Chapter Text
PROFESSOR! Scott’s mental shout catapulted Charles off the sofa where he’d been idly watching a program with his husband. His feet had carried him halfway across the room before Erik responded.
“What on earth?” Erik demanded, but Charles didn’t stop to answer. He rushed through the sitting room at the front of their bedroom, flinging open the door, and nearly careening into Bobby. The youngest X-men member dodged around Charles, ducking under Charles’s hand. He had tears streaming down his face, but every bit of his mental dialog was fumingly, blisteringly angry, and Charles let him escape to his room. He was halfway down the stairs when he saw Erik vault the balcony banister and lower himself to the ground.
Muffled shouting, coupled with a repeated mental barrage led them both to the garage, where both adults stopped to stare in amazement at the sight of Scott’s motorbike, his pride and joy, completely cased in a block of ice. Scott stood next to it, hands hovering over it, shaking with fury. “Professor! Look what he did to my bike!”
Charles cast a quick glance at Erik for a moment, before he stepped next to Scott and gently took his shoulders. “I can see it,” he said. “Let me see your hands, Scott.”
Scott didn’t look away from the iceblocicyle, his shoulders heaving with the effort to control his anger. “I am going to kill him,” Scott seethed.
“No one is going to die today,” Erik said, walking around the motorcycle and bending towards it. Charles could tell that he was feeling along the machine itself, looking for weakness. “This, though, is going to take some time to thaw out, and we’ll need to make sure that it’s safe once it does. I’m afraid it may not be. The cold has probably warped it.”
“What?” Scott demanded, sounding appalled, and Charles caught one of his hands by the wrist, gently flipping it over to see that his palm was an angry red. Charles made a distressed noise and reached for Scott’s other hand, flipping it over to show identical marks.
“Did you touch the ice?”
Scott glanced down, lifting his shoulders in a careless shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Mmm,” Charles sighed. “You’ve got frostbite burns on your palms.”
“Bobby ruined my bike!” Scott pulled his hands away, reaching towards the frozen vehicle again. Charles caught his arm and pulled him back a step.
“Don’t touch it again,” Charles warned. “I don’t know what temperature it is, but it’s cold enough that it’s not safe to touch with your bare skin.”
“I’m going to skin him,” Scott turned to stomp back into the house and Charles tossed Erik another glance. Erik just shook his head and Charles sighed.
“Scott, stop. You’ll do no such thing. I will deal with Bobby, and you will get those hands taken care of, if you please.”
“I don’t please!” Scott shouted, turning, and stepping away from Charles’s raised hands. “He ruined my bike!”
“Yes,” Charles said, raising his voice slightly. “I’m aware. And you, young man, need to calm down. Right now.” The sharpness in Charles’s tone broke through the haze of anger in Scott’s mind, and he turned a wary gaze to the older man. Charles nodded to one of the kitchen chairs and Scott stalked towards it and flopped into it with the dramatic ill-tempered grace only a teenager could manage.
Charles hesitated a moment, then brought out a bowl and filled it with warm water. He tested it with his wrist before setting it, and a towel, in front of Scott. “Put your hands in here,” he directed. Scott obeyed, his scowl replaced by a look of surprised pain when his fingers submerged.
“Ouch!” Scott protested, and Charles reached out to squeeze his shoulder gently. He could hear the garage door opening and then some scraping sounds that made teeth clench. A few minutes later, Erik came into the kitchen.
“I pushed the whole ice block outside. It has a better chance of thawing in the sun, at least. I don’t know if we should risk unfreezing it more quickly. The plastic and metal components in the engine may not withstand two sudden temperature changes.”
Scott groaned and dropped his head into the crook of one arm. “Professor,” his voice cracked. “It’s not fair.”
“I promise we’ll deal with it,” Charles offered softly, taking a seat next to Scott. “What happened?”
“He just froze it!” Scott sat up straight and lifted a hand out of the water to demonstrate, sending droplets flying through the air.
“That’s not what I mean,” Charles caught Scott’s arm and gently pushed it back down, waiting until his hand was in the water again. “What upset him?”
“Who cares?” Scott shrugged; his sullenness tempered now with something else that made Charles lift an eyebrow. “I was showing him my bike, and he wanted to ride it, and I said no, and then he overreacted and got mad at me… and froze my bike!”
Charles glanced at his watch. “It’s almost 8 pm. Where were you going?”
“Professor, I wasn’t going anywhere,” Scott protested, looking away. “I was just showing him… not that it matters at all, because… he ruined my bike! He had no right to do anything to it at all!”
Charles sighed, not reading Scott’s mind but picking up a few stay thoughts that made him suspicious he wasn’t getting the whole truth. “Well. You’re right about that.” He leaned forward, dropping his elbows to his knees and studied Scott. “Are you sure there’s nothing else to add?”
Scott flushed, his face and neck both turning red, but he clenched his jaw. “Nothing else.”
“All right,” Charles stood. “Erik can help you with your hands. You’ll need to put ointment on and bandage them in another 15 minutes or so. If any of the skin is still white, or you have any blisters, let me know.”
Scott glanced towards the bowl, for the first time realizing that he was more seriously injured than he thought. “Professor,” Scott said, angry, but unwilling to let Bobby take the fall for his own stupidity. “I grabbed the ice. That was my fault.”
Charles smiled slightly and lifted one hand to ruffle Scott’s hair. “What’s the first rule of using your powers?”
“You have to accept all of the consequences that come from it.”
“Even the unintended ones,” Charles agreed. “I’ll be back soon to check on you.” He glanced up at his husband as he stood, and Erik shooed him away.
“You’re hardly abandoning him in a war zone, Charles. Stop fussing so much,” Erik said, “I promise I’ll keep him in one piece.”
Charles left Scott in Erik’s care and went up the stairs with a mixture of concern and determination. Turning to the left, he went down the hallway until he stood outside of Bobby’s door. Lifting a hand, he knocked lightly.
“Go away!”
Charles sighed, his passing hope that Bobby had calmed down evaporating in the anger of the words. “I’m afraid not. May I come in?”
“Why are you even asking?” Bobby yelled back. “It doesn’t matter if I say yes or not. You’ll come in anyway.”
Giving into the temptation, Charles leaned forward and let his forehead rest on the door for a moment. Blowing out a deep breath, he straightened. “I have no desire to deprive you of your privacy, but I do wish to speak with you urgently.”
“I don’t have anything to say,” Bobby snarled. “Scott deserved it!”
“Did he?” Charles let some anger warm his voice. “Did he deserve ice burns on his palms?”
Silence.
Charles waited, his patience stretching thin enough that he contemplated peeking into Bobby’s mind just to make sure he wasn’t doing something rash, like climbing out of the window, when the door opened a tiny fraction. Bobby’s face pressed against the opening, one eye visible. “No,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to do that. Is he ok?”
Charles put his hand on the door and pushed lightly. “I will not discuss this with you through the door, Robert. You can allow me to come in, or you can remain in your room until you’re ready to speak to me, and I’ll return.”
“Uggghhh,” Bobby protested, before stepping back and opening the door all the way. “Fine.”
Although far from the most gracious invitation Charles had ever received, he was not prepared to look a gift horse in the mouth, and he followed Bobby into his room. Bobby kicked some laundry on the floor towards the closet self-consciously, then snagged his comforter and tossed it over the sheets. Awkwardly, he turned and stuffed his hands in his hind pockets and stared at the Professor with an expression equal parts defensive and guilty, looking unintentionally for all the world like he was covering his backside to protect it from the spanking he knew was coming. Charles tilted his head, waiting, and Bobby scuffed a socked foot across the floor in response.
“I didn’t mean for Scott to get hurt.” Bobby spoke quietly, his voice thin, but still angry and defensive.
“What did you mean to do?” Charles asked.
After a telling pause, Bobby shrugged. “I don’t know,” he lied. “Not that, though.”
“Young man,” Charles began, then stopped and took a breath. “Was using your powers an accident?”
For a long moment, Bobby kept his eyes fixed on his toes, which he swept over the floor back and forth. Finally, he shook his head, offering a half shrug to go with it. “Verbal responses, please, Robert.”
Bobby glanced up enough that Charles could see that he rolled his eyes. Uggghhh. Whyyy?
Charles waited, one hand tapping on his thigh, revealing his growing impatience. “Robert! Was it an accident?”
“No,” Bobby snapped, then slumped to his bed and sat down with a flop. “I mean yes.”
“Enlightening as that may be, child,” Charles managed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Can you elaborate?”
“I didn’t mean for Scott to get hurt,” Bobby finally responded. “I did mean to… “ He hesitated, his blue eyes coming up to search Charles’s face. Charles let his disapproval show. “Umm, his bike? So, that… uhm… wasn’t… wasn’t an… ummm… an accident?”
“I see,” Charles said, his voice stern. “And why did you choose to do that?”
Bobby shrugged again and Charles felt the last tendrils of his patience strain perilously thin. “Robert, I am giving you every opportunity to explain why you purposefully and willfully destroyed property that doesn’t belong to you, and injured Scott in the process.” He held up his hand. “I know that was an accident, but child, it was an accident that should not have happened, because you should not have frozen his motorbike.”
“Well if he hadn’t been such an asshole,” Bobby began heatedly.
“Robert!” Charles barked and Bobby fell silent, although he glowered at the floor. Charles crossed his arms to keep from giving into his urge to pull Bobby over a knee immediately. “You’re not helping yourself!”
“Well,” Bobby muttered, “he is.”
“All right,” Charles said, crossing the room to the bed in two long strides. “We can do this the hard way.” He snagged Bobby’s upper arm, sat down, and hauled the teen over his lap. He promptly brought his open palm down on the seat of Bobby’s shorts with a loud pop.
“No! Wait! Stooooop!” Bobby protested, feet kicking wildly. “Professor! This isn’t fair!”
“What isn’t fair,” Charles responded, letting his hand fall rapidly on the squirming bottom over his knee, “is that I’ve asked you multiple times to explain your behavior, and you’ve responded with ill-tempered refusal and prevarication!”
“I did not!” Bobby wailed aloud. What’s provocation? Charles stopped, having delivered a dozen sharp swats, and lifted Bobby to sit next to him.
“Prevarication. It is the act of not telling the truth.” He tilted Bobby’s face up and forced eye contact. “Lying.”
Bobby started to stand, but Charles put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and pulled him back on the bed. “Not so fast. Tell me what happened.” Bobby set his jaw, and looked away, blatantly refusing to speak.
“If I must put you back over my lap to convince you to answer, you will lose the shorts.”
Bobby glared at him, openly sulking, but when Charles lifted a hand to pull him over his lap again, he jumped. “Okay! Okay! Fine! Scott was an asshole, and I’m not just saying that! He was going to…” Bobby stopped abruptly.
“Go on,” Charles said.
“Umm,” Bobby hedged. “He was going to… do something… and I wanted to… uhm, do it, too. But he… wouldn’t let me… and we… ummm… kind of fought.”
“I see,” Charles rubbed his eyes, then fixed Bobby with a pointed stare. “Leaving aside the obvious issue that the two of you intended to sneak off the grounds without permission, when you were “kind of” fighting, did Scott use his powers on you?”
“No,” Bobby admitted sullenly.
“Did he become physical?” Charles asked.
Sensing that this was going nowhere good, and arriving at the destination quickly, Bobby stayed silent, once again absorbed in staring at his socked feet. “Robert,” Charles called his name sternly. “Answer me, son.”
Bobby shook his head, still not looking up. Charles cleared his throat, and Bobby huffed angrily, before answering. “No.”
“Did you act in self-defense?”
“No!” Bobby lunged to his feet, his anger clearly taking the reins of his common sense. “I didn’t, okay? Happy? I admit it! I got mad and I just froze his bike. Scott promised me all day that we could…” His voice cracked and he hesitated, “but then he changed his mind. Said he missed the quiet from before I came.”
Charles pursed his lips. “I cannot speak for Scott, but I suspect that had less to do with you than you realize. Regardless, Robert, I am not happy. I am decidedly unhappy with you. Neither of you had any business sneaking out in the first place, but either way, using your powers to retaliate to provocation like that is unacceptable.” Bobby had the gall to look indignant. He looked even more stunned when Charles crooked a finger at him. “Come here.”
“Me?” Bobby asked, incredulously. “But I didn’t mean for Scott to get hurt!”
Charles dropped his hand, brows knitting together in growing irritation. “Robert, you just admitted that you used your powers aggressively because of a disagreement with your teammate, your friend, over something that neither of you should have been doing in the first place.”
Bobby crossed his arms defensively. “But Professor, you don’t have to… “ He trailed off awkwardly.
“Spank you?” Charles asked, expression stern. “I most certainly do.”
“Nu uh!” Bobby dropped his arms and backed away. “You really, really don’t!”
“The question of whether you’re getting a spanking has been answered,” Charles said firmly. “The only question now is whether I will spank you with my hand or your hairbrush.”
Bobby groaned and stomped his foot. “Professor! That’s not fair! You’re being a jerk!”
Charles sighed and stood up. He walked towards Bobby, who backed up until his back hit the dresser. Calmly, he reached past Bobby’s ear, closing his fingers around the handle of his hairbrush. Slowly he pulled it back, eyes fixed on Bobby’s. He reached up with his other hand and clasped the back of Bobby’s neck. “Enough,” Charles said firmly. “Everything that is about to happen is a direct result of your behaviors and choices. I would say it’s very fair.”
“But,” Bobby protested. Charles didn’t wait to hear him out, pulling him across the room by the scruff of his neck. Reaching the bed, he turned to Bobby, keeping a firm grip on his neck.
“Lower your shorts, please.”
“Professor!” The whining tone in Bobby’s voice could have bent metal and Charles grimaced.
“I’m waiting, but not for much longer. If you want, you can go over my knee with your shorts on first, and then go over a second time without them.”
“Fine!” Bobby yelled, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper of his shorts. As soon as they were unfastened, Bobby shoved them down, every movement an accusation in his defiant outburst.
Charles ignored his attitude, sat down, and pulled Bobby over his knee. He promptly set to smacking with his hand, knowing that the only cure for the attitude now lay in a sore bottom. He didn’t bother to lecture, focusing his energy instead on making sure his hand swatted every part of Bobby’s underwear clad backside. Bobby lay rigid, unusually stoic, and clearly fuming.
Careful not to let his ire fuel his strength, Charles began a second circuit of swats. These had more effect, and Charles could hear soft gasps and grunts. After the second round, Charles focused his energy on Bobby’s sit spots, alternating, and swatting each cheek just where the underwear ended, until Bobby finally cracked.
“Ouch!” Bobby wailed. “Professor, stop!”
“No,” Charles said. “I am tired of being yelled at and treated with blatant disrespect when your behavior was the problem. You may feel angry, guilty, ashamed, or even righteously indignant, but I do not deserve your attitude.”
“I’m sorry!” Bobby responded at once, his feet pushing off the floor, trying unsuccessfully to climb off Charles’s lap.
“I’m glad to hear it, although I suspect you're less sorry about your behavior, and more sorry that you’re being spanked like a naughty little boy,” Charles scolded. Bobby made a strangled sound, abandoning his efforts at escaping, and instead kicking his feet furiously. Charles paused long enough to tighten his grip on Bobby’s waist, keeping him securely in place.
“No, I’m really sorry!” Bobby promised. “I swear!”
“Good,” Charles said. “You should be sorry. Your behavior tonight was appalling.” Charles stopped the onslaught against Bobby’s underwear, resting the back of his hand on the fabric and feeling the heat coming through it. “Now, if you’re prepared to discuss the remainder of your behavior, we can continue.”
Bobby’s shoulders hitched in a soft cry and Charles sighed. “Child, we live in a world that’s dangerous enough without our friends and allies turning on us for the slightest provocation. I’m disappointed in your behavior and choices, Bobby. That motorbike did not belong to you, and you may have been angry at Scott - maybe even justifiably so - but nothing excuses the temper tantrum that followed.” Hooking his fingers in the waistband of Bobby’s underwear, Charles tugged it down, ignoring the louder crying that his act precipitated. Bobby’s bottom was a uniform warm pink, with some traces of red coloring his sit spots. Charles picked up the brush and felt Bobby jerk on his lap.
“Professor! Please use your hand,” Bobby begged.
“I gave you that option, Robert. You choose this,” Charles gripped the brush firmly and snapped it down with a crisp pop. “I will not deprive you of your agency.”
“What?” Bobby asked, his question turning into a yelp when Charles swatted him again.
I will not prevent you from making choices, or experiencing the consequences of those choices, Charles spoke telepathically, knowing Bobby wouldn’t hear him over the noises he made every time the brush fell. Spanking rapidly, wanting this to end almost as much as the boy over his knee, Charles explained further. I will do my best to protect you from the world, and even from yourself, but I specifically told you that I would use the brush if you didn’t control your outbursts. I don’t do you any favors by protecting you from this consequence. You must learn to control your temper, Robert. Others may do harm with words, or even fists, but if you are not careful, you could kill someone without ever intending it.
“I’m sorrryyyy,” Bobby wailed, and for the first time, Charles believed him.
“Good boy,” he said softly, but he didn’t slow the punishment, letting the brush fall several times over every inch of skin on Bobby’s bottom, until it glowed and Bobby’s protests had faded into continuous sobbing. Finally, Charles set the brush down on the bed. He rubbed small circles on Bobby’s lower back, content to sit and wait for Bobby to calm down.
Professor?
Hmmm?
I’m sorry, so sorry. Even Bobby’s mental voice cracked with sobs and Charles moved his hand to squeeze Bobby’s shoulder. I didn’t want Scott to get hurt. I just got mad, because he promised and then he said he didn’t want me around, and… he’s never going to forgive me, is he?
“He’ll forgive you,” Charles spoke aloud, reassuringly. “It may take him some time, and you owe him an apology, and may want to offer to help him restore anything on the bike that’s damaged.”
“I will,” Bobby croaked. Gently he pushed up and slid backwards until his knees were on the floor. Awkwardly, he stood up, bending to pull his underwear, which had ended up clinging to one ankle as he kicked, back into place, wincing as it touched his bottom. He didn’t bother looking for his shorts, and instead flopped back onto the bed, his torso behind Charles. Charles turned and ruffled Bobby’s hair, gentling into a pet when Bobby leaned towards the touch.
“I’m sorry. For saying you were a jerk. And yelling at you,” Bobby said after a moment, turning to look at Charles. “I was the jerk.”
“Apology accepted,” Charles promised. “Tomorrow morning, I want you to apologize to Scott.”
“Not tonight?” Bobby mumbled.
“No, I think that he may need the time to calm down, and you need an early bedtime.” Charles sighed. He also needed to check on Scott’s hands, and have a word about Scott’s earlier omissions.
“Mmkay,” Bobby mumbled again as Charles stroked his head. His eyes were already closing, and Charles waited another few minutes until he started softly snoring. Easing to his feet, Charles left him to sleep. Closing the door to Bobby’s room, Charles sighed. Then he went back to his bathroom, grabbing gauze and tape from the cabinet, before going downstairs to deal with his other child.
No rest for the weary. Erik’s mental voice chimed in his mind, and Charles chuckled.
So much for a quiet night of television.
I say once you’ve dealt with Scott, we send him to bed. And then we send ourselves to bed, too.