who was staring back at him. He took another swig of tequila.

"I hid it. When you were born...I went back to Kitty Hawk and..." Boone gestured vaguely.

"You hid it. What does that even mean? Did you take my abilities? Did you put a spell on me?"

Boone nodded.

Leslie: To the Wyld and Wyrm, he wanted to say something. Ask questions. Tristan would get to the question eventually. More like a statement. It must have already been on his mind. Boone knew this would happen. One day his son would appear, his abilities realized. Why bother delaying the inevitable?

Tristan/Boone: "Why?"

"So you wouldn't--fucking know! So Meg wouldn't know!"

"Don't you think at that point it was too little too fucking late?!" Tristan shouted. "You let her get pregnant!"

"That wasn't supposed--!"

"You let her get pregnant and you didn't tell her!"

"How the hell could I? You think it's easy to just tell people th--"

"No, I fucking don't, which is why it makes even less sense to me that you'd let me happen in the first place!"

Boone had no answer to that. He just drank more tequila.

Tristan shook his head in disgust. "If you were so goddamn worried about her knowing you should've done something about it when she was in time to get rid of me, not when I was already fucking born!"

Tristan unlocked the backdoor and threw it open, letting it slam shut as he stormed outside.

Leslie: Too late to realize his shoulders had tensed. Raised, even, without knowing. Shouting such as this was new to him, and made obvious by the quiet shock and confusion in his eyes.

Too many thoughts to organize, too many raw feelings he needed to process. What Tristan had said... he couldn't allow those statements to affect him.

The silence could only stretch for so long.

"Meg... is very open-minded," he said, gently. "You had to know that. Know she would do anything for her son. You... lost something you didn't have to."

Boone: "You're wrong." Boone was staring a hole into the wall. His voice had lost some of its energy, some of its fight. It was like the past forty years were hitting him all at once.

"All I did was let go of something that wasn't meant for me to begin with. I knew I wasn't cut out to have a kid. White picket fence and a station wagon and little league games weren't something I wanted."

Leslie: "He's a fisherman. He plays soccer on weekends. I told him what I am and he just... kept on as though I told him the weather. You ran away because of a picture that didn't have to be the picture. Is that all? Is that what all of your kind do? That's not Tristan."

Boone: A fisherman. That figured. The physical manifestations of what his son was may have been hidden with magic but, like love and poverty, there were some things you just couldn't hide. A merman was always going to yearn for the sea, even if he didn't know what he was.

But that wasn't what made Boone forfeit his staring contest with the wall and turn to look at the man he was speaking with.

"Is that his name? Tristan?"

Leslie: Leslie couldn't help but straighten as he was turned to. Despite all of his conflicting feelings, the man was older, and upon the pressing subject, an authority.

"You... You didn't even know his name? How could you just... "

Boone: "There was a little card with his name on it stuck to his bassinet in the hospital. Didn't bother to read it."

Boone returned to the couch with the bottle. "Didn't see the point in knowing the name of a kid I was never gonna see again. Just did what I went there to do and got out. How's that for father of the year, huh?"

He scoffed, drank again. "Still think I should've stuck around?"

Leslie: "A better version of you." There was no bite behind his words. On the contrary. Without intention, there was something almost childlike. His disbelief bordered on innocent. He had seen things, done terrible things, and still had the capacity to be astonished.

"But, if you were able to - you had to know this would happen."

Boone: "Ha! There ain't no better version, sport." Boone gestured sarcastically at himself. "This is it." The only version of him there was, and the only version he cared to be.

He shrugged. "The thought probably occurred to me at some point, couldn't say for sure."

Leslie: His eyes lowered to Boone's feet. The man didn't deserve eye contact.

"Merman, is that what you're called? I saw other names. We didn't know which... was correct."

Boone: Boone nodded as he drank again. At the pace he was going, he was well on his way to drunk.

Couldn’t happen soon enough.

“Yep. Merman’s what I’ve always used. There’s a few other things out there like me but they’re not exactly the same. There’s more to them. Me, I’m just straightforward half-man, half-fish.”

Leslie: Tristan needed his moment. Leslie would fill in the blanks in between. However long that would take.

"With a tail? Because he - when it happened, he just... nearly died. I want to know more."

Boone: “With a tail,” he confirmed with another nod. “And gills. He not have gills?”

Leslie: "That's all he had. And some - some scales."

Boone: “He still not have a tail?”

Leslie: "Took a while. A lot of patience, but, yes, he has one."

Boone: “Took a while, huh…” And he’d said that the first time, there had been only scales and gills. The magic hadn’t broken all at once, it had worn off gradually.

He shook his head. “Should’ve been permanent. I could deck that asshole magician.”

Leslie: "Could have been intentional," the witch nearly scoffed, "or he felt slighted."

Boone: “What right did he have to feel slighted? I should feel slighted, that little trick cost me fifteen grand.”

Leslie: "That's all?" said with offense in his tone.

Boone: “That’s not enough for you? Know how much money that was back then?”

Boone shook his head and emptied the bottle. There was another one here somewhere…

Leslie: The chill in his hand dissipated, but the fire ready to ignite in his other tingled, becoming uncomfortable to hold. He had to let the spell go, shaking his hand and flexing his fingers. He could restart on a dime if need be. This man was a disappointment, but he wasn't much of a threat. Not yet.

"To withhold someone from their nature, I don't see that very often. Not from honest, good people. I'd expect the kind of magician you found to be just that. A magician with parlor tricks."

Boone: At this point, Boone was too buzzed to care about the magic he could sense in the air. If this guy or his son wanted to try something let them; Boone just wanted to be drunk first.

“You gonna stand there and judge me now? Pah.” He waved a hand and began his search for more tequila. “I just did what I had to. I did it for Meg, you know.”

Leslie: "Why do you think Meg needed you to do anything?"

Boone: “Look, she wanted to have the kid all right?” Ah, there it was. Boone pulled a fresh bottle of tequila from a cabinet and opened it.

“Should’ve seen her face when she told me she was knocked up, all excited and imagining the station wagon and shit. All I did was make sure the kid turned out normal. I owed her that much, didn’t I? It was supposed to be permanent. She’d get a normal kid and I’d get to keep doing what I’ve always done. Everybody wins.”

Leslie: Leslie's eyes shut, but only for a moment. Still on high alert, he couldn't let his guard down, not with Tristan absent. He could only assume this conversation was between the two of them. Which was why he made no effort to hide the absolute disgust in his voice.

"Frankly, the easy way out never made anyone in this room very happy."

Boone: “The hell difference does it make now anyway?” Boone flopped back on the couch with his bottle, shaking his head all the while.

“He got forty good years, didn’t he? So did Meg. Now he just has to be careful about getting wet, what’s the big deal? Watch, when he shacks up with some girl and decides he wants to continue the species one day, he’ll be singing a different tune. I betcha dollars to donuts when that day comes, he’s gonna show up here again begging for that parlor trick.”

Leslie: Leslie's hands lowered altogether, gently falling to his thighs. His expression fell somewhere between dead and disappointed. There was nothing more in this world he needed than Tristan back in this room. An unwelcome tingle itched his fingertips.

What had been an innocuous voice had darkened, lowered. "Do you know what I am?"

Boone: Boone glanced over at his companion. He’d looked docile enough before but now he was starting to look as pissed as his son.

Just couldn’t fucking win today.

“I can guess,” he sighed, looking away again. “So what are you gonna do, huh? Avenge your buddy? Take a swing at an old man?”

Leslie: "I could castrate you," the witch said simply.

Boone: Now there was a threat Boone had heard before. A couple of times.

“And accomplish what exactly?”

Leslie: "Never doing this to another innocent family again, for starters."

Boone: “Way ahead of you, sport. Been shooting blanks since ‘86.”

Leslie: "You still have a sac."

Tristan/Boone: “So what, you’re gonna tear it off? Gonna tear my dick off, too?”

“There’s an idea.”

Tristan’s voice came just seconds before the back door opened again. With these thin walls, he’d managed to hear the last of what Boone had said.

Leslie: Leslie's chin lowered upon Tristan's return, eyes falling back to Boone's feet where he wanted them.

Tristan/Boone: Boone didn’t bother sitting up or saying anything, and it was just as well.

Tristan was done.

“Come on, Les,” he said softly, holding the door open for his love.

Leslie: His head raised, looking at Tristan questioningly. Only one question: are you certain? To have come all this way, to have left the room for the majority of it, leaving Leslie to ask the questions he probably hadn't heard. Was there nothing else Tristan wanted?

Tristan: Tristan could only give him a nod and a defeated look. Sometime between slamming the door and making the walk back he’d realized that there was no point in trying to have a conversation with his father. It wouldn’t turn back time or undo what had been done.

Coming here was more about needing a face to blame than anything else. Having gotten that didn’t make him feel any better.

Leslie had probably known that all along.

“There’s nothing for us here. Let’s go.”

Leslie: There was nothing that he could say to make this man feel guilt. If he had harbored any, his conscience was clear with forty years of normalcy. Saying they would never think of him again, that they felt sorry for him, nothing would harm this man. Nothing but physical pain, and Leslie couldn't bring himself to do it. Not unless this man raised a hand to the one beside him.

Without another word, he turned away.

Tristan/Boone: They almost made it. They’d decided to leave, to walk away from this place and this situation.

But Boone just couldn’t resist a parting shot.

“So that’s it, huh? Came alllll this way, went through alllll the trouble of tracking your old man down, and now you’re just gonna leave? Lemme tell you something.”

Boone took a huge swig of tequila and staggered to his feet, swaying as he pointed the bottle at Tristan and Leslie.

“I did you a favor. I gave you forty years where you didn’t have to worry about a goddamn fuckin’ thing and now here you are throwing it in my face. Think you would’ve gotten that without me? Ha!”

Another swig. “You get to stand there now because I made you normal. You got a chance because I gave it to you and the second you realize that and decide to put a couple brats in some girl you’re gonna come dragging your ass back here, begging me for the spell I used on you and I’ll tell you right now, it’s going to cost you a hell of a lot more than fifteen gra—”

Tristan’s fist would cut off the rest of whatever Boone had to say.

Leslie: Nonsense said only in his presence. There was no sense bringing this up again. Nothing but malice. Leslie would do nothing to stop him. Perhaps he would regret Tristan's catharsis in an hour, but in the moment, he did nothing but remain still, and quiet, and wait for Boone to rub his jaw before taking a breath.

"He has two perfect daughters, and there'll be no begging. I promise you."

Tristan/Boone: He was too drunk to see it coming but he wouldn’t take it personally. He’d been expecting the swing from the get-go. They were even now.

“I don’t swing that way anyway,” Tristan muttered, taking Leslie’s hand and leading him away.

It took a second for Boone’s inebriated brain to catch what Tristan had said and once he did, he scoffed.

“So much for normal then, eh?” he called after them, cackling. “Can’t blame that one on me, sonny boy! That one’s all Meg!”

The mocking laughter would follow them until they got a good ways away from the shop, at which point they would be passed by a national guard truck heading the way they’d come from.

Leslie: It was now that Leslie felt shame. He hadn't expected Tristan to take his hand, to make any indication of their relationship beyond a pissed-off friend. Just another needle in Tristan's spine, another laugh.

He squeezed his boyfriend's hand.

Tristan: Tristan squeezed back. The reaction hadn’t surprised him.

Why wouldn’t his father be a homophobic asshole on top of everything else?

“You okay?”

Leslie: "Don't ever say that again. Don't ever act like you wish you were never born. I never want to hear that again."

Tristan: He stopped, turning to Leslie and feeling a moment's confusion until he remembered what he'd said to Boone and realized how it must have sounded.

Tristan took Leslie's other hand and brought both to his lips. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Leslie: "I don't... want to talk about it here." He had brought it up, but he realized too late if they continued he'd shout, or fight tears.

Tristan: "Wanna go back to the hotel?"

Leslie: "Yes." All of this was for Tristan. There was nothing here he wanted.

Tristan: "Okay." He kissed Leslie's hands again and looked around for a taxi to hail.

Leslie: {Text} Leaning towards the bridge out by the creek

Tristan: {Text} Then that’s where we’ll go

{Text} I’ll get us some wine

Leslie: {Text} Thanks baby

Tristan: {Text} I’ll be home soon. Anything else you want me to get?

Leslie: {Text} Mmmmmmm

{Text} Nothing I can think of

Tristan: {Text} I’d offer to take care of the food but we both know it’s better I stick with the wine

{Text} I’ll ask Meg to look after the girls for us

Leslie: {Text} If you want them to stay the night there.

{Text} Was just gonna do what my parents did, wait until I was asleep - or they thought I was

Tristan: {Text} She can just come over to our place and stay

{Text} All night is too long for them to be alone and I don’t intend to have you back before dawn

Leslie: {Text} Is that so?

Tristan: {Text} You can bet your bottom dollar, sweet thing

Leslie: {Text} Bet. See you when you get home

❤️❤️❤️

Guildias: {Text from Guildias} I will have you absent clothes before my arrival.

Callum: {Text from Callum} All clothes?

{Text from Callum} Even the lacy things I have on?

Guildias: {Text} Show me

Callum: {Text} That would ruin the surprise!

Guildias: {Text} Then leave those and surprise me

Callum: {Text} Actually, do you have a color preference?

Guildias: {Text} You look exquisite in black.

Callum: {Text} Then it’s your lucky day, husband mine

{Text} Any other requests?

Guildias: {Text} Do you harbor quiet desires?

Callum: {Text} Only the desire to make a memorable Valentine’s Day for my husband

Guildias: {Text} That's vague

Callum: {Text} But it’s true

{Text} Which is why I’ll be waiting for you in your garden

Guildias: {Text} Less vague

{Text} Shall I wear something specific?

Callum: {Text} Wear…..

{Text} Your favorite outfit

Guildias: Guildias stared at his phone a moment, curious if he should be concerned about his husband or not. Did he have a favorite he wasn't aware of? Did Callum actually want something?

Callum: {Text} Did I break you?

{Text} You went silent

Guildias: {Text} What is my favorite?

Callum: {Text} You would know that better than I would

Guildias: {Text} I don't.

Callum: {Text} Then just wear whatever you’re comfortable in

{Text} It won’t be on for very long anyway

❤️❤️❤️

Bo: Bo looked at his phone for what felt like the fifteenth time in ten minutes. It has been less, of course, but this was how it felt when Brett was absent like this. This hadn't been a regular everyday patrol that sent the ghoul outside of Edenton.

The wand in his hand was twirled and twirled again. Quintessence like static in his hands, ready to go off from some forgotten spell.

Brett: Whether it was a coincidence or the result of some latent psychic ability that had finally manifested itself, Bo wouldn’t have to wait long to hear from his ghoul.

{Text from Brett} Have you decided what you want for Valentine’s dinner?

Bo: {Text} That's what you have to say to me?

Brett: {Text} Just trying to distract you

{Text} You had an angel of death look on your face when I left the house

Bo: {Text} Are you safe?

Brett: {Text} I’m being safe, I promise

{Text} I’ll be back before you know it

Bo: {Text} Doubtful.

He didn't want to end it this way. Forced himself to write another text.

{Text} Just come home.

Brett: {Text} I will just as soon as I wrap things up here

{Text} You never answered my question

Bo: {Text} Apple cinnamon quinoa pancakes

Brett: {Text} Your wish is my command

{Text} Want anything on the side?

Bo: {Text} No

Bo: Minutes later.

{Text} Is there something you want?

Brett: {Text} Yep. I was planning to pick it up on the way home

Bo: {Text} This is a surprise?

Brett: {Text} Kind of? I had a little treat made for us