Chapter Text
It was a Thursday afternoon, and Peter was lounging out on the grounds of the Xavier Estate beneath a tree with Ororo when he made possibly the most terrifying decision in his life.
“I’m going to tell him,” Peter said, breaking their comfortable silence, the unexpected words startling even himself.
Ororo shot Peter a look, scooting over to lean against the tree trunk beside him. “Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about? Because if not, how dare you get my hopes up for nothing with such a vague sentence.”
That was fair, and Peter snorted. Ever since the rebuilding of the school in the aftermath of the battle with Apocalypse, Ororo had been constantly pestering Peter about telling Erik the truth about their relationship.
“I can’t talk to him until my leg heals,” Peter had insisted in those early weeks, casually waving a hand. “How awkward would it be to approach him while on crutches?”
Though Ororo had looked suitably skeptical of that reasoning, especially given how easy it would be for Peter to just wave Erik over during mealtimes or literally any other time the man passed by him when Peter was lounging around the mansion, she’d reluctantly allowed it with minimal complaints.
But that had been months ago, and Peter’s leg had since healed, so he’d needed to figure out a whole new list of excuses. He was starting to seriously run out of ones that sounded plausible, and his most recent included the very intelligent and believable excuses of:
“Sorry, but I first need Hank to study our DNA to make sure I’m really his son. Can you ask Erik for a few saliva samples and maybe a hair or two?”
“He’s been way too busy arguing with Charles these past couple of weeks. I’m sure he’d rather focus on that, right?”
“Erik said it was ‘too sunny’ out today. Definitely not the day to reveal I’m his son. He’s had enough of that as it is.”
“I need some time to practice first. Is Raven around? Maybe she can roleplay Erik for me.”
“I can’t ask him today! It’s Thursday! It’s not Sunday for another three days. Get it? Sunday? Son day? Okay, great talk, gotta go!”
But it was looking like those days were behind him, because as Peter sat and stared out at the imposing mansion, where he knew Erik was lurking inside, he suddenly felt like he’d waited long enough.
“I’m not messing with you,” Peter insisted, nervously plucking a dandelion beside his leg and fiddling with it, watching as the little seeds were released into the air. “I’ve spent so long trying to figure out how to avoid telling Erik the truth that I think I forgot why I was even holding off.”
That was a lie, at least partially. Peter knew exactly what had been keeping him from saying anything: the crushing, heart-shattering terror that Erik would sneer down at him, the blinding fear of rejection, and the ooze of self-loathing whispering in Peter’s ear that this was a bad idea—
But Peter couldn’t keep running from his problems. He was sick of how much time he’d wasted deliberating this—and that was a joke, wasn’t it, coming from him—and Peter thought he might just prefer the pain of rejection to the nauseating worrying he was constantly doing now.
“That’s great, Peter!” Ororo exclaimed, a smile lighting up her face. Peter swore he could see the sun brightening the sky with renewed ferocity as she grinned. “You finally feel ready?”
Peter clenched his jaw. “I don’t think I ever will,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I feel less not-ready than before, I guess. I have to act fast before the courage fades.”
“You can do this!” Ororo encouraged. “As I have said before, Erik will be overjoyed to hear that he has a long-lost son. You have nothing to worry about!”
Peter nodded, trying to believe the words.
Hopefully that was true, and Erik wouldn’t use the iron in Peter’s blood to send him flying out of the room or something.
But Peter wouldn’t bet on it.
…
It was just Peter’s luck that as he headed up to talk to Erik, walking at normal speed and practically shaking with nerves, Charles coincidentally felt the need to call the X-Men on a mission.
Ten minutes later, and Peter was strapped into a jet, Ororo and Raven on each side and his father…directly across from him.
Peter really didn’t know why nothing in his life could just be simple, and as he studiously avoided looking ahead at Erik, he promised to himself that one way or another, once the mission was over, he was still going to tell the man.
He wouldn’t let himself chicken out. If Peter didn’t tell Erik the truth tonight, he knew he probably never would.
Luckily, the mission didn’t prove to be anything out of the ordinary, and from the time they all touched down on the scene, it took about ten minutes to resolve the situation.
It turned out a few furious mutants had started attacking a federal facility that was rumored to be completing testing on mutants, killing everyone in sight.
As Raven, Ororo, and Erik set about subduing the mutants, Peter went off on his own in superspeed, making sure that there were no mutants actually being held at the facility.
To his relief, he found absolutely nothing, and returned to find that two out of the three mutants were passed out on the ground and the last one was trying to put up a fight as Raven and Ororo cuffed him.
“What’s his mutation?” Peter asked Erik, who was observing the scene with his arms crossed.
Erik startled at Peter’s appearance before once again fixing his eyes on the mutant, who had stopped struggling and was standing amid chunks of pavement which had been torn from the ground. “He seems to have basic control over concrete,” Erik said. “Nothing overtly powerful.” Turning to Peter, Erik narrowed his eyes. “There were no mutants in the facility?”
“None, and trust me, I was thorough,” Peter assured him. “These guys are just insane.”
Erik nodded thoughtfully, and it hit Peter that this was his chance—the others were occupied with cuffing the unconscious mutants and keeping hold of the third one, and Peter had a moment alone with his dad.
Peter knew that once they got to the mansion, Erik would be off like a shot to Charles’ office to debrief him, and their conversation would extend late into the night, probably turning into a game of chess and a drink, and Peter would either have to interrupt them or admit defeat, neither of which he wanted to do.
But if Peter just got it out of the way now…
Slipping briefly into superspeed, Peter studied Erik’s face. The man was still looking at him, his gaze intense but thoughtful, not angry as it so often was. If there was any time to tell him, this was probably it.
Dropping out of superspeed, Peter positioned himself so that his back was to Raven and Ororo, not wanting to be distracted from what he was about to do. His heart was thudding in his chest, and he flexed his fingers nervously.
“Hey, so, uh—” Peter started, gulping as Erik looked expectantly at him. “There’s something I—I’ve really been wanting to—I really need to tell you.”
Behind Peter, he could hear an angry shout, which sounded like it was coming from the cuffed mutant, and he let the sound roll off of him, trying to relax his tense shoulders.
Erik also didn’t turn to look, more focused on what Peter was trying to say, for better or for worse. “You need to tell me something? What is it?” he asked, sounding almost concerned.
“I just—you need to know that I haven’t been meaning to keep this from you, or anything, and, like, I know you deserve the truth and I’ve spent months sitting on this, and—” Peter started, his words a frantic jumble. Realizing that because he was speaking at such a nervous speed, Erik might not even be able to hear what he was saying, Peter paused to take a deep breath, looking away from Erik’s curious stare. “You might hate me for this, man, and it’s okay if you do, it’s my bad either way, but I’ve held this back for long enough,” Peter continued.
Immersed as he was in his mini speech, Peter didn’t realize the commotion that was going on behind them as the rogue mutant forcibly tore himself from Raven’s grip, motioning towards the pile of concrete with his cuffed hands and levitating a huge chunk up into the air, his eyes darting around angrily and zeroing in on Peter’s exposed back.
“You can tell me,” Erik urged, also completely oblivious to the imminent danger.
Peter clenched his fists, collecting his courage and making eye contact with Erik. “You’re m—” he began, but before he could finish, something slammed into his head, knocking him to the floor as agonizing pain exploded through his skull.
The last thing Peter saw was Erik dropping onto his knees and reaching out to him with concern, and then Peter fell unconscious.
…
He woke up to a very incessant, irritating, and steady beeping noise.
Opening his eyes, he squinted against the bright light, his head pounding with pain.
As his surroundings came into focus, he realized he was tucked into a bed and his finger was attached to some sort of monitor, the source of the beeping.
Had he gotten hurt?
The pain in his head redoubled with a fury as he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, grimacing.
What had happened? Where was he?
The room offered no clues. The bed itself appeared to be a standard issue hospital-type cot, matching the clinical look of the machine at his side, but he was very obviously not in a hospital.
For one thing, what hospital room would have wooden walls and flooring? Not to mention the other furniture that was in the room—an armchair, a wooden side table, and a bookshelf, of all things. It all seemed very old and valuable, reeking of family money.
Something about that idea seemed familiar to him, but as hard as he strained, he had no memory of ever being here.
Before he could start to panic, he took a deep breath. It was okay. He would figure out where he was in time, right? There had to be a logical explanation here.
Just think. What was the last thing he remembered?
He was broken out of his thoughts by the door opening, and he stared as a man in glasses and a lab coat stepped in the room, looking frazzled.
A doctor?
When the man’s eyes landed on him, the guy rushed forward, and the beeping from the heart monitor skyrocketed in tempo.
“Peter! You’re finally awake!” the man said, sounding relieved.
Peter. The name sent a shock through his body, as he realized that was him. Right. Peter and Wanda. The menaces of the second grade.
But even though Peter hadn’t seen himself in the mirror, he knew the hands he was looking down at weren’t the hands of a second grader. How odd.
The man, who had been scribbling something on a clipboard, looked up at Peter, his expression slightly concerned. “Are you okay? You’re certainly never this quiet. Is the pain bad?”
“My—” Peter started, his voice coming out croaky. He cleared his throat. “My head hurts.”
The man wrote something down on the clipboard. “I can probably whip you up something for the pain that won’t counteract the medicine you’re on. Actually, given your fast metabolism, you’re probably due for another dosage of that, too.”
Peter furrowed his brow. Medicine? Maybe that was why he felt so…off. “What happened?”
The man bustled over to the cabinets, withdrawing a syringe. “You don’t remember?” he asked distractedly as he inserted the syringe into the tube which led down to the crook of Peter’s elbow. “That’s right, Raven said you were looking away when it happened. The mutant Raven had subdued sent a block of concrete into the back of your head.”
Raven. Was Peter supposed to know who that was? The name meant nothing to him.
He decided to focus on the use of the word “mutant.” That was interesting. Peter remembered learning about mutants in school. They were dangerous, like the one that had tried to bomb Cuba. Had Peter been attacked by a terrorist?
“That’s why I’m here?” Peter asked, trying to piece it together. “Thanks for helping me, then, doc.”
The man looked at Peter a little oddly. “Right. Well, I should go tell the others that you’re finally awake. They’ve been worrying.”
Before the man reached the door, Peter found he couldn’t let the guy leave without at least getting one answer. “Wait,” he said, and the doctor turned back. “I didn’t catch your name, man.”
The guy looked confused, before he smiled, looking like something had dawned on him. “Very funny, Peter. Because of the head injury, right? You had me going there for a second.”
Peter pulled a face. Why was the guy trying to avoid saying his name? “Come on, man. I can’t keep calling you ‘doc’; that’s just uncool.”
“This—you’re not joking,” the man stammered, his face paling as he stepped closer to Peter. “You can’t—you don’t—does ‘Hank’ ring any bells? Hank McCoy? Beast?”
Peter shook his head, a little concerned at how the guy—Hank, apparently—looked so terrified. “Should it? Do you know my mom or something?”
“I know you,” Hank said. “This is bad. Tell me, how much do you actually remember?”
“Like, snippets of my childhood,” Peter reported, starting to get worried himself. “Nothing else.”
Hank dropped his clipboard.
…
Peter was actually relieved to hear that he had amnesia. As much as he wouldn’t have wanted that kind of injury, it explained the huge gap in his memory, and it was comforting to know that someone was going to be on the case helping him.
After some very extensive questioning and examination of Peter’s head injury, Hank had determined that Peter needed to speak to someone named “Charles.”
“He’ll probably be better able to figure out the extent to which your memory has been affected,” Hank said. “But he’s off getting the mutants processed in prison, and that always takes hours. In the meantime, I’ll bring in the others, and we’ll see if any of them could jog your memory.”
“I hope so,” Peter said. Now that Hank had given him some pain medication, his head was no longer pounding, leaving his thoughts free to spiral.
Oddly enough, as his pain faded, Peter was left with the growing certainty that there was something he desperately needed to be doing, but he couldn’t for the life of him pinpoint what it might be.
The first few people who Hank brought into Peter’s room were kind of intimidating. There was a blonde woman, who turned out to be the “Raven” that Hank had mentioned, a very serious looking girl with a white mohawk, who introduced herself as Ororo, and an entirely blue guy with a tail, who went by Kurt.
It was a good thing Hank had explained that this was a school for mutants, or Peter would have freaked out for sure. When Peter had asked if that meant he was a mutant, though, for some reason Hank had said yes but then immediately changed the topic, not elaborating further.
“Are you feeling okay, Peter?” Ororo asked, the first to step forward. “That injury looked very painful.”
“I think I’m okay, aside from the whole—memory thing—” Peter said, frustrated that he couldn’t place any of their faces.
“I have been praying for you,” Kurt said in a thick German accent, his yellow eyes welling up with tears. “I should have gone on the mission. Then you might not have gotten hurt.”
“It’s okay,” Peter said awkwardly.
“You better take it slow until you’re healed,” Raven warned sternly. “Can’t have my favorite trackstar hurting himself.”
As Peter wondered if he was some kind of runner or something, he was saved answering by Hank, who leaned forward hopefully. “Did that help you remember anything?”
Peter picked at his blanket, contemplating lying so that the depressing mood in the room would be lifted. In the end, his disappointed expression must have said it all, because Hank deflated.
“What if we have Magneto join us?” Kurt offered. “He was the last person Peter saw, right?”
Raven put a hand on her hip. “He said he ‘didn’t want to be in the way,’” she said scornfully, and Peter had the idea that this ‘Magneto’ must be a serious loner.
“At this point, until Charles returns, he’s our only hope,” Hank said. “He might prefer not to see Peter, but I’m not going to give him a choice.”
Hank headed for the door, and was followed by Raven, who muttered with amusement, “I’m going to need to see this confrontation.”
When the two were gone, Ororo turned back to Peter. “This isn’t a big practical joke, right?” she asked in a low tone, and Peter could hear from the desperation in her voice that she wanted that to be true. “Because if it is, you can tell us. We’ll go along with it.”
“Is that what this is? Oh, that is very amusing!” Kurt exclaimed, lighting up, his expression so earnest that Peter suddenly felt like he wanted to cry.
“Can I be alone for a bit, guys?” he asked instead of answering the question. “This has all been a bit…much.”
“Of course,” Ororo said, giving Peter a hollow smile that belied the disappointment in her eyes. “Come on, Kurt.”
When Peter was alone, he cycled through the names, yearning for one of them to mean something. Hank, Charles, Raven, Ororo, Kurt, Magneto…Nothing.
Peter suppressed a yell, putting his head into his hands.
…
About half an hour later, Peter was stewing in his thoughts and was startled to hear a knock on the door. Given the way Hank had been coming in and out of the room like he owned the place, Peter assumed it must not be him, and he waited nervously to see who it might be, glad that Hank had taken off the heart monitor, which he just knew would have been beeping like crazy.
“Come in,” Peter warily called, his eyes fixed on the door.
“I was not planning to come, but—” a voice began, and as the man stepped into the room, Peter’s eyes landed on the guy’s face and a jolt of electricity shot through him.
Before Peter realized what he was doing, he found himself scrambling to sit up, excitedly crying out, “Erik!”
The man—Erik—halted in his tracks, looking shocked. “You…remember me?”
Peter was nodding without needing to think about it. Because he knew who this man was.
This was Erik, slightly grumpy and a bad chess teacher. Erik, who liked the colors red and purple and didn’t like knock-knock jokes. Erik, who he desperately had to speak to…
Peter tapped his fingers on his leg impatiently, resisting the urge to jump out of the bed as adrenaline and excitement raced through him. Everything felt like it had clicked—this was the person Peter had needed to see. Peter just had to talk to him; had to tell him—
And just like that, the train of thought came to a jolting halt.
“Yeah, I—I remember you,” Peter confirmed.
Erik blinked, and Peter flinched as the room door slammed shut with a bang with seemingly no one touching it. Was there a draft?
“I can leave,” Erik offered, looking back at the closed door guiltily.
“Come on, man, why would you leave? We’ve just had a breakthrough,” Peter reasoned. The last thing he wanted was to be alone again. In this mansion of strangers, Erik was the one person he knew, the one source of comforting familiarity—even if Peter still had no idea why.
“You’re not…afraid of me, then?” Erik asked with a frown.
Peter scrunched up his face as the words inspired something in him, some sort of memory that he couldn’t access. As hard as he tried, Peter had no inkling as to what Erik was alluding to and he couldn’t come up with any possible reason to be afraid of Erik. “Why would I be afraid of you?” Peter asked bluntly, if only to see how Erik would react.
A hunted, vulnerable look sprang up in Erik’s eyes, and the man opened his mouth and closed it soundlessly.
“That’s not important to me, anyway,” Peter said before Erik had another chance to try to respond, picking at the tape keeping the IV firmly attached to his arm. “I just wish I could remember how I know you.”
As much as Hank had been helpful in sharing information that might jog Peter’s memory, that had been something else the man had clammed up on. All Peter knew was that this was a school for mutants, and Peter was a member of some sort of team here, but he had no idea how he’d ended up here or gotten to know everyone.
As it turned out, Erik did not have the same reservations as Hank. “You broke me out of prison ten years ago, and then we met again seven months ago,” he admitted.
“You’re not messing with me, are you?” Peter asked, his eyes wide. “Because that would be, like, super uncool of you, dude. I’m literally at your mercy for information right now.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Erik said firmly, crossing his arms. “I would have no reason to. Is there anything else you would wish to know?”
Peter had about a million questions regarding the whole prison break thing, but as he considered it, he decided that Erik’s past in prison was probably something the man wouldn’t want to be asked about.
It dawned on Peter that that was probably why Erik thought Peter might be afraid of him, but regardless of the crime the man had committed, Peter still couldn’t bring himself to be worried about that, especially if he’d been willing to break the man out.
“Are we—are we close, man?” Peter asked a touch nervously, expecting to be shot down.
Sure enough, Erik’s face hardened at the question. “I am not someone who takes relationships lightly,” Erik said. “So no, I would not say we are ‘close.’”
For some reason, the words felt like a punch to Peter’s gut, and he wondered why he cared so much about what this random guy thought of him. He knew there was something he was missing; if only he could remember…
That reminded him—there was still something that was bothering Peter. “There’s one other thing,” he began anxiously. “I need to tell you—what do I need to tell you?”
Erik stepped closer, looking very uncomfortable. “Right before you hit your head, you said that you were going to share something with me,” Erik said slowly, furrowing his brow. “I admit, I myself was not sure where you were going with it.”
“This is driving me crazy,” Peter said, shaking his head with frustration. “Not even just the amnesia itself—it’s like I have this compulsion to say something. Like I’m forgetting something important. Something that relates to you.”
From what he could gather about himself, both from his childhood memories and his current emotions, Peter was not the kind of person who generally concerned himself with deadlines and with doing things on time, so it didn’t make sense that he felt so terrified about not being able to say whatever it was to Erik. What could possibly have been that important to share? Peter didn’t even know where to start.
“That is very disturbing,” Erik said. “Perhaps Charles will be able to figure out what it is.”
And even though he still had no idea who the hell “Charles” was, all Peter could do was nod helplessly.
…
After that, as much as Peter would have wanted him to, Erik didn’t stick around, claiming to have other things he needed to get to.
Peter let the guy leave, deflating and flopping back onto the bed in frustration once he was alone. Peter was starting to feel stir crazy; his arm itched where the IV was attached, and he felt like he was bursting with energy. His head wasn’t hurting anymore, either, and Peter was sick of lying in bed with nothing to do.
For some reason, time felt like it was passing in slow motion, the seconds ticking by like molasses as Peter groaned in irritation.
Luckily, he wasn’t left alone for too long—a stream of random well-wishers passed in and out of his room. It was hard keeping them all straight; there was the pair Scott and Jean, who weren’t very talkative but who both seemed pretty cool, and then a nervous but friendly girl named Jubilee, followed by another visit from Kurt, who said he’d been worried and wanted to check and make sure Peter was okay again, and then there was a sullen guy who introduced himself as Warren Worthington the third.
If nothing else, the visitors helped Peter realize that the school consisted of the most random group of people imaginable, and Peter was a little in awe that he was apparently friends with all of them.
After a stretch of time without anyone new, Peter was trying to count all of the books in the bookshelf (and failing, as he inevitably got distracted every time, lost count, and had to start all over) when the final visitor arrived.
Peter’s eyes jumped away from the bookshelf and over the door as it opened, grinning despite himself at the escape from his mind-numbing boredom.
The man who entered looked very put-together, wearing a professorial sweater and wheeling himself into the room on a motorized wheelchair. Despite the stuffiness of the outfit, the smile on the guy’s face immediately put Peter at ease, and he found himself smiling back.
“Hello, Peter,” the man greeted as he pulled up to Peter’s bedside, speaking in a British accent. “I appreciate your patience with all of this, as I know how frightening it can be finding yourself in an entirely unfamiliar space. Hank might have mentioned this, but I am Charles Xavier, and this is my school.”
So this was the famous Charles. Peter had been expecting Charles to be some uptight boss, given how reverently everyone spoke about the guy, so this was a pleasant surprise.
“Nice to—meet you, I guess,” Peter said, finding himself nervously tapping his fingers. “Hank said you might be able to help me regain my memory?”
Charles nodded, though the expression on his face was apologetic. “I can certainly try, but head injuries are quite a complicated business, and I will have to be careful to avoid doing anything that might damage your memories. It is more likely that I will determine the limits of your memory loss, which will help Hank devise a potential cure.”
“Okay,” Peter replied nervously. “So are you going to hook me up to a brain scanner machine or something?”
Charles chuckled. “Ah, perhaps you were not told. There is no need for that, as I am a telepath.” Peter managed to keep his expression blank upon hearing that, but as nervousness coursed through him, Charles looked at him with concern, the mirth fading from his expression. “I assure you, Peter, that I will not do anything you are not comfortable with. If you would rather I not enter your head at all, I would completely understand.”
Peter grimaced, clutching tightly at his sheets. “It’s okay,” he forced himself to say. “I want you to do this.”
As terrifying as it was to think that someone would have the ability to enter his mind, Peter knew that he couldn’t chicken out if he ever wanted answers, and the conversation with Erik was still weighing on him heavily.
“Alright, but feel free at any point to change your mind, and I will withdraw,” Charles promised, and then he closed his eyes and put two fingers to his temple.
Peter watched a little awkwardly, not sure if he, too, should close his eyes, and then he gasped as an unfamiliar presence pressed up against his mind.
Peter wasn’t sure what Charles was doing or looking at in his head, but he could feel the man poking around in there, the presence radiating power and calm.
After what felt like forever, Charles opened his eyes and Peter let out a relieved breath as the presence finally withdrew from his head.
“What did you find? Were you able to access my memories? What is it like inside my head? Did you figure out what’s going on?” Peter let out in a babbled rush.
Charles winced, putting a hand to his head. “That gave me quite the headache,” Charles said heavily, massaging his temples. “Even with so few memories, your mind is quite the whirlwind, Peter. But I stayed long enough to confirm—the head injury has affected your recent memories, as you likely already know. It appears consistent with Hank’s diagnosis of retrograde amnesia—your childhood memories are not affected, but all more recent memories have been lost, and that is not something I can change. All that remains of them seems to be your lingering familiarity with Erik, which is very curious indeed.”
Peter blinked rapidly, his breath catching in his throat as he tried not to let his tears escape his eyes. “Did—did you find out what I’ve been wanting to tell Erik?” Peter asked, if only to distract himself.
Charles furrowed his brow, taking a moment to think, before slowly shaking his head. “My apologies, Peter, but while I did pick up on your desperation to speak with him, I, too, was unable to trace where that might have been coming from.”
Another disappointment. “Any guesses? From what you know about me?”
Charles once again pondered the question, looking genuinely perplexed. “I will think about it, Peter, but I’m sorry to say that I have no clue whatsoever,” he finally said. “In the months that I have spent with you at this school, I don’t believe I ever was aware of you speaking to Erik besides general greetings or perhaps the occasional game of chess.”
Peter’s eyes dropped down into his lap and he blinked slowly, watching as a few tears dropped down onto the sheets.
“There is good news, too, Peter,” Charles said in a comforting tone, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I believe I have determined the information Hank needs to develop a cure for you. Together, we will fix this, and before you know it, your memory will be restored.”
“Thanks,” Peter mumbled past the lump in his throat.
He didn’t believe it.