Chapter Text
Surrounded by the destruction of their people and impending doom, the last remaining X-Men had only one option.
To create a new destiny for the mutants, one would be sent back in time to the beginning of the end. And despite the others perhaps being better suited for the task at hand, the only one who could survive the journey was Logan. The one who had long resisted the team was fated to be the sole one to save them.
And in giving Logan his mission to keep Mystique out of the hands of Bolivar Trask, to save her life, the Professor gave him a task that could save another.
Logan, now placed in a new old world, didn’t know the first thing about wringing in a broken-down Charles Xavier. He did not know how to save the man that saved him.
He supposed the important thing was to not reveal any future development that may confuse him further and distract him from the real mission. To save the mutant species.
This is what ran through Logan’s head as he approached the seemingly-abandoned mansion.
And it was only after he barged through the door and wrestled with Beast that he faced Charles.
In conversation with the young man, Logan was sure that he agreed to a mission far greater than his abilities. Although, the defeated demeanor of the man was not unfamiliar to him.
Upon being dismissed by the Professor, Hank explained to Logan the tragedy that was the first class of X-Men. He explained how the team abandoned Charles for Erik, how the school was forced to close after many of the students and staff were drafted to the war, how Charles lost the woman he loved in the fallout of the X-Men.
Logan was learning the untold beginning of a story that he had heard long before, only pushing him to further understand the extra mission that the Professor had trusted him with.
There was the dilemma of a Charles without his powers, of a Charles who refused his powers, but Logan found an easy fix.
Charles re-entered the room, “I’ll help you get her. Not for any of your…future shite, but for her.”
“Fair enough,” Wolverine nodded.
Charles continued, “I’ll tell you this, you don’t know Erik. That man is a monster, a murderer. You think you can convince Raven to change? To come home? That’s splendid. But what makes you think that you can change him?”
And in another attempt to convince Charles of his cause, Logan answered, “Because you and Erik sent me back here together.”
The other two men seemingly understood the apparent gravity of the situation, and there agreed to the extreme lengths it would take to acquire the former-friend-turned-foe-hopeful-friend-again master of magnetism.
In discussing the escape plan, Logan remembered a bit of aid that he could find, “I know a guy. Yeah, he’d be a young man now. Grew up outside of DC. He could get in anywhere. I just don’t know how the hell we’re going to find him.”
Hank whispered to Charles, “Is Cerebro out of the question?”
Charles could only turn away in response.
“We have a phone book,” Hank offered.
It took searching through the phone book and the back of his mind to remember the name of the speedster’s mother. Though, he was careful to not interrupt Kitty with her handiwork.
Upon finding him, Logan decided it was best to offer up more information, “Before we go looking for him, there’s someone else.”
“What’s the name? We could look for their address too,” Hank asked, thumbing through the rest of the pages.
Logan shook his head, “There’s no need. I know where she should be hanging about these days.”
“Where is this one?” Charles asked.
“Manhattan.”
Watching the packs of tourists and groups of locals crowding Grand Central Station, you supposed that New York City never had an off season.
You watched as a young boy was separated from his distracted mother. The boy frustratedly pushed past and around others to return to his mother. The mother, you learned, was thinking about whether her husband would notice the difference between a homemade and a store-bought apple pie, opposed to the location of her young son.
Watching the doors open and close at the train, you observed a young couple fighting. The girl, freckled with brown hair that curled at the nape of her neck but laid flat outside, was hurt by the lack of a present given to her by her boyfriend. The boy did not have the heart to tell her that the lack of a present was meant to reflect the lack of feelings that he had for her at this point in their relationship. The girl was still fighting for them and their future, whereas the boy had abandoned that possibility months ago.
All you did was flip the switch.
The couple never dated. There was no gift to miss. Neither of the two was ever hurt.
You figured that particular fate was preferable to wishing the couple stay together. In your short time inside the girl’s mind, you had grown fond of her. The young NYU English student had reminded you of what your mother would have been like at her age. Passionate, stressed, unlucky in love. You did that girl a favor.
Thinking back to your mother, you figured that in her office, combing through stacks of proposed magazine spreads, she would not be worried if you took the train down to the capitol.
You would come back in one piece. You wouldn’t miss school. It would be as though it never even happened. That was the best kind.
She never understood your desire to stray so far, she told you that there were far more exciting things in New York City than you would ever find elsewhere. But it wasn’t the stores or restaurants or museums that pushed you away from the city. It was the people.
Besides your mother, you had only ever met two people like you. And they weren’t in New York.
Wait.
Your heart began beating out of your chest, the pulses traveling up to your neck. Your mind began to swirl.
Oh, how you wished to be alone!
Within a blink, the bustling station was reduced to silence. You could no longer see the lost boy and his mother or the past couple boarding the train.
What you did see was an empty station.
Empty except for three men.
Three men that you could not remember ever meeting, but that didn’t make you panic any less.
In your panic, the room began to swirl, earning gasps and groans from the men in front of you.
The larger of the three men charged for you.
You can fight him. You could fight him in your sleep.
The man grabbed you by the biceps, which you returned by stomping on his feet. In the split second that the man looked at the ground, you rammed your head into his.
Despite not appearing injured, the man quickly backed away from you, holding his head and whispering to himself.
How interesting.
You observed the two men who were less keen to fight.
The longer haired man held his hand out in defense, “We are not here to fight,” he glanced at the larger man for help, “We need to talk to you. We need your help.”
You breathed deeply, still massaging your forehead, “Who are you?”
“My name is Ch-”
“What are you?” You interrupted.
He narrowed his eyes at you in a moment of shock and confusion, “I’m not sure that I follow.”
You moved your eyes between him and the larger man, “There’s something blocking me.”
“Blocking you?”
“From the two of you. It’s just quiet.”
His eyes widened in apparent recognition, “You’re a telepath,” he stepped closer to you, in your distrust, you stepped back, “I am a telepath.”
Tilting your head, you continued to stare at the man. He seemed genuine, although you could sense nothing of his mutation, “Are you sure?”
He gave a nervous chuckle, “Yes, I’m quite sure.”
You nodded to the larger man, “He’s not a telepath. Something else is blocking me. There’s someone else in his head,” you relaxed your arms from their defensive positions, “It’s no matter. Don’t know if there’s anything I want in there anyway.”
The larger man gave you a small smile in return. You would wager that your statement was not as true as you hoped it was.
“What do you need me for?”
The larger man spoke, “Planning a jailbreak from the most highly guarded prison on Earth. Seems to me, bub, that you’re the best insurance we’ve got.”
Even though the man was asking you to join his mission of certain death, it was not the jailbreak that had you interested, “Do we know each other?”
He slowly nodded, “We’re going to meet a long time from now. Name’s Logan.”
You nodded, accepting an answer that you could not begin to understand, “I don’t know how I would be able to help rein in your friend.”
The long-haired man spoke in surprise, “How do you know about that?”
Confused by the answer not being obvious to another telepath, you spoke, “Just because you two have quiet minds,” you gestured to the third man, “doesn’t mean that he does. But, if a jailbreak is all you need from me, then you’re in luck. We’re actually headed to the same place.”