Archive of Our Own ^beta

On a melting-hot summer day, Peter waited for Charles in an office that felt too ancient for an office that was newly built. There were some photos on the shelf, and he was drawn to them, catching the sight of a younger version of his father.

“Peter?”

“Oh. Sorry,” Peter put down the frame, unsure of why he apologised.

Charles came further inside and closed the door. “Those photos were taken a long time ago, before the school was running. Although, in some ways, that was the first class.” His eyes took on a far-away gaze for a moment, and he smiled. “I had more, but they went with the explosion.” Gaze shifting back to Peter, he gave a studying look. “But you didn’t come to look at dusty old photos.”

Peter fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt and shrugged, keeping his eyes low. “Hank says my leg is all good now.”

“That’s wonderful news, Peter.” Charles said, and Peter looked up to find him smiling.

Nodding, Peter scratched his earlobe, eyes flitting to the window instead of Charles. “So, since I’m not stuck with the cast, and I don’t need Hank’s help with physical therapy anymore…” he glanced at Charles, who tilted his head in a gesture for him to go on. Peter shifted his weight. “Do you need any help around the school or anything?”

There was a glint in Charles’s eyes. “I may not be able to get into your head without suffering a migraine, but I can still infer that what you’re really asking is if it would be alright for you to stay.”

“Could I…?”

Charles nodded. “Of course, you can, Peter. The students wouldn’t even be alive if not for you.”

“But I’m not a teacher or a kid. I’m just some guy fresh from his mom’s basement.”

Charles held up his hand. “I’m sure we can find something for you. Actually,” he leaned forward, lacing his hands on the desk, “there is something I've been meaning to ask you. I know after recuperating from your injury, going into the fray might not be your desired endeavour going forward, but would you be interested in joining the X-Men?”

Peter’s eyes perked up. “Join the X-Men?” The spark of thrill that lived in his heart thrummed at the idea, the promise of adventure. “I’m in.”

And that was how Peter integrated into the puzzle that was Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Summer turned to Autumn, and spooky season crawled closer.

Halloween. A great time of the year. Spooky. Full of candy, suspenseful horror movies or just plain gross horror movies. On a day with as much bite as an October chill should have, Peter sat outside, surrounded by at least fifty pumpkins. The mansion was big and needed substantial decors. And since Peter now belonged there, he was ready to put his stamp on it. A couple of kids trickled out, meekly asking if they could join him in carving.

“Have at it,” he said. Then, after seeing them look around unsurely, he said, “Want me to show you how?”

After they nodded, he grabbed a pumpkin and slowly went through the procedure while explaining. It took a lot to keep his words paced. How could teachers stand doing it for hours? And Charles had voluntarily opened a school; perhaps there was reason to fear the man.

“Like this?” the girl asked.

“Huh?” Peter snapped out of his thoughts, having wandered off to imagining Charles having a pumpkin class that somehow ended up with him being the fairy godmother giving Hankerella a magical pumpkin carriage… he looked at the pumpkin she had carved. Quite menacing expression. Pleased with his pupil, he gave a thumbs up. “Looking good.”

When all the pumpkins had been carved the kids hopped back inside, rubbing their arms at the nibbling chill. Hank came out, wrapped in a brown knitted scarf.

“Where did you get all these pumpkins?” His eyebrows knitted together. “Let me rephrase that. Did you get the pumpkins legally?”

Peter leaned back in his Kingdom of Pumpkins with a grin. “Guess.”

Hank pulled a face and looked around at the substantial number of pumpkins. “Forget I asked. I don’t want to know.”

Peter stood up and wiped off dead leaves and grass from his jeans. “I actually paid a farmer a good price for them with my humble custodian salary. So, don’t worry, I did not expose the kids to contraband pumpkins.”

Hank snorted. “I’ve yet to see anything about you that’s humble, but alright.”

Peter ran around the property and arranged the pumpkins, returning just as Hank was turning to see where he’d gone. Appearing behind Hank, Peter poked his shoulder, grinning when he flinched.
Hank looked about to scold, but then his eyes drifted to the decorations across the front of the mansion. “The kids will like this,” he mumbled.

“We should have a Halloween party,” Peter said. Hank looked unconvinced, so Peter continued, “Look, it’s not like these kids can go trick-or-treating, but there should at least be something fun for them to do! Halloween is supposed to be fun and spooky for kids.”

Considering it, Hank said, “Run it by Charles.”

“You’ll back me up, right? Come on, Hank, I know deep down you’re not boring.”

A new voice joined them. “I have my doubts about that.”

Peter turned.

Erik.

Erik’s eyes drifted over the house. “How American.”

“Do you like?” Peter asked.

Erik glanced at him. “I assume you arranged this?”

“You bet,” Peter grinned.

“Why are you here?” Hank asked, bristles up, shoulders rising in tension.

“Is it a crime to visit old friends?” Erik was unaffected by Hank’s hostile body language.

“You say that like you have more than one.”

Erik took a step forward. “Of course, I do. Peter and I go back a long time, don’t we?”

“Huh, what?” Peter blinked. “Yes. Yes, we do. We are buds. Totally, for sure.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “It’s getting cold, we should go inside.” Then he stomped off, muttering to himself.

Erik also moved, and Peter followed. His mind was buzzing with questions, as always around his father. For some reason, the only one that slipped out was, “Did you bring candy?”
Erik hung up his coat. “I wasn’t aware that was a requirement to gain entry.”

“But it’s Halloween week.”

Erik smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind next time. If you’ll excuse me,” he said, and took off in the direction of Charles’s office.

Peter lingered in the entrance for a while, soaking in that rare interaction before tucking it away safely in a corner of his brain. Afterwards, he drifted to the kitchen to fill up on fuel. He found Jean and Jubilee baking, with ‘Ro, Scott and Kurt sitting by the kitchen island, sipping on hot chocolate that smelled of cinnamon.

“On your guard, the cookie monster has arrived.” Ororo said, and Jubi and Jean jerked to cover their trays.

Peter stopped. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Do you deny it?” Ororo’s eyes gleamed with amusement over her mug.

Peter sighed. “No, I guess not.” He went to his personal fridge, the teens falling into chatter behind him. Peter reached for one of his tubs of prepped meals that he only needed to heat up and frowned as it was empty.

“You guys don’t happen to know what happened to my food?”

Someone cleared their throat. Interesting.

“Uh, why would we know anything about that?” Jubilee piped.

Peter turned, looking them over. “Did you guys eat it?”

“We were really hungry last night, okay? And nobody felt like cooking. You have it so easy, you just need to heat your prepped meals,” Jubilee said.

“It was really good.” Jean said.

“Yeah, Hank’s cooking skills are improving with my gentle guidance,” Peter said, putting down the empty plastic box. He opened a cabinet for his stash of Twinkies—one of several hidden around the house.

“Hank cooks for you?” Scott said.

“Uh yeah, he’s trying to optimise nutrition or calories or something.”

“That’s very kind of him,” Kurt contributed, and Peter gave his shoulder a pat.

“Don’t complain when I steal your cookies later,” he said over his shoulder as he left the room with his sweets.

On to the Prof’s office.

“That is a marvellous idea, Peter,” Charles said after Peter shared his idea of having a Halloween party for the students. “Can I entrust you to manage the project?”

“Of course,” Peter leaned back on the couch, grinning. “It’ll be awesome. Spook-tastic.” He flared one of his hands.

“Make a list of what you need, but make sure to keep in mind the budget. Then Hank can go get the items.”

“I can go,” Peter said.

Charles clasped his hands together. “That’s lovely. I wasn’t sure you were up to it, but by all means, go together. Easier to carry.”

Seemed like Charles had noticed that Peter was still holding onto his shut-in tendencies.

“Alright, then.” Peter stood up. “Guess I have a party to plan.”

Peter spent the next hour making an extensive list ranging from fake spider webs to food colouring, as well as a list of desired costumes after asking each kid what they would want to dress as if they had the chance. Wanting sustenance for the drive, he made a quick search for leftover cookies that should have been left for him to steal—that’s how it always was—but this time there were none. Greedy teenagers. How dare they eat cookies they made with their own hands. He settled for protein bars. Peter had suggested to Hank that he should set up a protein bar business, but he’d said it wouldn’t be very profitable considering his sole clientele was Peter.

Hank appraised the list. “Looks like it’s going to be a long day.”

“Come on,” Peter put his arm around Hank’s shoulder to drag him along—how tall was he, even? “It’s the weekend, not like you have anything else to do.”

“Right. Not like I have interests or obligations.”

“Exactly.” Peter hopped into the car.

Despite Peter’s general aversion to car rides—something about the confined space made time stretch extra slow—his project kept him cheerful enough. He and Hank visited various shops, filling up the backseat and the trunk with all sorts of stuff. A couple of snack breaks were crammed in. The sun was down when they returned, and they deposited everything in the basement for safekeeping. Peter insisted that the candy especially needed to be hidden until D-Day, or else there would be nothing left.

“I don’t see how this amount of candy could be eaten by then by anyone but you,” Hank said, looking at the enormity of the pile. Peter had been a bit enthusiastic in the shop.
Peter furrowed his brows. Hank had a very solid point. “You’re right. You need to put this where I can’t find it. Lock it up.”

Hank chuckled, but then raised a surprised brow. “You’re serious?”

Peter took a step closer, speaking gravely. “Hank, I don’t trust myself around candy, not even for a million dollars.”

Hank put his hands up. “Alright, as you wish. I’ll find some place.”

“Good.” Peter stepped back, grin reappearing as he stood with his hands on his hips, regarding his collection of decorations, costumes, sweets.

The next day, Peter was lurking on the couch, hiding a smug expression behind a book, when he heard the first gasp.

“Look, there’s going to be a Halloween party!” one kid said.

“No way!” another joined. Soon, more kids stopped in their tracks, seeing the poster Peter had made. While not an artist, he was still adept enough with his fingers to create something atmospheric, capturing the essence of spook. He stole a peek over the edge of the book to see the kids giggling to each other, then hid his face again when Erik and Raven entered.

Five seconds later, the book was ripped from his hands. Raven held it in one hand, looking mirthful with a tilted grin. “So, your mutation is amazing enough to let you read upside down, impressive. You are so far beyond us lowly plebs.”

Peter tore it back, flitting a glance at Erik, seeing a similar amusement there. It was clear now that they had indeed once been partners in crime—both had the same twisted delight at his embarrassment. Craning to look behind Raven, he saw that the kids had already scattered. They were all still a bit apprehensive around Raven, and more so around the infrequent visitor and known ex-villain Magneto. In Raven’s case, it was partly lingering idolisation that was to blame. She was the modern version of fabled ancient Greek heroes. Peter didn’t blame the kids for scramming; they both possessed an annoying amount of charisma and imposing aura.

“I was spying on the kids, if you must know.” He sat and pulled his feet off the couch, jumping to his poster. “Ta-dah!” he motioned with his hands.

Raven walked over with languid steps. “You would never make it as a spy,” she snorted.

Peter was about to object but realised that she had done her fair share of spying and would know. Man, she was so cool. Peter was glad he had somehow wormed his way under her wing.

“I second that.” Erik said.

And this Peter felt secure enough to huff at, because Erik had the subtlety of a t-rex in a teashop. For the life of him, Peter couldn’t imagine him having the stealth needed for spying operations. He had seen Erik in action, at any minor inconvenience going straight for the kill, and not by discreet methods.

“Full offence, but I don’t know if the opinion of a guy who moves a stadium and barfs out a whole manifesto on live TV has the subtlety it takes to gauge who would or would not be a good spy.”

Instead of looking offended, Erik’s eyes glinted. “Who do you think taught Raven?”

Peter blinked, looked at Raven who lightly elbowed Erik with a roll of her eyes.

“Did you draw this all by yourself?” she turned to Peter in a sugar-coated coo and pinched his cheek. “Good boy.”

Peter recoiled and she cackled at him.

“What, don’t you want praise for your pretty drawing? Isn’t that what you were fishing for?”

“It’s not pretty, it’s scary and heinous—stop it,” he laughed when she made cooing sounds again, coming at him with tickling fingers.

“Yes, that pumpkin looks quite menacing, as does the witch.” Erik humoured him. It was the first time Peter had seen him so loose and casual, and it fuelled his energy even more. This Halloween was so good. In their first meeting in the Pentagon, Erik had been hardened after ten years of imprisonment, and in the reunion ten years later, Erik had been lost in grief. But this moment was warm, like Peter had just eaten a thousand cinnamon buns in some dainty little French café, with autumn spices fragrant in the air, and a couple walking by with freshly baked baguettes in a basket—Peter had at one point done extensive people watching in France, on a whim. In reality, there had been a lot more cigarette smoke than he had imagined.

“Thank you, I was thinking of Raven the whole time while I was drawing the witch,” Peter said, then ducked when she swung at him.

“You little shit,” she muttered, but despite the narrowed eyes, there was a fondness. And it settled inside Peter once again, a tickle in his chest. He belonged here. These were his people.

Peter was making his costume from scratch. Nobody ever expected him to know how to sew of all things, but with so much time on his hands, he had a lot of opportunity to run on tangents. Coming to ask for suggestions for what to dress as, Kurt found him hunched over a sewing machine. The teens had opted to take care of their costumes themselves when Peter asked around before his shopping spree. Peter offered Kurt some general advice; said zombies, vampires, or ghosts were always safe bets. And that he could also dress as a movie character he liked, it didn’t have to be someone scary.

“Thank you,” Kurt smiled. “We are going shopping later for material and it is all so overwhelming—I don’t want to look accidentally foolish.”

Peter patted his shoulder. “You won’t. And even if you do, it’s fine. It’s okay to look silly on Halloween. Just go for whatever feels fun. Sky’s the limit.”

Later, after Kurt left, Peter was having trouble remembering how to sew a certain seam and picked up the phone to call his mom.

“What’s up mom, everything good? I’m good.”

“Hi, honey. Everything’s good around here.” He could hear her smile. That was good. Peter had worried she would take it hard that he moved out, but she had just told him that she was happy that he had found a place where he could grow. And he imagined—or perceived correctly—that there was now a relief in her voice to hear that he was still doing well here.

“Great. So, listen, mom, I’m making a Halloween costume but I’m having some problems with the sleeves.”

“A Halloween costume?”

“Yeah. We got the whole place decked out; Charles let me plan a party for the kids—it’s going to be great—I also taught a few of them how to carve pumpkins. There is so much space here to put pumpkins. So. Many. Pumpkins.”

“That’s great, Peter.”

There was a pause that felt significant. Peter balled around in his head what it could mean but came up with zilch.

“What?” he said, caving to the suspense.

“I haven’t heard you this excited for Halloween for years. It’s nice.”

“Oh.” Peter had been enthusiastic about it when he was a kid, but somewhere along the line that had just… dimmed. If prodded, he would be able to say with pinpoint accuracy when that light dimmed, but that wasn’t a direction he liked his mind to go in, so he shook it away. “Well… do you want me to come over and carve some pumpkins for you?”

She chuckled. “No, that’s alright. What did you need help with?”

“Oh, yeah…” he went on to describe the problem—he couldn’t figure out the ruffles—and she told him how to fix it.

“What are you dressing up as?” she asked.

Peter grinned, leaning on the wall. “You’ll be surprised. It’s quite elegant this year,” he made a little spoof at sounding posh. “Do you know what the Harlequinade is?”

“Yeah, it’s some old theatre routine, right? With Harlequin and Columbine.”

“And Pierrot.”

“You’re doing a Pierrot costume? Take some photos for me, alright?”

Peter made a play at sighing. “Alright, fine. I’ll ask Hank to be my photographer. He is at my beck and call anyways… oh shit there he comes. Sorry mom, gotta go. Bye, love you.”

“Love you—”

Peter put the phone in place. “Hi Hank, who I was totally not just talking about.”

Hank sighed, flipping through some papers. “Peter, you are not a very quiet person.”

“Noted.” He walked along with Hank, peeking at what he was reading. Boring medical stuff. “So, what are you dressing up as?”

Hank looked at Peter like he had just told him to eat shit. “I’m not doing that.”

Peter stopped, mouth opening and closing. “Dude! Everyone is doing it. You have to.”

Hank shook his head in dismissal and closed his folder with a snap. “No, it’s not my thing, it’s silly, anyways. Dressing up as monsters.” There was a bitter tone in his voice as he walked with a faster pace, and Peter was left frowning.

The next morning, Peter was out early in the fresh air particular to late October, pruning one of the garden’s bushes. It was nice and tactile, and made the time difference between him and the world irrelevant, so not so bad.

“I never took you for one with green fingers.” Erik’s footsteps approached in the gravel.

Peter was surprised to see him there, though he probably shouldn’t have been, since in even in the mess summer had been, Erik had seemed into morning walks. Not that Peter had been spying, no not at all.

“Hah, yeah, me neither. But I figured might as well earn my keep a bit around here, you know? So, I read up a bit about plants and it’s actually not that bad to fiddle with them.”

Erik nodded, regarding the shrubs. “Isn’t being part of the X-Men already well enough earning your keep?”

Peter shrugged. “Despite that, my schedule isn’t filled with quite as much espionage as I would prefer.”

“I’d say that’s a good thing.”

Peter looked at him. Erik was peering up at the dim grey sky. “It can end you up with a lot of blood on your hands.”

Oh. Oh boy. So, the conversation was swerving that way, into the violence and brutality of Erik’s past. Peter swallowed. Snipped a little at the shrub. He itched to ask, Who were you? Is it haunting you? Can you sleep at night? How many ghosts trail in your footsteps? Erik’s eyes were so sad sometimes, that it was like all those ghosts had found hiding places in the blue of his irises.

But Peter kept quiet, because he wasn’t ready to know. And it was probably nothing Erik would like to delve deep into. Like, just because you were stock-full of demons-of-the-past, didn’t mean that they were the thing you’d want dragged out every conversation.

“You know, I’ve been wondering. How did you end up with Charles, getting me out of the Pentagon?”

Peter slipped with the scissors and cut too deep. Oops. He hadn’t seen the question coming. Shrugging, he stood straighter. He and Erik were almost the same height, almost the same built. “Honestly? They just came to my house and asked me, and I was bored.” He chuckled without amusement. “I was always doing anything to stop being bored, back then.”

Erik laughed, and it struck Peter as the first time he had really heard him laugh. Not a sarcastic chuckle or anything, but a real laugh. Which led Peter to realise that Erik looked a bit like a shark when he laughed. Did he somehow make Erik lose his last marble?

“Are you… okay?” he asked.

Erik finished off whatever that was and nodded, eyes still glinting. They were still intense, but for once not broody. “I got out of that hell because this boy was bored and got me out for the heck of it.”
Peter tilted his head, smiling as Erik’s hand came to ruffle his hair. “You’re remarkable, Peter.”

Well, that put a smile on Peter’s face.

Half an hour later, Peter arrived with light steps to the kitchen to prepare his second breakfast. Ororo was there. “Good morning,” she mumbled, nursing a cup of coffee between her hands.

Good morning, indeed. Shrubs pruned, time with biological father spent, resulting in surprising bonding. A better morning could not be wished for. Ororo, on the flipside, looked like shit. She glared when he told her as much.

“Rough night?” he asked, taking as many slices of bread as he could possibly fill on his plate to start slathering them in peanut butter—or—he paused with the knife in mid-air, perhaps this morning called for some delectable grilled cheese?

She cleared her throat. “Oh, just a bit. We were up—I mean, the girls and me. Just gossiping. Lost track of time,” she yawned.

He frowned at her dark circles. Peter wasn’t exactly the posterchild for healthy habits, despite Hank valiantly championing him to become it, but seeing one of his girls so beat—he couldn’t help seeing the X-Men girls as projections of his sisters—tugged at him.

“Yeah? Just gossip?” he gauged her reaction as he started heating up his grilled cheese. He noticed that the sink was full of bowls and other baking supplies—another round of baking and none for Peter.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “You know how it is. Girls, am I right?”

“Right.” Peter watched her.

“Can you make one for me?” she asked.

“Sure.”

Peter shrugged it off, making them both breakfast. He knew girls had their stuff to be secretive about.

He spent that afternoon whizzing up costumes for a couple of kids whose wishes hadn’t matched anything he managed to find in the store. His mind drifted to Hank. It didn’t sit well with him that everyone would be having fun at the Halloween party, and Hank just wouldn’t be joining. Why were his feelings against costumes so strong? What was it he said? dressing up as monsters was silly? Peter stretched his neck to look at the roof, like he would find the answered spelled out. There was nothing but an unoccupied cobweb.

But a picture started taking shape in his head.

Hank wasn’t just the Hank he showed the world most of the time—unsuppressed Hank was blue and furry.

He straightened. There was one person who could help him, someone who had known Hank for a long time. Someone equally as blue.

Raven was punching a sandbag when he found her.

“Hey, can we talk?” he sat down on the floor.

“I’m busy.” She aimed a kick where, if a person had been in front of her, she’d strike them right in the head. Peter admired her deadly feet.

“It’s urgent. It’s about Hank.”

She lowered her arms, glancing at him. “What about him?”

“He’s blue.”

“Your point?”

Peter shifted, pulling at a thread on the hem of his jeans, rubbing it between his fingers. “Why isn’t he, you know, blue all the time? I mean, you’re blue most of the time, and he’s…” Peter searched for what word to use. Normal didn’t sit right, because blue was just as normal and only dickwads thought otherwise. “He’s masking it, most of the time.”

“Until you’ve walked a day blue and furry like him, you wouldn’t know.” She said, then looked away, like she was looking all the way into the wild and distant past with her hawk-eyes. “We all have insecurities, Peter.” She put a light hand through his hair.

He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes. There was so much history in them—it gave Peter a shiver, like she had lived a ton of different lives, and he was just beginning. And then she pulled his ear.
“Ow! What was that for?” he tumbled to the side so she wouldn’t rip it off his skull.

“For being a nosy little shit.” She pinched his cheek, then grabbed a small towel hanging on one of the workout machines, putting it around her neck.

“Raven, I don’t like this new habit,” he said, hand over his sore ear and face.

“Sucks to be you, huh?” she smirked as she left.

Besides the pain brought by the conversation, Peter had also gained some insight. Hank didn’t want to dress like a ‘monster’ for Halloween, because he was already spending so much effort not to be one—because he thought his true self was. But he wasn’t. He had to know he wasn’t, right?

Peter knocked on the door to Hank’s lab before entering—more courtesy than he usually showed, just barging in and out.

Hank made a surprised huff. “That’s unusually polite.”

Peter shrugged, plastering a grin. He put his hands in his back pocket. “Sooo, have you given it some thought? Halloween, I mean. It’s only two days away. If you want a costume, it’s nearing crunch time.” For Peter two days was forever, of course, but he knew how to speak the lingo of people with normal time perception. He sat on the chair on the opposite side of the table where Hank was looking in a microscope.

A tiny, annoyed noise emitted from Hank. “I’m really not interested.”

Peter chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, fingers flexing and unflexing. “Why?”

“I told you, it’s silly. I’m too old.” It sounded like a stock excuse.

“Erik is joining.”

Hank looked up, looking mildly disgusted, which was fair but also uncalled for. “Erik? In a Halloween costume?” Peter didn’t want to know what he was imagining.

“Are you that surprised, I mean he voluntarily wore a body suit and cape during multiple times to execute nefarious plans. The man likes a bit of pizzazz.” Grinning, he relaxed a bit. He hadn’t actually talked to Erik about him attending at all, but for the sake of making progress with Hank, it had to be said.

“I suppose.” Hank muttered.

“Come on, there must be something you’ve always wanted to be since you were a kid. Everybody has something.” Peter leaned forward, chin in one hand.

Hank exhaled sharply and put both hands on the table. “Just drop it.”

“Hank—”

“Normal. I just wanted to be normal, okay?” Hank snapped. “The other kids dressed up for Halloween, but I had my weird feet stuck on me all year, so I never really got the appeal. And then I got a real upgrade, didn’t I? Became a beast.” he added with a derisive tone.

“Hey, man, I get that. I mean, I was born with this hair,” Peter said, bravado faltering a bit since he didn’t usually go into his hair being an insecurity. It wasn’t part of his image; his image was being cool and unbothered.

“It’s not exactly the same, is it?” Hank grabbed a test tube, but it looked like a random choice, because he just glared at it, then set it down.

“It’s not. But it’s also not totally different. Look, Hank, you’re not… a monster.” Peter fiddled with his thumbs. Emotional talks gave him heebie-jeebies—he was allergic to sincerity, as his blood was 85% sarcasm, the rest of it red blood cells and whatever else was in there. “You’re a really good guy. You spend all this time hiding, but why not be silly for a night?”

“I’m kind of busy, Peter.” Hank didn’t look at him.

Peter nodded. He’d done enough damage. “Alright, see you around.” Words had never been his strong suit. Neither had feelings.

The next morning, he was ordered to Charles office as soon as he got up. He waltzed over munching on a protein bar.

“What’s up?” he grinned, but it faltered, seeing Charles’s severe expression. “What’s wrong? Is it Erik?” he stepped into the room, but then he saw that Erik was also there, and released a breath of relief. A knot had tied in his chest so fast. Hank was there as well.

“Sit down,” Charles motioned on the chair in front of the desk. Peter usually took the sofa with no problem but sat on the chair to placate Charles.

Seconds ticked by, and nobody was saying anything. Peter shifted in his seat, fingers beginning to drum on his thigh.

“I was quite grateful, when you decided to join the x-men,” Charles said. “And part of me thought that you were, as well. I cannot read your mind, but it appeared so.”

“What’s this about?” Peter’s brows furrowed.

Charles face kept its hard edge. “I invited you to move in here, be a part of the school—rearrange my bloody garden—and I truly believed you understood the immense trust implicit in all of that.”
A chill ran down Peter’s spine. His palms were sweaty, but the office felt so cold, when it usually felt so warm and welcoming. Charles’s office was supposed to be like a warm cup of tea with a dash of milk and sugar. Peter didn’t understand where this was going.

“I do, of course I do. It’s been great, man,” he said, unsure of what else to say.

“I let you be around my children.” He snapped. A hand coming down to hit the table. Peter stared.

“Yes…?”

“So how could you ever think it permissible to bring drugs here?” Charles look was sad at the end—he looked betrayed.

“I—what?” Peter blinked. “I brought what now?” he was sure he heard wrong, because in no way did that accusation make sense.

Charles slid over a small plastic pocket. It had some green stuff in it. Peter leaned his head close to see. “Weed?” he looked up.

“Oh, don’t play innocent.” Charles pulled it away. “Peter…” he took on that sad tone again, shaking his head.

Peter’s heart clamoured—he was angry that he was suddenly accused of bringing weed to the school, but being hit by that disappointed look eclipsed everything, made it feel like he truly had done something wrong. He was tongue-tied.

He turned to look at Hank, then Erik, who was sitting on the arm of the couch, wearing a cloudy expression.

“It’s not mine.” Peter swallowed, turning back to Charles. His mind was swirling, chasing vertigo.

Charles sighed, long and tight. “I know from experience how enticing this method of escaping can be, but this is a school, Peter.” He spoke soft cushioned words. “I need to rethink our arrangement, I believe.”

Peter didn’t compute. “What? Rethink what?” his heart was all the way up in his ears like a swarm of bees.

“Now, if you’re willing, I will help you through this, but first I need to think. If you’re going to stay here, you need to be an adult, and this was extremely irresponsible of you.” He closed his eyes. “In light of this, I’m cancelling the Halloween party.”

The chair scraped when Peter stood up. “Can’t you fucking listen? It’s not mine! I’ve never seen that!”

“Charles,” Erik spoke up. Peter didn’t dare to look. “What makes you think it’s Peter’s?”

Charles made an impatient sound, face an incensed red. “Well, who else—” he stopped himself. Cleared his throat. “It was found outside Peter’s room, right, Hank?”

Hank nodded.

Charles had said, 'Who else.'

Ah.

“So, you just… never considered any other option. You were just ready to believe that shit is mine.” Peter backed a step. “Had to be the loser. The fuckup who only ever lived in his mom’s basement.”

“Peter—”

“Just. No.” Peter held up his hands. His eyes were stinging. He was supposed to belong here. “This isn’t my first time visiting the principal’s office. I know how it goes. I’ll be out of your hair.” He turned, ran straight to his room, where he fell on his bed and pressed his face into the sheet. This was supposed to be his place. The one place where he wasn’t seen as a fuckup. A place where people were like him and understood him. But obviously whatever was wrong with him sat deeper than being a mutant in a world with people who didn’t get it.

His stomach growled.

Fine.

He would eat, then pack. Maybe. Was he supposed to go back to his mom? See her quiet, resigned heartbreak when he returned, like he always did, after screwing something else up? After realising he didn’t belong anywhere? Because if he couldn’t find a place here, where even international terrorist Erik Lehnsherr could roam free, then where on earth was he supposed to fit in? He walked past kids talking about tomorrow’s party. Soon they’d be frowning instead, once Charles made it known that it was cancelled.

“Peter!” one ran to him and tugged his arm. “Is my costume ready?”

“Hmm? Yeah, I’ll go get it.” at least the kid could have her costume. He went back to his room and returned with the astronaut suit. The girl squealed and dragged her friend along so she could try it and show it off.

Peter’s crusty heart cracked a little at their hurried excitement. Everyone would be so disappointed.

After grabbing a box of twinkies, he roamed aimlessly around the house, taking in the place he’d come to care for, and would soon leave. He came across Jean, Ororo, and Kurt in a huddle. They quieted when he came in.

“Hi. There you are.” Jean pressed a flighty smile.

“Were you looking for me?” he ate his last Twinkie.

“No? Not really. Right?” she looked at the others, eyes asking for help.

“Are you okay?” Ororo asked, looking at Peter with her deep brown eyes, looking like she knew exactly what happened in Charles’s office.

“Yeah.” Peter smiled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

They exchanged looks.

“Wasn’t the Professor very upset with you?” Kurt asked, his tail snapping in an agitated way.

Peter shrugged, playing it nonchalant. “You know me and Chuck. I’m always getting on his nerves. It’s fine.”

“Oh.” Jean bit her lip, frowning deeply.

Peter continued his roaming elsewhere, to relieve them of the unease brought on by his presence. He ended up settled in the garden, breathing in the crisp air. Autumn leaves dotted the lawn. He’d take care of that, but for now it was a pretty mess to look at.

After a while of watching leaves fall, he heard footsteps. Looking to his right, he saw it was Erik.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked.

Peter shook his head. His heartbeat picked up again, an anxious sprint. “It really isn’t mine. I don’t—I don’t do drugs. I mean, I tried some way back, but it made me feel really weird and I couldn’t match the speed of my brain to the speed of my body—which is kind of a major thing when you can run fast enough to make a hole in the wall,” he chuckled weakly.

“I ended up fucking up really bad, actually. I hated seeing mom so sad, and I didn’t touch anything like that again.”

“I can imagine.”

“And honestly Charles of all people? Like he is Mother Teresa? As if I don’t remember him coming to my basement high on who knows what.” Peter started pacing.

“And he said, ‘who else.’” He swallowed tightly around a sad knot in his throat. “I thought he was… I thought he was different, you know. That he got me. But he just sees me like everyone else has always seen me and it’s not my fault this time, and it wasn’t always my fault back then. I didn’t make trouble on purpose. I mean, not at first. I did later because I was mad that everyone expected me to. Like, fine. Have it, let’s see if you can handle it.”

“Not that that’s an excuse. Like I said, I fucked up, not just with that. I fucked up a lot. I let everything become an excuse to just not care about anything and… it cost me a lot.” Blinking away a sting in his eyes, Peter exhaled.

Erik sat there, patient and impossible to read. But he didn’t seem annoyed, so Peter went on. “And I was so stupid, thinking I had finally found a place where I belong, you know? But I don’t. And I don’t know where to got from here. I can’t go back to my mom—not—it’s too late.”

“You could come with me, if you’d like.”

Peter stopped his pacing.

“What?” his eyes widened.

“I’ve been granted a patch of land by the government to do what I want with.”

“You—you what?” Peter blinked.

“We managed to come to an agreement. I’m making a haven for mutants. It will be a simple, quiet life. Away from trouble. Gardening, growing our own food. Perhaps not as much espionage as one would prefer.” Erik finished with a smile.

“You… want me to come live with you? You’d really want that?”

“Of course. You’re always welcome, Peter. If things don’t work out here, you can come any time.”

“I need to sit down.” Peter’s blood rushed.

“Think about it.” Erik held his shoulder for a moment, then got up and trudged back to the mansion.

And Peter thought. At least tried to. The need to urgently escape subsided, knowing there was a place out there waiting. A way out, in case this was a bust. In case Charles wouldn’t listen, or if Peter had yelled at him too much to be forgiven. Or if he couldn’t forgive Charles.

He let out some restlessness running, and didn’t come home until late at night, crashing immediately after eating a dozen protein bars.

He slept until noon—was going for longer, to sleep this whole rotten day away—but rapping on his door distracted him. He opened the door, glaring.

“Sleeping beauty decided to wake up?” Raven said, leaning on the wall.

“Not in the mood.” He moved to close the door, but she put one of her lethal feet as a barrier. He mustered a glared he hoped looked threatening.

She crossed her arms. “Don’t you have a party to prepare? Or are you just dumping it all on me and Hank?”

“What?” Peter shook his head. “It’s cancelled. Charles cancelled it.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess we’re lucky I have very few fucks to give to Charles.”

She took him to their biggest common room, where Hank was setting up a table, where there would later be bowls of snacks and punch and candy—Peter knew, because his plans had been extremely detailed. He gaped, hands in his pockets. “Are you and Hank rebelling against Charles? Am I looking at revolutionaries?”

Hank made an awkward face. “He needs that from time to time.” Clearing his throat, he picked up an object. “Now, the fake skull goes where?”

Peter skipped over in a heartbeat, Hank’s hair stirring in the wind he created. “Here, on this corner.” He grabbed it and put it on the corner nearest the window.

“But won’t Charles notice what were doing?” Peter asked as he was filling bowls with the snacks that Hank had faithfully hidden.

Raven smirked, which looked sinister in combination with the eyeballs she was holding. “Don’t worry, we got a plan.”

Peter tilted his head and prodded a bit, but neither divulged. Alrighty. He had more important things to worry about at the moment, such as getting into his costume and makeup.

Raven snapped a photo when he came back. “Your mom called and made me promise to take pics.” she said, taking the camera down. “I have to say, I did not expect ruffles.” She said ‘made,’ implying coercion, but she didn’t look reluctant at all.

As she poked another tease at the frills of his costume, Peter’s eyes lit up—she was Harlequin.

“It’s what Pierrot wears,” Peter shrugged.

“And teasing Pierrot is what Harlequin does, so enjoy your evening.”

“Freshly popped popcorn coming in,” Hank said, entering the room.

Peter gasped. “You’re wearing a costume! And you’re Columbina! You and Raven are both matching me! Give me the camera.”

Raven rolled her eyes but didn’t put up a struggle as Peter took it from her hands and snapped a picture of the two, then stretched his arm out to get all of them together. They made quite a trio—Peter with a full face of sad clown makeup, Raven in her diamond-patterned body suit and hat with bells, and Hank in a sixteenth century dress and superb wig.

“I will never live this down,” Hank muttered under his breath.

“You don’t look half-bad in that lipstick,” Raven teased, making him roll his eyes.

Peter was over the moon, vibrating with the emotional overload brought by Raven and Hank dressing as characters from Commedia dell’Arte. They really did that. If anyone ever asked Peter what friendship was, he’d tell them about this day, and these two dorks.

Soon, students began trickling in, and Peter’s spooky party began. One of the events he had planned was an exchange of horror stories—it was scheduled early, since he didn’t want it lingering too much in the minds of the kids as they went to sleep. Contrary to popular belief, Peter did posses some sense of responsibility and foresight.

The younger kids looked very dramatic when they told theirs. The teens had a more playful flair.

Peter’s attention was stolen when Kurt entered the room.

“Are you a rat?” he scrunched his nose. He had basically been telling Kurt to follow his dreams, and he came as a rat?

“Ah, not exactly. I’m one of Cinderella’s mouse friends.”

“And I’m the pumpkin carriage.” Ororo appeared in a bulky orange contraption.

“And I the fairy godmother,” Jubilee twirled in, waving a wand.

“Wow, this is...”

“And here come Cinderella and Prince Charming,” Jubilee introduced, throwing some glitter as Scott and Jean entered. Peter cracked a laugh.

“You guys went full in with your concept.”

“Everything looks great, Peter.” Jean said. “It’s the best Halloween so far here.” Peter remembered then that Jean had been here for Very Long, which reminded him again what this was all about—giving these kids a chance to have a fun bonding experience over Halloween.

And then, with a posture of doom, Charles rolled in, followed by Erik, who was dressed as—Peter’s heart did an acrobatic feat that would win an Olympic gold as his eyes registered the red shirt and pants, black cape, and mask— “You’re Pantalone!” Peter’s excitement, realising that Erik was in on Raven and Hank’s scheme, going along with the theme, almost made him miss that Charles was talking.

“I explicitly told you all this was cancelled,” Charles said. He did a doubletake when his eyes landed on Hank, who just shrugged.

“And it was bullshit.” Raven said, crossing her arms.

“Peter was supposed to take this time to reflect upon—”

“Stop.” Jean said. “It wasn’t Peter.”

Charles expression shifted, flashing through emotions—horrified as understanding hit—before settling on weary disappointment.

“We only use it sometimes,” Ororo said.

Raven’s eyes were pinned on them. Peter gaped, connecting dots in his mind; their recent secretiveness and refusal to share their baked goods. They’d been making edibles, hadn’t they?

“I see.” Charles said. “Let’s continue in my office.” He turned. The teens followed.

“I didn’t see that coming,” Peter said. “I should have. God, I’ve been so wrapped up in this Halloween thing that I haven’t noticed a goddamn thing around me.”

Erik stepped forward. “But you’ve achieved what you wanted; the children look very happy.”

Peter felt a wave of warmth. They did. They might not have been trick or treating, but at least they had this. A special new tradition, just for them, just for this place. And Peter realised, this was what he wanted to do. Give these kids who called this place home something they could count on and look forward to. Make life a little bit more special, since the world kept trying to take things from them jus because they were mutants.

He needed to stay here. He had to set things right with Charles—their fight couldn’t become a permanent chasm.

“I’ll be right back; can you guys look at the kids, so they don’t anything crazy?” he asked Raven and Hank.

“You say that as if that’s not what we’ve been doing all this time,” Hank said. “And FYI, you’re one of the kids I’m watching not to do anything crazy, so where are you going?” he narrowed his eyes.

Peter put on a chuckle and patted Hank’s shoulder. “Okay, I’m guessing you did read the margins of my notes… those were just, um, doodles. Fantasies. I’m not on my way to summon a demon, although it can be argued that what I’m about to do might be worse. Toodles.”

Before he could see the full potential of Hank’s disturbed expression bloom, Peter was out of there, and barging into Charles’s office. Charles stopped mid-sentence, blinking at his sudden arrival.
“Crap, I think you blew an eyelash in my eye, Jean, take a look?” Jubilee made a pinched expression, and Jean leaned close to her.

“Yeah, I think I can get it,” she reached with her fingers.

Jubilee pulled her head back. “Can’t you use telekinesis? I don’t want my eyeliner to smudge.”

“I could try, but I can’t guarantee I won’t grab your eyeball.”

“Okay, fingers it is. Fingers are good.”

Charles cleared his throat, reminding them that they were in the middle of being scolded. Peter tried to bite back his amusement. Not the time and place. Also, he was supposed to be angry, possibly even menacing. Stepping forward, he put his hands on the desk. “Chuck, you and I have a bone to pick about your prejudiced preconceived notions, and since it would bother my plans if this became a permanent rift between us, we’re going to have this talk now.” He jutted his jaw to seem imposing.

Judging by Charles’s expression, he wasn’t intimidating enough. Damn, even though Erik was his dad? That was a bummer. Shouldn’t it be in the genes?

“Peter, could it wait?” Charles said, ever so patient.

Peter held up his hand to stop him. “See, you’re doing it again, completely misunderstanding me as a person. You know I hate waiting.”

“I am aware, but I need to deal with them first.” He shot a warning glance at the teens.

“Fine.” Peter flopped down on the couch, folded his arms. “I’ll wait.”

Not only was he not intimidating, but he was apparently also a terrible negotiator.

Charles pulled in a breath. Even the dust particles in the room seemed suspended in wait. “Why?” he asked.

Jean was the first to talk. “It was just a fun thing to try out. We heard of pot brownies and wanted to know what the fuss was about. And then,” she looked at the others, Ororo took her hand, “we realised, it kind of helped us, to sleep and stuff. So, we tried smoking it, too.”

“It reduces stress,” Ororo said.

“If you were under such great stress, you should have told me,” Charles sounded exasperated, almost pleading. “I will always be here to help you.”

“But how could we?” Scott said. “We—We’re the X-Men. And you expect so much from us, it would be like saying we can’t handle it, and that’s not the case. Sometimes it just gets too much and wouldn’t anyone just want a break and have it easier to not think about—about bad stuff.” He finished in a clipped tone. Hands fisted.

“Ever since Alex died, it’s so hard to just be, because he can’t ever be again. He can’t laugh, he can’t have fun. But I’m alive and I still want to. But I can’t. Is it so bad to have a couple of pot brownies to feel less guilt? I just can’t ever relax, otherwise.”

Peter looked away, because it sounded like Scott was crying. Perhaps inserting himself in this situation had been a mistake. He glanced at Charles. “You know, pot isn’t that bad. Some recommend it for medicinal use! There are a lot of drugs that are way worse, that they could have turned to.” Saying that, his mind flashed him red hair and giggles. White powder hidden behind whispers so Mom wouldn’t wake up.

Charles gave him a stern look. “If the underlying reason isn’t uncovered, it could very easily lead to habits extremely hard to undo.” He softened. “One finds oneself searching for bigger and bigger crutches to lean on, to escape the world.”

There was an uncomfortable shift in the room. Charles looked at his kids. “I think we should have some individual talks about your struggles and discuss healthier coping mechanisms. And the consequences of bringing drugs into a school with young children. But that can wait until tomorrow; why don’t you go enjoy the rest of the Halloween party?”

“Why are you being so kind?” Kurt said. “You aren’t punishing us.”

It sounded like he expected something bad, and Peter felt a sad twist in his gut, thinking about what he must have been through to expect that.

Charles made a sad sound. “How can I punish you for trying to cope with experiences that are bigger than you should have faced at your young age? And the goal must never be to punish, but to create understanding. You’re in my care and I’m here to guide you.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his desk. “I want you to understand why this could lead to a harmful path and give you the tools to steer away from it. Because life will not be easy, and you will need to manage, to stay whole.”

After they had been dismissed, and Peter and Charles were alone in the office, Charles leaned back and sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Alright, let me have it. I deserve it.”

“Good.” Peter stood up, but his fumes had dissipated, and instead he slumped in the chai in front of Charles’s desk. “You expected me to fuck up,” he said, sounding smaller and sadder than he intended to be in this conversation.

“I… I’m so sorry, Peter.”

No denial.

“I thought you were different.” Peter had felt awkward when Scott sounded teary, but maybe Charles just had that effect on people. “I thought I was trusted.” It came out small and pathetic in a whisper, and he pulled up his knees, because he hated being vulnerable. And yes, he had some kind of daddy issues that made him seek approval from older men in mentoring positions, hah. He was self-aware enough to admit that.

“I acted rashly.” Charles came around the desk.

Peter gnawed on his lip. Tasted rust. “I mean, you weren’t totally off. When I was younger… I did try some things.” He fiddled with his ear. “Me and my sister, actually. It was fun as heck, until it wasn’t. We fucked up.”

Charles frowned. “Your sister? Surely not, she’s too young.”

“Ah, yeah.” He inhaled, short and sharp. “I had another sister. My twin. She was the good one, the clever one.”

Realisation dawned and Charle’s expression gentled. “What happened?”

“I don’t… I don’t really like to talk about it. I just needed you to know what I did.”

“Of course, you don’t have to.” Charles reached out and put a warm hand on Peter’s arm. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Peter closed his fists. Looked up. “I really like your school, Charles. I don’t want to leave—and I will never do anything to hurt the kids. I need you to trust that—I need you to trust me.” It struck Peter as he said those words, how deeply they were true.

“I will. I do. I admit I have some things to work on, as this has shown. And I will do that work. This hasn’t been a flaw of your character, but mine. I truly am sorry that I hurt you.” Charles expression and voice were both sincere, and Peter shifted a bit, looking away.

“And it’s our school, Peter.” Charles hand on his arm tightened a bit as he emphasised. “This is your home too, now. And if you were to leave with Erik, this would always be a place for you to come back.”

“How did you…” Peter frowned.

“It took me longer than it should have to piece it together—I suppose it seemed too unlikely—but he’s your father, isn’t he?”

In this clandestine office, dressed like a sad Pierrot, was not how Peter thought he would have this conversation with Charles.

“He doesn’t know.”

“I know. And I will keep it to myself. But if you would like to go with him, I won’t stop you.” I think we’d all like it if you stayed.”

“I want to. This place, it means a lot to me.” He glanced at Charles. Being vulnerable was scarier that any spooky Halloween monster.

Charles smiled. “I’m glad. I’ve never seen the shrubs doing quite so well.”

Peter huffed a smile. “Well, I do what I can.”

When Peter returned to the party, his body felt heavier than after a long run without snack breaks. He grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved them in. Around, students were laughing, dancing. Peter’s hands were shaking.

“Hey,” Raven appeared. “Did Charles give you a hard time? I thought the kids cleared it up.” She frowned.

Peter shook his head. “No, it’s just. We kind of had a heart-to-heart. That stuff makes me sick.”

After regarding him for a moment, Raven reached to pinch his arm. “You’ve been raving about this party, making my ears bleed, for days, and now you want to spend it moping around? Go, get out there. Go to your dad, he’s sticking out like a sore thumb. Assimilate him.”

“Y—yes,” Peter started, stumbling forward as she kicked his butt.

For the rest of the evening, he was forbidden from not having fun, and as always, Raven’s threatening presence was more than effective enough.

The next day, Erik was at Peter’s door with a packed bag, gaze travelling his poster-filled walls and piles of records. Something shifted in his jaw.

“I decided to stay,” Peter said, voice coming out too quiet. He was already frazzled from all he flashed open of his heart yesterday, and now there was more of the same. Because no matter what, interacting with Erik was poking at a gaping sore.

Erik nodded. “This is your home.”

“You’ll come back?” Peter asked, scared of how hopeful he sounded.

“Of course.”

After gnawing on the inside of his cheek for a moment, Peter stood and grabbed a cassette from his collection. The song was Time in a Bottle. “I don’t know if you have any cassette player over there, but music and new beginnings go pretty well together. Not that it’s a new song or anything, but…”

Erik smiled lightly. “Thank you, Peter. Indeed, it’s nice to fill the silence.”

“Exactly.”

And Erik inhaled, straightened his posture with an air of finality. “I should get going.”

“I’ll walk you to the door.”

At the front door, the parting was brief. “Goodbye, Peter,” he said, and then he went.

“Bye.” Peter stood there like a fool, watching his dad leave, yet again. Having told him nothing, again.

“Are you sure about this?” Raven slid into appearance. “Isn’t going with him what you’ve always wanted?”

Peter gripped the doorframe, eyes pinned on the shrinking back of Erik’s black coat. It was a misty day, and Erik was disappearing too fast. “I thought it was.” He turned to her. “But I think I found what I needed right here.”

She humoured him for a moment before flicking his forehead. Hooking an arm around his neck, she started dragging him. “Gross. Come on, I’m making pancakes.”

“How domestic.”

“Shut up, or I’ll eat your toes when you sleep.”

Home was both a simple and complicated concept. A feeling, a creaky old house with kids blowing up walls and setting things on fire, teens collecting fuckups like prizes, and the scent of waffles in the air, to the soundtrack of Hank making exasperated sighs at something or other, somewhere in the distance. New traditions being born.

Home was a galaxy of things yet to discover, held together by orbits looped by gravitational pulls; a magnet for people who belonged together. A place a certain magnetic reformed supervillain would always come back to, and Peter would be there when he did. And one day, he would be ready to tell Erik how strong their orbit really was—that they were family.