Chapter Text
Peter had always been fast, even before he became a teenager and the superspeed came in, revealing his premature greys weren't his only mutation. Things always felt so slow to him, even as a kid. He was always eager for the next adventure, the next activity, the next interest. His teachers had mixed opinions his whole life. Some thought he was sweet and energetic, just "a little loud", he quickly learned that "use your indoor voice" actually meant "please stop talking" if anyone but his mother said it to him. Some teachers thought he was trouble, that he meant to be disruptive and distracted in class, that his little quips were meant to be backtalk and not just that he never really thought over his words before letting them fall from his mouth.
Soon, the quips and the disruption became his defense. If he was the class clown, the teachers would always treat him the same, it was predictable, easier. The kids at school tended to like him more like that too, being the class clown meant when you said something without thinking or got into trouble it was just you being funny again, no one looked deeper. He figured there wasn't anything that deep for them to look for, anyway. He was just energetic, and little did they all know, a mutant with super speed. So if he'd thought the world was slow and boring as a kid, oh boy had he been wrong. Now he could do half a dozen things while waiting for someone to finish a sentence. As much as he liked his videogames and his music and helping his mom with his sisters, one could only play so many rounds of Pac-Man and Pong before they needed something to break up the monotony.
That's when he'd started getting into actual trouble, he'd picked up a habit of stealing. Mostly just snacks or cassettes, the occasional arcade game. But even that didn't occupy him long. It was around the same time he'd dropped out of high school, the work was overwhelming, difficult, and no one but his mother seemed to care how he did, and his mother was exhausted of him. She tried to hide it, she loved him, wanted the best for him, but he knew she was, and he couldn't blame her. She didn't lecture him when he dropped out, just suggested he start looking into a GED if he'd like instead, and all but begged him to stay out of trouble.
And he tried, he did, he really did, but stealing was just too easy, so he started teaching himself how to do it the real way. He started figuring out how to steal things without being noticed, without using his speed. It was more for the thrill than anything, though he certainly wasn't complaining about his stash of twinkies and other snacks. Unfortunately, there weren't many kids around with a full head of grey hair, and his little 'hobby' had resulted in more than one visit from the police, which entirely stressed his mother out. Honestly, her disappointment at his inability to stay out of trouble did more to chagrin him than the visits from the police officers.
The circumstances were great in theory, so many kids his age would love to get free reign of their parents' basement and be able to just snack and play videogames all day, and at first Peter had loved it. But then again, he wasn't most kids his age, and it was almost boring by the time the strange not-police-not-FBI men showed up at his house.
—
His current pastime was ping-pong, against himself. He wished he could say it was a challenge, but really it was just a way to pass the time and work up an appetite. He heard the doorbell ring, and the muffled sound of his mom talking before "Peter! The cops are here… again." He winces internally at her exhausted voice, but instead of responding takes the opportunity to slip outside and see what's up with the people visiting. The three men were an odd, ragtag bunch, definitely not cops from the looks of it, but who knew. He went to their car, digging through it. It was easy enough, relatively empty. Time was slowed, practically still, that's just how things were for him when he chose to speed to this extent. The few papers in the car float beside him as he sorts through them, going so fast gravity has yet to take hold. Xavier, Logan, McCoy, but who was who? The letters on the page float a bit too, twisting and switching places, but that had nothing to do with his mutation. He got the gist of it though, it was a rental car. Definitely not cops, then.
He tucks everything back away and heads back inside, taking a better look at the three men as he slips between them. The tallest has sunglasses he's taking off as he steps through the front door, he looks the most old. Old in the way that he also looked somewhat put together. Behind him was a guy with glasses who looked like a teacher's assistant at some rich person college where people were all smart and annoying, that is to say, his fashion sense made him look like a kid playing dress up as an adult, Peter knew all about that, albeit he did so differently. The last man looked like he'd been dealing with a hangover for days on end, unkempt long hair and a beard plus sunglasses that he was making no move to take off even as he left the sunlight. They were headed past the family room, probably spotting his sister before they found their way to him.
He heads back downstairs ahead of them, falling into a somewhat more normal speed and getting back to his ping-pong game while he waits for them to come down stairs. He's still speeding back and forth in order to keep up with the game, but time isn't at a standstill, it can't be, or else self-ping-pong wouldn't work. "What do you guys want?" He asks, not stopping his game as they finally come down the stairs, "I didn't do anything." He gets bored of ping-pong and lets the ball bounce to the floor as he flops onto his couch, enjoying the way the teachers assistant and hungover one startle, "I've been here aaaaaall day," he says, hands behind his head and ankles crossed.
"Just relax, Peter," Peter thought he was quite relaxed, but waited for the old one to finish what he was saying anyway, "We're not cops."
"'Course you're not cops," He says quickly, or what he's been told is quickly, he still feels like he's talking insanely slow, "If you were, you wouldn't be driving a rental car."
"How'd you know we've got a rental car?" The hungover looking one asks in a british accent, that was a bit of a surprise, but Peter hardly reacted to the fact.
"I checked your registration when you were walking through the door. I also had some time to kill, so I went through your rental agreement, saw you were from out of town... Are you FBI?" He doesn't wait for them to answer, darting between TA and hungover, snatching the second one's wallet easily to look through it as he passes, Charles Xavier, interesting, so that was Xavier. "No, you're not cops." He pulls a business card out of the wallet, "Hey, what's with this gifted youngsters place?" He asks, dropping the wallet and the card to the ping-pong table and deciding he wants a popsicle, and darting upstairs to the freezer. He drops into normal speed for a few seconds while he's there, deciding what flavor he wants before returning to his couch downstairs, listening in.
"No, he's just fast," the old one was saying, hands on his hips and voice gruff, "And when I knew him he wasn't so... young."
"Young?" Peter asks, munching on his popsicle and watching all three turn around in surprise at his reappearance, "You're just old." He glances between the three, eyebrows raised as he takes another lick of his popsicle.
"So you're not afraid to show your powers?" TA asks.
Peter pulls his popsicle stick from his mouth, frowning up at the three, "Powers? What powers? What are you talking about? Do you see something strange here?" He quite enjoys the way Charles Xavier and TA look around the place exasperated, as if looking at all the places he'd been in the last minute would point out they had clearly seen him use his speed, he raises his eyebrows, "Nothing anybody would believe if you told them."
The old one gives him a tired look, as if unsurprised by the whole thing but not exactly willing to play along with it, what had he been saying about 'when I knew him?'
Peter dismisses the thought and flits between the group, setting himself on the stool of his arcade game that may or may not have been acquired legally. Already, he's started a game, "So, who are you? And what do you want?" He asks, back to his usual deadpan he used on teachers or annoying cops, he was a bit bored. He was curious too, but the two were balancing out for the moment.
"We need your help, Peter."
"With what?"
"To break into a highly secured facility and to get someone out."
"Prison break?" Peter can't help his little grin, not that the men can see it, "That's illegal you know."
"Um…” there’s a pause, Peter waits, “well, only if you get caught."
Now that is what Peter liked to hear, "So what's in it for me?" He asks, attention still mostly on his game.
"You, you... kleptomaniac," the Charles Xavier fellow says for the first time in a bit, "get to break into the Pentagon."
That really catches his attention and Peter turns from his game to look at the men again, "How do I know I can trust you?"
The old one looks at him, calm, serious but not pretentious, "Because we're just like you."
Peter glances at the other two, they all looked normal, but then again, barring his silver hair, so did he. What could they each do? They obviously didn't have his speed or they would be able to keep up with him.
Xavier meets his eyes, "Show him," he says, nodding to the older guy.
The man raises a fist in front of him and slowly, disgustingly, three sharp bits of bone protrude from between his knuckles.
Peter watches, not sure what expression the rest of them see on his face, and then belatedly realizes they're looking for a response, "That's cool, it's just disgusting." He mutters, before moving to stand, "So, we're breaking into the Pentagon?"
—
Their names were Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy, and Logan. Logan was the one with the gross knuckle claws, Hank apparently turned into a big monster and also was super smart (they didn’t clarify if his intelligence was his mutation or not), and Charles could read minds. Sometimes, he couldn't read minds at the moment, though it didn't stop him from being involved in the plan, Peter wasn’t sure why he couldn’t read minds at the moment, but honestly it was one of the less interesting tidbits of information he learned.
Logan and Charles went a separate way in order to meet up with him once he got the guy, Erik Lensherr, he was called, while Hank joined a tour group so he could hijack the security cameras. Peter wouldn't be seen by cameras if he didn't want to be, he was too fast for them to pick him up, but the others didn't have that benefit. The plan was to get Erik out when it was time for one of his routine meals to be delivered.
Peter had some time to kill and explored the semi-public areas of the pentagon before heading to his task. There were all sorts of interesting folk in the Pentagon, and it was fun to see what they were up to, but he had a task to do. There was a kitchen with an elevator connected, and two guards who had the key to get in. A slower person would have to work harder to get in, Peter? He just slipped right in and made sure he had duct tape with him.
The guard carrying the meal felt the breeze of Peter entering, his hat falling to the ground. The man didn't seem to think anything of it as he bent over to pick up his hat, until he straightened and saw Peter's reflection in the black siding of the elevator, turning in time to see Peter unroll the duct tape. In moments, Peter had taped the guard to the inside wall, out of sight of anyone he'd be passing upon exiting the elevator, and changed into the uniform, plucking the tray of food out of the air. His hair felt strange tucked back into his hat, it usually was only ever held back by his goggles. No one seemed to suspect anything as he walked down a long hall past a long line of guards armed with plastic guns. He had one too, though he has no plans on using it. He stepped through another level of security, and down another long hall, where another guard opened the door from the opposite end of the hall to let Peter in. It was as he stepped through those doors, out of sight, that he slipped the note into the tray, on top of the food. He glances at the man in the cell below as he approaches the shoot for the tray of food. Erik Lensherr doesn't look so evil, just... worn, exhausted, almost. Weary? Maybe he's not that bad?
He squats down, dropping the tray. He doesn't leave like would be expected though, but instead kneels down beside the glass, placing his hands on it as he waits for Erik to see the note. Erik looks up in a stone faced version of confusion, to which Peter gives a toothless grin back, beginning to vibrate his hands against the glass. It would take a bit, vibrating the glass just the right way to make it shatter, and there was some trial and error the first couple seconds; searching for the right frequency to shatter the glass. Then he got it, he felt the glass starting to give under his fingers and couldn't help the grin that splits his face as the panes shatter a moment later. Right on queue, the door he'd come through is covered by a thick slab of concrete.
Peter discards his hat and runs his fingers through his grey hair as he waits for Erik to climb out of the cell. For someone who's been locked up so long, he sure had managed to remain fit. Peter's fingers don't hurt, exactly, but he can feel a sort of tingly numbness in his fingertips from the feeling of the glass shattering under them, that had been an awesome feeling, he was so glad it had worked, so he wasn’t complaining.
Erik stands upright, facing the door, "In three seconds those doors are going to open," he glances back at Peter, "and 20 guards will be here to shoot us."
Peter zips forward, one hand moving to hold Erik's arm, the other to the back of his head, his mind drifting back to the first time his mother had taught him to hold his little sister when she was a baby, "You have to support her head and neck, she's not strong enough yet." "I know," He tells Erik, "That's what I'm waiting for."
"What are you doing?" Erik asks, turning his head a little to look at Peter over his shoulder, but not pulling away.
"I'm holding your neck so you don't get whiplash."
"What?"
Peter was sure no one had mentioned Erik being hard of hearing in the brief, but then again, anything that didn't apply to how to break in and out he didn't pay a ton of attention to, "Whip.... laaaash." He says, drawing the second half of the word out.
He grins, then turns to watch the door as it slides open.
"Don't move!" Someone yells. No one was fast enough to stop him.
Peter speeds between all the guards and straight into the elevator he'd come in, making it through the hall in about a second, sending the people trying to shoot them flying simply by how fast he rushed past them. He sets Erik in the elevator, glancing at him for a moment. He looked ill, which did happen when people weren't built for moving at super speed, so he takes the free second to change back into his own clothes, making sure his trusty walkman is clipped to his belt and a cassette is inside, and that his headphones are hanging around his neck. Erik still looks a bit sick. Peter fixes his goggles on his head then glances at his watch, why did elevators have to move so slow?
Erik still looks sick, leaning against the elevator wall for support, and glancing back at Peter, frowning at his change of clothing.
"You're good, it'll pass." He says, "It happens with everyone." He hesitates, debating if he should ask or not for all of a second before plunging into his personal train of thoughts, sharing them out loud, "You must've done something pretty serious, what'd you do, man? What'd you do?" Erik looks up, but not at Peter, not answering, "What'd you doooo? Why'd they have you in there?"
"For killing the president."
That, honestly, was the last thing he expected, "Oh.." Peter breathes, "Wow...." He glances at the guard he'd duct taped in the corner, "Shit.." he whispers, earning a little eyebrow raise that he chooses to believe is in solidarity.
Erik speaks again, turning away from the wall, "The only thing I'm guilty of is fighting for people like us."
Fighting, now that sounds interesting, "Karate?" Peter guesses, "You take karate? You know karate, man?"
"I don't know karate..." He's still definitely catching his breath, why is that taking him so long? "But I know crazy."
Peter snickers, looking down. Then another thought-question occurs to him. "They told me you control metal."
"..They?"
Peter looks up as the elevator dings a little, another thought occurring to him, "You know, my mom once knew a guy who could do that."
Erik doesn't respond, and Peter sticks his hands in his jacket pockets, waiting. The elevator doors finally open and Peter grins at Xavier. They were going to do great at this, he'd done his part, now they just had to get out.
"Charles?" Erik asks.
Oh, is there a history? Maybe he should have asked about that in the elevator ride instead, Xavier had seemed to have some opinions about the situation bubbling under his skin when they'd been getting ready, but Peter assumed that was about breaking into the Pentagon not–
Charles' face turns into a snarl and he punches Erik across the face. Charles clearly hadn't been planning on throwing the punch, based on how he stumbles and cradles his hand, and Erik hadn't been expecting it, based on the way he takes a few seconds to get back up, a hand pressed to his face where the blow had landed. "Good to see you too, old friend," Erik says, looking up at a soaking wet Charles. Ah, so the fire suppression system part of the plan worked, "And walking." Erik adds as he starts to finally stand.
Charles has a rather impressive glare, if looks could kill... "No thanks to you."
Peter glances at Logan, trying to figure out if he knows what's going on.
"You're the last person in the world I expected to see today."
"Believe me," Charles snaps, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to. If we get you out of here, we do it my way. No killing."
Erik almost grins, though it doesn't seem very... positive, "No helmet. I couldn't disobey you even if I wanted."
Peter glances to the guy in the corner again, not sure what to make of the tension in the elevator, did they hate each other? They seemed... well.
"I'm never getting inside of that head again." Charles growls, stepping awfully close, "I need your word, Erik."
Erik gives a little nod, just as one of the doors to the kitchen is kicked open, "Nobody move!"
"Hold it right there!"
The three step out of the elevator, and it closes behind them, leaving the guard duct taped to the wall.
"Charles?" Erik asks, glancing at the man in question.
"Don't move! Hands up, or we will shoot!"
"Freeze them, Charles."
"I can't," Charles replies, a shake to his voice.
Peter is only half listening now, pulling his goggles over his eyes. If he's being honest, he's counting the men in the room, the guns pointed at them, making note of the various things on the tables and shelves scattered through the kitchen.
Erik looks at them, then the metal in the room, which is honestly most of the room, starts to shake. What was the point of the 'no metal beyond this point' sign on the elevator if the room just outside was full of metal? Did they really never think he'd make it this far? Peter hears Charles start to shout no, moving to stop Erik, as Peter decides it's time to properly drop into his true speed, and the world practically comes to a standstill around him. He reaches down, clicking play on his walkman and hooking his headphones over his ears. Music is the one thing that sometimes moves at his speed, and he feels a rush of energy as “Time in a Bottle” begins to play.
Knives and pots are flying in the air, food begins to spill as bullets begin to be shot from guns, and Peter just grins as he starts to run. He runs along the wall easily, gravity more of a suggestion than a rule at this speed, and tastes one of the spilling soups as he passes, the water from the sprinklers splashing cold across his face in contrast to the warm soup. He flips a guard's cap off his head as he passes, poking another guard in the face. The action may seem mundane, but at his speed it was all it took to send someone flying. He hops off the wall, flicking a bullet off course and grabbing a plate from the air to throw it at one of the men.
He makes his way across the room, knocking another man's gun off course and giving another the wedgie of his life. Peter slides over a table and snatches one man's gun, dropping it in the air and moving the man's arm, folding his fingers into a fist and literally making him knock himself out. Two men are next to one another, and he moves their steadying arms away from their guns, instead moving their arms so they're facing the wrong way and the kickback of their guns will knock each other out when their trigger fingers finish the motion they'd already begun. While he's there, he takes the one man's cap and puts it on, before realizing the bullets aimed at Erik, Charles, and Logan are getting a bit too close.
The cap doesn't fall off as he moves over, shifting the bullets out of the way so they'd just miss them. He gives Erik a grin he'll never see once the last bullet is safely off course, and moves across the room to stand by the exit, falling back into normal people time.
All at once the events he'd set off fall into place, the bullets slamming into the elevator doors behind Charles and Erik, while the guards are sent flying by Peter's various little tricks, knocking themselves out. Pots and pans clatter to the ground and Peter becomes aware of the alarm that's ringing. The three older men stare across the room at him, and he takes his headphones off, grinning slightly.
Charles is the first to cross the room, followed by Erik then Logan, they ought to head out before more guards arrive. Logan pats his shoulder as he passes, "Thanks kid."
Peter takes a few seconds longer to turn and follow, mulling the thank you over in his head.