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Mostly, the world went by so, so slowly. It took everyone ages to get even a simple sentence out. They all walked like they had nowhere they could need to be, and every time they ate it was a whole big production. Then they all conked out for eight hours a night-- just had to check out and bid the world a fond farewell. Peter found it much more efficient to take quick naps throughout the day, mostly between people saying "um" and the eternity until the next word. This left him free for a bit of late night sight-seeing. Something about the dark made people believe no one else could possibly be watching.
This was truer at Xavier's house than anywhere else Peter had been before.
Take the Professor. During the day, he liked to roll around, smile genially at the students, dole out advice and teach science that was both way beyond the children's understanding and far below the professor's credentials.
(Peter was of the opinion that the actual schooling portion of Xavier's academy was a bit of a fixer upper; he'd been kicked out of enough schools by then that he had a pretty solid grasp on what kids were supposed to be learning, and there was usually a lot more literature involved. But he was also of the opinion that the schooling portion was not what's really important here, so that was probably okay for now.)
At night, the Professor rolled into his room, closed the door, and pulled out a bottle of scotch and chess board. Which was totally boring, because it was the 70's and there were way better games to play than chess-- until Magneto showed up. Now that, that was interesting.
Magneto, the terrorist. The most terroristy of all terrorists. The man Peter was kind of proud to have broken out of the Pentagon-- because, come on, how bad ass was that? Not to mention it was a nice thing to have in the back pocket, because he was definitely the kind of dude you wanted owing you a favor, and not the other way around. Anybody willing to drop a football stadium around the White House was not someone to be taken lightly.
(He did not regret all of his life choices and immediately return everything he'd ever stolen after watching Magneto try to kill the president on national television. Because that would be lame. And if he did it after seeing his mom cry, and try to pretend it wasn't because of Magneto-- that was just thoughtful.)
At least, it was interesting in principle. In practice, it was two grown men playing chess, very rarely ever saying more than their names back to each other, and, "Your move."
What Peter didn't get was why Magneto always stopped by his room, opening the door like some kind of pervert, just to check that Peter was in bed. It totally cramped his style-- such a hassle to get under the covers, and pretend he wasn't practically vibrating with curiosity. He was really good at collecting secrets. He loved them, having things to hold over people, getting to see all the little ways people ticked. So having a secret that he didn't get-- like, was Magneto really getting his jollies creeping on Peter at night? The Professor didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd be into that, but maybe he really didn't know what Magneto was doing.
(His mom used to do it when he was little, like she thought if she saw him in bed, it meant he couldn't have run away, or maybe that he wouldn't run away. She stopped, when he got older, and she figured out that he could easily be in bed, and still have gotten to New York and back without her ever knowing he was gone.)
Hank spent most nights in his lab, which wasn't that different than how he spent his days. He was, however, brewing some pretty radical moonshine where he thought no one could find it. Every now and then, the blond dude name Alex would join him, after all the students had gone to bed (were supposed to have gone to bed) and Hank would take some of his stash out, and they would sit around, talking about their dead friends.
(For whatever reason, Hank was totally pathologically against being sad around the Professor, which was probably unhealthy, but whatever, Peter wasn't going to tell the big blue monster he needed to work on expressing his feelings. At least not yet. He hadn't quite figured out the best wording for maximum annoyance.)
On this one night, Peter totally caught Mystique, or Raven, or whatever she was calling herself (did she know how many pictures the Professor still had of her? Peter was considering stealing a few to sell as "the mutant who saved the president" trading cards or something) leaving a note in the mailbox.
He even waited until she'd turned around to read it, which was pretty thoughtful, if he said so himself.
Dear Charles,
Since you're really doing this school thing, do me a favor. Look up this kid, make sure he's doing okay.
She'd attached a picture-- and it wasn't a great picture, but Peter was pretty sure the kid had a tail-- with an address on the back. It wasn't signed, but it didn’t really have to be. The Professor had her handwriting memorized, like all the other creepy things he knew about most everyone.
The Professor practically ran out the door when he got the letter-- well, as much as a paralyzed guy could run. He didn't ask if anyone had seen anything, which made Peter think he probably rummaged around in everyone's minds a lot more than he cared to admit-- but asking the Professor not to read people's minds was probably a lot like all those teachers who'd asked him to sit still.
Hank fretted, looking a little blue around the edges, when he found the Professor packing clothes into a suitcase and on the phone, mid- attempt to purchase a plane ticket.
"You can't go alone!" Hank insisted. "What if something happens?"
"I'll be fine, Hank," the Professor said, putting his hand over the receiver.
"But you can't-- you've never--" Hank spluttered.
"Never what?" the Professor asked mildly, reminding Peter vividly of his mother.
(His mom used to ask where he'd gotten those televisions, or those twinkies, but she'd been a lot less amused and way more ready to glue his feet to the floor. The Professor might have a kind of wicked sense of humor after all-- who would've guessed underneath the suits? What'd happened to that rad shirt he'd been rocking when they'd come a knockin' for a prison break special?)
"You know," Hank finished lamely.
"It's just a wheelchair," the Professor said. "I can manage perfectly well."
He bought two tickets anyway, and left Hank in charge. Probably as punishment, since even if he was a total genius, a natural teacher the dude was not. He looked too much like he should be in class with them for the students to take him seriously. Alex went instead. There was some vague allusions to him being just as useful, if not more so, at defense, should the situation call for it. But come on, Hank had only child written all over his “my mutations, my genetic research” schtick and Alex had confessed to having a little brother out there somewhere during one late night drinking session. Peter had seen the way he handled the kids who were scared to be away from home, playing little games with them to help take their minds off things. The Professor totally knew how to pick the right man for the job.
Well, except he could've taken Peter. He was super good with kids. His little sister worshiped the ground he walked on. Course, in hindsight, that wasn't necessarily the best thing. Or as his mom insisted, was exactly the problem, and what led to her finally sighing and handing him a bag, saying, "You're going to school, that new one for people like you, until you learn some respect for the rules. I am not letting you lead my baby into a life of crime. Try to learn how to behave, okay? I'll make those pancakes you like when you do."
(His mom tried her best, but sometimes she just didn't know what to do with her kids when they got too difficult, too different. Wanda hadn't been kicked out, exactly, so much as left before their mom could ask her to leave. She'd walked out with their mom's memories of her, too, so Peter stopped asked pretty quick if Wanda was going to come back. He didn't really love his mom telling him he was too old for imaginary friends. But she was happier-- she was so much happier with Wanda and her powers gone.)
***
When the Professor and Alex came back Peter learned three things in quick succession. One, the kid was blue. Two, he did, definitely, have a tail. And three-- his name was Kurt.
Hank met them in the library. There was a brief conversation between the three of them about Raven and what was obviously her kid-- blue, mysterious note with exact location? He didn't have to be a genius to figure that one out, so he didn't get why it two of the smartest people on the planet looked absolutely floored by this knowledge.
Kurt was little, younger even than his sister, probably.
"He doesn't know much English," the Professor said, Kurt clinging onto one of the Professor's legs.
"So how've you been--"
"Charades. I've always wanted to be a professional mime, you know, so this was just a great chance to practice," Alex said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.. "Smart as ever, bozo."
"I've been brushing up on my German, and for everything else," Charles tapped his temple lightly.
(German lessons over a chess board, leaning a little closer than was strictly necessary to correct pronunciation-- Peter gagged. He did not need to think about that. Magneto would probably kill him for so much as contemplating any sex life the two of them might have going-- but also gross, old people having sex. They'd better stick to that subtext-y chess game and never, ever let him see any actual text.)
Whatever Hank had been planning on saying next was lost in the first burst of thunder, along with Kurt, who suddenly vanished.
"Holy shit," Peter said. "How fast is he? Even I didn't see it. And I always see it."
"Language," the Professor said automatically. "And hello, Peter."
Alex rolled his eyes. Peter knew he was really starting to grow on them.
"What--" Hank said. "Teleportation?"
The Professor nodded.
"He can't go very far yet, so let's split up and find him. He must be somewhere in the house," the Professor said. "And Peter, in the very near future we're going to have a conversation about this spying habit of yours."
(He found Kurt. Of course he found him-- he could make it all away through the house before the other three had even left the room. He didn't know any German, but-- scared little kid he could do. Kids love snuggles-- and they were going to have so much fun. He told Kurt that, even if he couldn't understand, cause it probably sounded better than the nothing. Teleportation! Oh man, a little more English, and they could have the most epic games of tag ever.)
***
Magneto came by the very next night, like he'd been waiting for the Professor to come back.
(Did he have super secret spy technology? Or maybe he just had a mutant on his side who could do that kind of thing. He seemed like the kind of guy who'd be friends with someone like that.)
"Hello, Charles, " Magneto said as he stepped onto the floor, pulling the window closed behind him (with those cool, terrifying, but no, seriously so freaking cool powers of his).
"Good evening, Erik," the Professor said.
"No game tonight?" Magneto asked, when he noticed the absence of the chess board. He smiled, with entirely too many teeth. "I didn't realize you'd be so sore about losing last time."
"I'm afraid not, Erik," the Professor said, ignoring the jibe. "I think it's time we had that conversation about spying, Peter."
The look on Magneto's face when he stopped moving almost made getting caught worth it.
"You sure?" Peter asked. "You seem busy. I can come back."
They clearly thought they were being super subtle, but with the way Magneto's eyes locked with the Professor's, there was no way they weren't having a psychic conversation. About him. It felt a little bit too much like walking in on your parents making out for his taste.
"I have enough children in my care, Erik, whose parents don't take to the time to know them," the Professor said after a moment.
Magneto nodded stiffly. He turned to look at Peter, who quickly discovered he did not enjoy the attention. The Professor wouldn't appreciate it if he bolted, though, and he so didn't want to find out what it would feel like to be psychically stuck to the spot.
(Not that the Professor seemed like the kind of guy who abused his powers like that. But he also didn't seem like the kind of guy who would have secret night time rendezvous, so better safe than sorry.)
"Peter," Magneto said.
"Yep. That's me," he said.
"You mentioned, once, that your mother knew a man who could control metal," Magneto continued.
(Most of the men his mother had known had left because of Peter. Sometimes on purpose, cause his mom really knew how to pick an asshole. Sometimes not, because grown up could be such babies. Whoever that dude had been, though, was before his time.)
"It would seem," Magneto said, clearly his throat. He glanced back at the Professor, who nodded, smiling that smile usually reserved for the youngest and most frightened children. Magneto took a breath, still looking like a man about to get dropped into a pool of piranhas, and said, "I'm your father."
That was the last thing Peter expected (wanted) to hear.
(He used to picture a million scenarios where men stopped him on the street and said the same. Even better were the ones where his dad was just as fast and they found each other running at night. The one he tried not to think about too much had Wanda coming home, their newly discovered father in tow, and she was finally smiling.)
No one stopped him when he left.
***
Kurt returned the earlier favor, and found him carving figure eights into the lawn outside. The kid just poofed outside and Peter had to slam on the breaks, lest he squash the poor little guy where he stood.
"Hey," Peter said, kneeling. "What's up, little man?"
Kurt yawned, rubbing at his eyes, his tail curling around his waist protectively.
"Couldn't sleep, huh," Peter said. "It is way too quiet out here. I get it. Come here, we'll figure something out."
He opened his arms and Kurt jumped into them obligingly.
"Wanna go for a run?" Peter asked. Kurt didn't answer, obviously. So he started off slow, bracing the back of Kurt's neck with one hand, and when Kurt seemed okay with the situation, he picked up the pace, doing laps around the mansion.
(His little sister had hated, hated, hated the one time he'd tried this with her. She'd cried so loud his mom had grounded him for a month. No one had ever been this comfortable with it before. But he'd never met anyone who could teleport either, and probably compared to that, Peter really didn't seem so fast.)
Kurt yawned and snuggled closer, drifting off to sleep.
Magneto was a terrorist. Magneto was his father. He'd always wondered if he took after his dad, even a little. Turns the only thing they had in common was a life of crime. He just hadn't expected his dad to be such a well-known one. There had to be a joke somewhere. It just didn't feel very funny yet. But the Professor let him into the house-- had encouraged Magneto to tell him. So maybe he wasn't such a bad guy after all?
No, come on, he had been in jail for assassinating the president and had tried pretty hard to kill another one. But then, it was just Nixon.
(Had Wanda seen that? Did she think Magneto was right? Would she be-- would she be happy to know that he was her father?)
But if he couldn't trust the Professor, then he was really sunk.
Kurt snuffled, lost in whatever he was dreaming.
"Guess we should put you back to bed," Peter said.
***
Magneto hadn't left the Professor's study.
"You came back," he said, raising an eyebrow when Peter appeared.
"You owe me sixteen years of birthday presents," Peter said. "We can talk after you fix that. Oh-- and don't forget to get double the presents. One set for me, one for my twin sister, Wanda."
It was probably mean of him to leave after dropping that little bombshell. But he didn't want to have to talk to the Professor about why he'd never asked before (he wasn't sure even the Professor could find her, not if she didn't want to be found, and for some reason it would hurt more to look for her and not find her, than to simply not know where she was).
He sure as hell didn't want any father/son bonding time with Magneto. But one surprise deserved another.
Magneto might stop by his room (and suddenly the late night creeping made so much more sense, even if it was still creepy as fuck). He went to Kurt's instead. The little dude hardly took up any room, so it wasn't hard to push him over and climb into the bed.
"We did not hit the parent jackpot, little man," Peter said softly. "But if he gets me anything sweet, I promise to share it. You and me are gonna stick together. It'll be a club-- the one of my parents was a leader of a militant mutant organization club. We'll work on the name."
Kurt rolled over, his hand grabbing Peter's sleeve.
"Right, "Peter said. "Sorry. Night, little dude."
And for once, Peter actually slept at night like everybody else.