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It takes him just a second for him to know that he doesn’t belong here, no matter what anyone said.
He isn’t a mutant, or whatever other words they told him he is. He’s just some kid. Some kid with an alien symboite that only he can bond with, yeah, but some kid nonetheless.
He had spent the entire ride up listening to CONS ramble about stuff he can’t even remember now, but it helped to distract both of them.
He can feel CONS’ anxiety bubbling within as the symbiote curls around his heart, trying to feel safe behind his ribcage. He doesn’t trust this place, and Crankcase doesn’t either. CONS has gone through too much shit at the hands of people like these.
Crankcase promised him he wouldn’t let anything happen to him before he left home, and he sure as hell keeping that fucking promise.
Standing at the front door and looking around at the dark wood interior and dim lighting he feels as though he has been transported to fucking Hogwarts instead of some boarding school for assholes.
He misses his house, his room, the obnoxious light in the bathroom that only seemed to flicker when he was about to step into the shower.
He misses the warmth his home brought, familiar and comfortable. This place feels cold, like walking into a room entirely made of mirrors. He fucking hates funhouses.
His duffel bag is thrown lazily over his shoulder. He wonders if he could pass for a hockey boy looking like this.
Where are all the kids? CONS asks. His voice is loud in his head, louder than Crankcase’s own voice. He can tell that CONS is on alert, suspicious of everything. He doesn’t want to get poked and prodded in a lab again. Crankcase can’t let that happen.
“Dead. I dunno,” he responds, taking a few steps around while still staying relatively close to the front door just incase he needs a quick escape. His ride may have abandoned him here, but he can run like hell if he needs to.
He walks up to the large staircase, trying to peer up at the second floor, only to jump at least three feet backwards when he sees a furred blue head starring back down at him.
He can feel CONS start to seep out of his skin, panicked, terror prickling their blended mind.
He tries to calm him down, rubbing the small tendrils that are reaching out of his hand with his thumb.
Sorry, CONS apologizes, sinking his form back into Crankcase’s body. He snuggles up tightly between four of the ribs closest to his heart.
“It’s fine,” he says, looking back up at the staircase.
There’s a sound behind him, one like when he poured the flour in a bowl to fast and it all blew up in his face.
Crankcase spins around, taking a step back.
Fuck. He’s jumpy today.
There’s a blue man standing in front of him. He has fur on him. Why does he have fur on him? Why does he have blue fur on him? Blue’s a fucking awesome colour but Crankcase doesn’t think he would just pick blue if he was going to dye his fur—if he had fur.
Oh, and he has a tail apparently, because why wouldn’t he have a tail?
All in all, he looks pretty cool. Not as cool as how he and CONS look when they combine though.
“Sorry!” the blue man says, his German accent thick. His tail flicks nervously behind him. “I did not mean to frighten you. I heard your voice and did not recognize it.”
“Oh. Uhm,” Crankcase starts. What does he even say to that? “That’s okay?” It comes out as more of a question. He sounds squeaky and he hates it.
I don’t think you sound bad, CONS supplies helpfully, purring softly once he has decided blue furry man isn’t a threat to Crankcase or himself.
“Yeah, that’s ‘cause you’re my partner, you gotta say that,” he counters. Partner makes him think of cowboys, and then suddenly he is thinking about himself and CONS in a Brokeback Mountain situation.
I’ve never seen that movie, CONS admits. Also, that man is frowning at us.
Crankcase blinks, refocusing on the real world instead of his conversation with his boyfriend.
“Who are you talking to?” blue man asks, a strand of his navy hair falling into his face as he tilts his head slightly in confusion.
“The alien who lives inside of me,” Crankcase deadpans.
The other man blinks, squints at him, blinks again then says: “oh.”
“Yeah.” He nods.
The silence is awkward, then it’s not so silent anymore.
“Kurt, I see you’ve met our newest student,” some bald guy in a floating yellow—what the fuck even is that? Crankcase can tell it’s a wheelchair but it doesn’t look like one at all—thing says.
The blue man, Kurt, turns to face the bald guy.
“I have.” His tail flicks behind him.
“Who are you?” Crankcase asks bald guy.
Bald guy turns his attention to him. “My name is Professor Charles Xavier.”
He didn’t need to know his whole fucking name, but whatever. He swears the next thing that will come out of the Professor’s mouth is his goddamn date of birth, maybe the name of an ex-girlfriend or two. Fuck, why doesn’t he just tell him his whole life story?
That was unnecessary, CONS comments. Crankcase dismisses him mentally.
“Crankcase,” he greets. He doesn’t shake his hand because, one, that’s weird. Two, the Professor didn’t offer, and three, it feels vaguely feminine to shake a guys hand. Although, that might just be the dysphoria being stupid. Men shake other men’s hands all the time in movies—and probably in real life too he just doesn’t care enough to pay attention.
There is a puff of smoke beside him, blue and gross smelling—sulfur, he payed enough attention in science to know what sulfur smells like—, and Kurt is gone.
Teleportation is a cool power but he wouldn’t want to be covered in fur just to be able to teleport out of class.
You need to stop skipping. I don’t think you can skip in a school full of mutants.
Crankcase scoffs. “Try me. I totally could.”
The Professor squints at him, but he doesn’t look confused. Which is weird, someone is always confused by Crankcase.
“Come with me,” the Professor requests, turning his floating wheelchair and going down one of the hallways.
“Where are we going?” Crankcase asks, walking beside him.
“To my office. We’ll discuss your mutant ability and then see which dorm is right for you. You will get the option to pick your classes soon,” he answers.
“But I’m not a mutant?” he says. Why does everyone think he is a mutant? Seriously, does he have an extra limb he doesn’t know about? Are there feathers sticking out of his head? He doesn’t look mutant at all.
The Professor doesn’t look like he cares, still gliding through the winding hallways.
“Did you not hear me? I said: I’m not a mutant,” Crankcase repeats, wondering if he just didn’t hear him, the Professor does look old after all, and old people don’t hear right.
The Professor doesn’t look at him. “Yes, I’m aware. However, you do have a unique partner who is attached to you.”
What? He is here for CONS? Sure, he is cool as shit, but they didn’t need to drag his Canadian ass all the way up to New York.
“Then talk to him, not me,” he says.
“If he would like to talk, I would be more than happy to,” the Professor responds.
I’m not sure I want to talk to him, CONS exclaims. He can feel him wriggle around his ribs. He’s trying to read your mind and I don’t like it.
“He doesn’t like your mind reading shit. Stop doing it,” Crankcase orders. Fuck the Professor for trying to get into his head. There isn’t enough room for three, his head isn’t that big, no matter what Misfire says.
“I apologize to him. I was just attempting to get a reading on you two,” the Professor states, then stops at a door. “This is my office.”
Crankcase pushes the door open, letting the Professor go in first before he does.
His office looks the same as the rest of the school does: rich. This is definitely some generational money shit. Daddy’s Money payed for this.
The Professor is on the news a lot, CONS reminds.
“Nobody actually watches the news? Do you watch the news? When do you have time to watch the news?” Crankcase asks. Who the fuck watches the news? Only old people watch the news. Crankcase is fifteen! He is too young to watch the news. How is the news even that entertaining? It’s just sone adults talking about boring shit that doesn’t affect him.
Fuck the news. He would rather be waterboarded for seven hours straight then watch the news for half an hour.
I watch it at night, when you’re passed out. Your dad likes to have it on.
“You talk to my dad?” Crankcase raises an eyebrow underneath his visor, then immediately drops it. He can’t show emotion on his unofficial first day here, that shit’s for losers and teachers pets.
He’s asleep when I go down.
“I’m not surprised.” When is his dad not asleep or drunk? He can’t count on one hand a time he has seen him sober. Alcoholic bitch.
“If I may,” the Professor clears his throat, “I would like to discuss your ability with you.”
This is really starting to get old. How many times can he say he is not a mutant before he gets it? “The only ability I have is the ability to build model planes,” he declares.
Hosting an alien who just happens to be his boyfriend isn’t what he called an ability. Is he going to get a medal of bravery for watching gay porn that one time? Or a call from the Prime Minister because he didn’t wear tape as a binder?
Actually, aren’t mutants hated? Nevermind about the metal, is he going to be killed because he didn’t die his hair some bright neon?
“I’m talking about your ability to control an alien,” the Professor says. “May I speak with him?”
It takes CONS a moment to debate if he wants to talk with the Professor or not. The Professor made a really bad first impression with the attempt at reading Crankcase’s mind.
Eventually, CONS appears as his head, coming out of Crankcase’s back.
“What did you want to say to me?” CONS inquires, voice rough. It sounds weird to hear CONS speak outside of his head.
They end up speaking for a bit, the Professor and CONS, and Crankcase had to stand there awkwardly and listen.
The Professor was concerned about CONS becoming evil or something insane like that. Why would CONS be evil? He doesn’t even like the villains in the shitty 80s movies they like to watch together. (CONS likes to watch, he finds them interesting and a good example of the human brain—whatever that means—but Crankcase is more focused on CONS reaction instead of whatever bad acting is on the screen.)
CONS assured him he is more than content to stay here with Crankcase. Crankcase did not blush at all, no way. Not in public, and certain-fucking-ly not in front of his new principal. Is he a principal? Why is he called a Professor? What does he teach?
The symbiote sinks into him and disappears once the conversation turns back around to Crankcase and what teacher at the school has the teaching style that will best match with Crankcase’s educational needs. Whatever the hell that means.
Crankcase gets to go to this shithole now. Fucking great. He is a non-mutant going to a mutant school because the Professor is too much of a pussy to let him leave with a dangerous alien attached to him.
How bad can this new school even be? It can’t be full of assholes if all of them are mutants.
His old school had boring classes and even more boring students. How was he supposed to find hockey boys even remotely interesting? They have one personality trait and that’s the love of the game and the hate for the Leafs.
The only reason he was even passing any of his classes in his old school was because of CONS, he found Earth school interesting and payed attention to every lesson.
He will probably do that again. CONS will probably like mutant shit more than regular human shit anyways. Or he can just skip, it can’t be that hard to do in a mutant school. He can just get CONS to kill people if they catch him anyways.
I’m not killing your classmates just because you skipped, CONS says. You shouldn’t be skipping at all, I need to pay attention to the lesson to get us a good grade.
“That sucks. You gonna make me?” Crankcase crosses his arms over his chest.
You know I can, CONS reminds. Fuck, he is right.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He rolls his eyes underneath his visor.
The Professor clears his throat. “We will get you settled in your dorm. You won’t be sharing.”
Cool. No annoying roommate.
He wonders if he isn’t sharing a room because he has an alien connected to him or if it is because he is trans and they just don’t know where to put him.
His dorm is small, but he wasn’t expecting some giant room the size of the barn back at home.
He throws his duffel on the floor beside the bed. He doesn’t feel like unpacking his shit and stuffing it into the small dresser beside his bed. He kicks off his shoes and plops down on the bed.
CONS must not feel like unpacking either because instead of having his tentacles scooping up clothes and opening drawers, he pushes himself up to the surface of Crankcase’s skin, wrapping around him like a blanket.
Do you miss your friends? he asks.
“Who? Krok and the bunch? Yeah, I guess.” He shrugs. “But I’m glad to get out of that school, our science teacher had it out for me.”
And our math teacher, and our English teacher and our history teacher and our gym teacher, CONS says, sarcastically.
“Our gym teacher was a pervert!” he counters.
True. That was the one class you should have skipped more.
“Yeah, but Spinister was in that class,” Crankcase reminds, running his thumb along a tendril that is coming out of the crevice of his elbow, “and watching him fight the entire class was the only entertaining thing about gym.”
Spinister fights everyone, though.
“Oh, c’mon! It was funny.”
It was violent. You could have gotten hurt.
“I don’t get hurt. Also— what do you mean hurt? You eat peoples heads!” Crankcase exclaims.
Shit. You’re right.
“Told you.”
They fall into a comfortable silence before the bell rings and the sounds of students rushing around and loud chattering fills the school. CONS mutes the world around him, thank fuck.
“I really don’t wanna go to class,” Crankcase whines.
We haven’t even picked our classes yet.
“Oh. Fuck, yeah.” Crankcase sits up. “Wanna go explore before a teacher tries to harass us into picking our classes?”
There’s nothing better to do. Sure.
Crankcase gets out of bed, slips on his shoes and sprints out the door, only to immediately get lost
There’s no reason for this school to be as big as it is. Plus all the students crowding the halls make it practically impossible to go anywhere.
Fuck this.