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Peter supposed that by now he should be used to waking up in strange places. In the past, when he still didn’t have a full grasp on his powers, he would often overexert himself and awaken on the side of a road or in a homeless shelter after having passed out during one of his runs. But no matter how many times it happened to him, it never stopped being jarring to open his eyes and be greeted with completely unfamiliar surroundings.
Usually when he found himself in that type of situation it didn’t take him long to figure out where he was and how to get back to where he was supposed to be. But this time was different. This time he had absolutely no idea where he was, what he was doing there, or how to find his way back to where he was pretty sure he was meant to be.
All he knew about his current situation was that he was laying on some sort of short couch and that his entire body was in such a massive amount of pain that it hurt to think. His head throbbed, his ribcage ached, even his arms felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to them. And it was hot. Tropical island hot. He wanted an air conditioner and morphine. Lots of morphine.
Though his body was clearly not ready to return to the world of the living, Peter knew that he needed to figure out where he was. He couldn’t remember why he had been unconscious in the first place but he had an uncomfortable feeling that it was because something horrible had happened. If he was right then he needed to make sure his teammates were okay. Forcing his eyes open against the blinding natural light that flooded the room he was in, Peter took in what he could of his surroundings. Since he was laying on his back, all he could really examine at the moment was the ceiling. It wasn’t anything impressive, though the wooden fan dangling above him and taunting him with the promise of cool air made him want to groan in frustration.
Turning his head to the side as carefully as possible, desperately trying to ignore the bolts of pain that shot through him as he did so, Peter managed to give himself a better view of the room. It was wide and sparsely but tastefully decorated with white and gold furniture. A small wooden table with a jug of what he assumed was water sat closest to his couch. Furthest from him was an open floor length window that led out onto a balcony. The thin, pale curtain that was strung up in front of it danced slightly in a gentle breeze that did nothing to cool him down. Wherever he was, he certainly wasn’t in Westchester anymore.
Motivated by shock and slight fear, Peter made his best attempt to sit up. His unwise experiment with further movement did nothing but cause his entire body to scream out in pain that made him want to throw up and he pathetically collapsed back onto his side. He wasn’t going anywhere for the time being, whether he liked it or not.
-
When Peter awoke again, he felt fingers delicately running through his hair. It was an odd feeling, as not even his own mother had felt comfortable touching his hair, but not an unpleasant one. It actually felt rather nice, especially in contrast to his aching body.
Leaning into the touch ever so slightly, Peter slowly opened his eyes. Night had clearly fallen as the room was now dark and its temperature several degrees cooler. The person stroking his hair was sitting at the edge of his couch, their identity still a mystery to Peter because of his sleep fogged eyes and the darkness that they had not yet adjusted to.
“You are safe now,” a familiar voice said, quiet and gentle in a way that he had never heard before.
Magneto.
Peter’s eyes shot open, his senses returning to him in a brief wave of panic. Despite the pain he was still in, he lurched his head backwards and away from his father’s touch in a movement so fast only he would have been able to see it. His head smacked against the back of the couch, the cushioning preventing him from knocking himself out, and he let out a miserable groan.
Magneto pulled his hand away from Peter, clearly startled by the younger man’s reaction to hearing his voice. “Peter, you don’t have to be afraid.”
Dizzy from the impact and from the situation he was in, Peter could do nothing but stare blankly up at the man in front of him. Though he was pretty sure Magneto wouldn’t hurt him, it was still nerve-wracking to be in such a vulnerable position in front of someone so dangerous. Every other time he had encountered his father, he knew that if things started to go south he could simply run to safety. This time he wouldn’t be able to. He was trapped.
“Where am I,” Peter asked, his voice coming out weak and hoarse.
“You are in Genosha. You will be safe here,” Magneto answered. His tone was still gentle and it made Peter’s head swim more than it already was.
Slowly beginning to slide out of his dizzy yet tense state, Peter let his body and mind relax slightly. He knew that he should keep himself alert and on guard but the kindness his father was showing him was melting his inhabitations. “What’s Genosha?”
“An island where mutants can live peacefully away from humans.” Magneto slowly stood up from the couch and retrieved the jug from the table, bringing it over to Peter. “No one can harm you here.”
Reaching out as best as he could with a single shaking hand, Peter wrapped his fingers around the handle of the jug and brought its lip to his mouth so he could finally quench the thirst that had been plaguing him since he first woke up. “Someone was harming me?” he asked after he had drunk nearly all of the water inside of the jug.
“Jean nearly killed you,” Magneto responded as he returned the jug back to its place on the table. “But you do not have to worry about her anymore.”
Peter’s eyes widened in shock. “Jean wouldn’t do something like that!”
Magneto regarded him with an unreadable expression. “And yet she did. But as I said, you no longer have to worry about her.”
Weakly attempting to push himself into a seated position against his better judgment, Peter’s mind buzzed frantically with what he had just been told. Jean had tried to kill him? What did Magneto mean that he no longer had to worry about her? Why couldn’t he remember anything? What was going on?
“You must have many questions,” Magneto said as he watched Peter struggle against his pain to sit up. “I will answer all of them in time. But for now you should rest.”
“I’m not resting until I get some answers!” Peter snapped. “What the hell happened?”
Sighing, Magneto placed his hand in Peter’s hair once again and Peter’s movement stilled. “I need you to rest, my son. I will tell you when you wake up again.”
Peter lay motionless and speechless on his couch, a state he so rarely resided in. The words ‘my son’ rattled around inside of his head like a pinball and he was suddenly unable to process anything else that had just been said to him. Any thoughts he had been having of Genosha or Jean were shoved out of his mind and replaced by what he had just heard. Magneto knew that he was his son.
Before he could remember how to speak again, Magneto disappeared from the room and left Peter alone with his thoughts.
Magneto knew that he was his son.
This had to be some sort of dream.