bakerstreet | thursday pic prompt

[big, BIG bunny, but he's so handsome! yeah, our three cats are plenty for me. ffffff holy bunnies. o_o does she like ... shave the rabbit and use the fur? /confused]

From the sounds of it, he and Hank have a lot more in common than just being blue. Perhaps, when he found enough courage to do so, he could ask Hank about being a fellow heart-sleeve wearing mutant, too.

Charles' question momentarily broke the silence, though once it settled back in, it was almost deafening. Slowly, but surely, the sound of the wheelchair, the rustling of the wind and the faint calls of birds and something else - something that vaguely sounding like buzzing and he wasn't sure if it was from their surroundings or if it was just in his head.

He brushed it aside for now, attempting to focus on the older man's question, "Their reactions when they first found out about my markings." And there it was, finally laid out for Charles to ask any sort of questions about them that he so wished, no matter how personal they could get. It was never easy to think about, but maybe, if he could talk about them, the weight on his chest would lessen.

[Big, big bunny was being super, duper cute last night. My partner and I were sitting there trading Pokemon (I got Moon, she got Sun) and he hopped on over, put his chin on my shoe, and kept nudging my toes until I would reach down and pet him. Just tooooo cute! And oh god no you don't shave them! You brush them and use the hair that comes out from the brush. They shed like crazy! You ruin their fur for months if you shave them.]

It was, no matter how open the invitation could seem, an incredibly delicate subject. Such raised flesh carved in such elegant patterns had to have quite the story behind them and Charles got the distinct feeling that they were not done by the hand of someone completely above pain. So his words were chosen with care, his pace slowing to give them more time to speak.

"...where did they come from?" Charles finally asked, not wanting to put words into Kurt's mouth. Perhaps, by some good grace, he was wrong and they were something natural, however unnatural that might be, but he didn't want to suggest either how he might feel about them. This was something that needed, above all else from him, to not be judged.

[o-oh, god. D: bunbun wants love and affection. fdskl;jgl;fds my roomie's cat (pancakes) has been all over me the past week, just demanding i hold him and let him snuggle my leg. ACH okay XD i wasn't sure. (I HAVEN'T SHAVED ANY RABBITS, I SWEAR) see, i didn't know that! i mean, it should have been obvious, considering how fluffy they are ...]

There were plenty of times that he wished he could claim that they were natural, mostly so he wouldn't be judged harshly after admitting that he'd made the intricate designs in his own skin. That was what made him briefly hesitate at Charles' question; the fear of disgust from his teacher. He didn't want anyone to think lesser of him because of his past or possible future, considering he'd thought multiple times about taking a blade to his skin for what had happened to Warren - repentance for letting the winged warrior die in battle.

Although Kurt was petrified at what Charles would say, he did his best to not start violently trembling, inhaling sharply and responding, "I did them myself." The breath he'd taken in released in a shaking huff, the only thing more deafening than the earlier silence currently being his pulse throbbing in his ears.

[Even my bunbun gives lots of fur when you brush him that could be used for spinning yarn (Flemish Giants were fur rabbits). Angoras are just ridiculous. They are like a 5 lbs rabbit with 10 lbs of fur. It's so long you can't even see their face properly and you have to brush it constantly to make sure it doesn't turn into a giant mat that needs to be shaved. >.> Not that we have experience in that, nope.]

Hell, so his first guess was accurate. Charles knew he had to think very quickly and say the right thing in this situation or his chance to help Kurt was not only gone but he could lock the younger man away from him. So he sped up his chair enough to partially get in front of Kurt, looking up to him. How he wished he could have taken Kurt by the shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes in that moment, but this would have to do. "Look at me," he said in a soft but firm voice.

"...I'm proud you told me," he started off, that same tone of voice, not looking away from Kurt's face regardless if Kurt decided to actually meet his eyes or not. "I'm not going to judge you based on your actions, only hope that I can help keep it from being any necessary in the future. You had your reasons, and from everything I've heard and seen, I don't blame you. We all... we all bear scars from our pasts, some on the outside, some on the inside."

His gaze dropped away, looking down to his own arm. They were something he had kept hidden from the children and parents, always making sure his shirts were long enough to hide the marks even when the cuffs were neatly rolled back as they were now. It wasn't much effort to pull back on the sleeve, shifting his shoulder and elbow up enough to let the cotton slide, knowing the odd motion would draw Kurt's eyes to it. The myriad of white marks, tucked neatly in and around the soft skin in the crook of the elbow. So many failed attempts to hit a vein when he was in the depths of his guilt and pity depression.

[i've seen flemish giants before and i googled an angora yesterday and was like, "I'VE SEEN THESE BEFORE" so much fluff. some of them even look extra, EXTRA fluffed for like, show purposes? like this one!! XD totally not. that never happens, right?]

Just as he'd predicted, the rising fear began to blossom into almost full-blown panic and had Charles not sped up, moved in front of him to stop his walking, Kurt might have made a mad dash for the door to get away. Instead, he halted entirely, only now noticing that he had brought the same hand back up to grip his throat, the tips of his claws threatening the tender skin. He hesitantly met the telepath's gaze and the hand dropped back to his side, along with his mouth falling open in complete, utter shock.

He was ... proud that he'd been able to come out with it? The urge to look away was almost overpowering, yet he kept his wide eyes locked on Charles, brow creased with perplexity. For once in his life, the blue boy didn't know what to say in response; he was so used to being pitied or berated for doing something that people claimed to be 'idiotic' that he wasn't sure how to approach someone actually telling him that they understood where he was coming from.

It was Charles who finally broke eye contact, though. He averted his attention to the older mutant's arm at the peculiar motion, squinting briefly before his eyes dilated once more at the sight of the multiple scars in the crease of Charles' elbow. "P-Professor," he stammered, cupping one hand over his mouth and reaching the other one to gingerly run the fingertip of his index digit across some of the markings. Hopefully, he hadn't taken too many liberties with such a delicate motion. "What ... what are they?"

[*GIGGLES* That's only for show. They are more like this unless you shave/cut back their face fur. Wizard (who is our handsome one-earred angora) is always a giant fluffball. ]

No one had ever touched the scars like that. Hank had occassionally touched there, usually in giving him another injection, but nothing quite like that. It brought a shiver out of Charles that he could repress; the touch was almost intimate even though he knew it wasn't meant to be. His hand came up, thumb rubbing over the same place Kurt had touched to erase that tingling feeling left behind.

"...needle marks," he said very quietly, admitting aloud something that only Hank would know. The sleeve was tugged back into place and Charles flexed his elbow once before he looked back up to Kurt. "Sometimes, we leave scars on the outside to bear the ones inside." His were not intentional on the same level of Kurt's, but he had done the deed in the depths of his pain.

"Some... will never understand and in reality, they can't."

[-snort- so much floof, either way! is he white? because that's an absolutely perfect name if he is.]

Noting the shiver that his touch had caused, Kurt withdrew the hand and curled it against his chest. "Sorry," he whispered, glancing up to Charles' face then back down at his arm, lower lip tucking between his teeth as he watched him rub over the spot that he'd caressed.

The first thought that came to mind was to ask Charles what he was using needles for, but he held that back, unsure what sort of reaction the question would cause; he didn't want to make the situation anymore uncomfortable than it might have already become. "I must admit, it's odd to have another person that understands." Even if their scars had been created for two different reasons.

"You are absolutely right." He flattened the hand on his chest over his heart, absentmindedly running it down to rest at his ribs, "I haven't ... created any new ones in a long time. I felt the urge to do so after the battle with En Sabah Nur, but I've ... resisted, for now."

[He is indeed white. :3]

Even the mention of that name brought to mind feelings that couldn't be described even with years to try and explain it, the deep down fight to save his own existence from being wiped out of his own body like he was a smear to be cleaned from the glass, feeling his mental self breaking apart bone by bone, molecule by molecule, and in the end, not knowing sometimes if he'd lost parts of himself that he couldn't even remember were gone. Too many of his nightmares rested on the fact he feared that some of that man was still inside of him, or some of himself was gone forever.

"You're not alone." Those three words revealed so much all at once, even as it offered companionship in the terrible knowledge of what they both resisted. Charles had wanted, in fits and passings, to rip the power from his head and never use it again, never wanted to suffer that pain again or be someone's pawn. The feeling had passed, but he knew the possibility was never far away, not while Hank hid his true form.

"But I'll admit, for both of us, that I'm grateful we haven't added to our... collections." Charles looked up with that, his expression full of understanding.

[yes, perfect!]

He stood there in the soundlessness between them, unaware of the turmoil his teacher was currently going through with the memories of simply mentioning the name. Whenever he thought about it, all he could tell himself was that he should have been quicker, could have searched harder ... Should have avoided fighting with Archangel. A stab of guilt pierced his chest at the last thought, the hand at his side twitching then gripping at the leather of his suit. What a fantastic mutant, wings destroyed first by Kurt's determination to live and then his life lost when he'd been unable to escape the plane that he'd teleported all of them from. Dead, all because of En Sabah Nur's influence over him.

Again, he was drawn back to the moment at hand, but it didn't stop his heart from dropping into his stomach at Charles' words. "As selfish as it might sound, I wish that I was," he paused to release a harsh breath, head shaking, "No one should suffer with the pain." And yet, so many had or still did. If it were possible, he'd aid in ways to help them be rid of it and part of him wished there was some sort of second mutation he possessed to do so.

He met Charles' eyes again and some of the apprehension within him settled, a soft smile tugging his lips up. "As am I, Professor."

"But we do," Charles said softly, catching the small motions of Kurt's hands but for now, keeping his to himself. "It comes with life, but you're right. No one should suffer, but that's what we fight for. To keep as few as possible from suffering. I'm not the optimist who believes it's possible to have a bright, shining, perfect world, but we do as much as we can. That's why you're wearing this." He reached and tapped the leather of the uniform.

Which was why he brought the X-Men to existence again at all, because they could do something. Because they were needed. It still hurt, he believed their deaths always would, but he had pushed it to keep going. Now? Now.. parts of him wanted to break down but there was too much, there were people, relying on him unlike the last time when there was nothing left.

In the entirety of his life, Kurt had always done his best to not cry often, but listening to Charles speak, imagining all of the good that the X-Men could do to protect people - mutants and humans alike - it brought on the all too familiar stinging sensation and he drew the hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. What a moment to get sentimental!

He laughed, despite the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, threatening to start running down his cheeks at any minute. "I'm an optimistic pacifist," he forced through his shuddering breath, "I always hope for the best and want to see the decency in people, even if they have proved otherwise. There are some people that show their intentions right away, like the Ringleader at the circus and the Announcer at the cage fights ... They are exceptions to this."

Both of his hands lifted this time, palms pressing against his cheeks, fingers rubbing at his eyes to rid himself of the tears. "Are you sure I am a right choice for this team, Professor? I do not meant to question your judgement and I will always strive to do my best as long as I am here, but ... are optimism and pacifism something that we need?"

Oh, oh no, Kurt, none of that. Seeing the beginning of those tears hit hard to Charles' heart, and he couldn't help himself in what he did. With a gentle hand, he reached out and put it on Kurt's wrist, wrapping around it and holding there for a moment before drawing it away from Kurt's cheek. There was a small smile on his lips, a great deal of empathy in his eyes as he said quietly, "this right here? Only shows me how right I am."

If Kurt would allow him, he would draw the young man down and into a hug, one that would begin easily and tighten if Kurt didn't draw away. If not, he would leave his hand on that wrist and merely watch his face. "We don't just need people who are strong or powerful, who can hit hard. We also need the people who will keep those people in check and make sure that what we're doing is as right as we can make it."

The reaction is something that can't exactly be helped; he'd been so grateful of Charles' acceptance of his angelic markings then surprised and pleased that the telepath had trusted him with the revelation of his own scars. On top of that, Charles' re-enforcement of why he was here, why he was an X-Man - it left a comfortable weight on his shoulders and filled him to the brim with happiness and genuinely honorable feeling. He allowed the hand to be pulled away, meeting the other mutant's gaze and smiling gently.

Kurt hadn't quite anticipated the next movement of Charles tugging him down into a hug, the gesture causing his eyes to broaden with astonishment. He inhaled somewhat sharply and brought his free arm up, balancing himself out to return the embrace by looping his arm around Charles' shoulders and squeezing tight. "Then, I will continue to do my best and make sure that we do the right thing, including my diligence with practicing to keep others out of harms way."

Charles tightened the hug for a moment more before he let go, reaching up to briefly ruffle Kurt's streaked hair. "I know you will. And... Kurt? If it comes to it, and you feel the need to... add, come and find me, regardless of the hour." He raised an eyebrow towards Kurt with a questioning expression, trying to make sure that Kurt understood he meant it. Yes, he didn't know the meaning behind those scars just yet, but that could come with time. He was curious, but this had been a big step forward (maybe for both of them) and he wasn't about to push for that.

"Go head up for a rest," he said in a way to defuse the air slightly, offering a small smile. "Teleport yourself downstairs and get changed, head up normally. I'm going to find my sister and let her know what happened this afternoon... and Doctor McCoy the results of our testing. He'll be very excited to hear all about it."

A relieved sigh passed his lips, followed soon by a huff of a laugh when Charles tousled his hair. He leaned back enough to meet his teacher's eyes, blinking thoughtfully then grinning and nodding toward the mentioning of 'adding' things; Charles didn't need to outright say it for him to get the meaning behind it. "Understood, Professor. I hope it does not come to that, but if it does, I pray that I am strong enough to control myself until I can talk with you." At a later date, when the both of them were less tender on the subject, there could be more discussion on both of their scars.

"Okay," he agreed with some reluctance, still wanting to continue with the training, although he was feeling rather tired. "You do not want me to teleport you back inside? I would have no trouble doing so, considering how close we are and all."

[Sorry I went quiet briefly. Yesterday ended up a CRAZY day somehow. My dealership found my perfect car and we were dealing with that WHILE I'm at work trying to get stuff done AND while I was trying to write the multi-page document outlining all the info characters need to know for my LARP event I'm running in a month AND getting lab results back for a blood test that were not good THEN running home, getting food, and trying to book plane tickets on Expedia between four people going to Japan which had two lay overs in each direction. @_@]

"I'll need to go back upstairs to find Raven as it is," Charles assured, giving a quick smile. "Besides, it's a beautiful day out. No small hardship for me to be able to enjoy it while heading back inside. We'll talk tomorrow, and make sure you have a large breakfast." Not that he thought the young man wouldn't be starving by the time he woke up, but it was a part of that more fatherly feeling in him he couldn't quite help.

He started towards the house, then peered back and his smile grew slightly. "Go on." Before he let the wheelchair go at full speed down the driveway.

[good golly!! you have been extremely busy! XD i was gonna say, "oh, it's okay, i've been busy, too." but you have been FAR more caught up with real life than i have. lmao i'm glad you got your car and japan tickets and larp stuff, but that's not good that your blood test wasn't good. D: i hope that everything gets worked out with that and good lord, each direction? that sounds ridiculous! also, kinda went ahead a little more to get to our next idea~]

"Ah, right." He returned the smile and dipped his head, eyes glittering with elation. "Enjoy the weather, then. I will go rest for the remainder of the day and make sure that I load up on carbs in the morning." Oh, that meant something nice and filling, like pancakes with lots of butter and syrup! Kurt's grin widened at the thought as he headed for the door.

Hesitating for a moment, he blinked and looked over his shoulder just as Charles glanced at him one last time. "... thank you, Professor." Then, in a swirl of smoke, he was gone.

After the blue boy had gone back to the locker room, gotten changed then returned to his room, it didn't take long for him to wind down from the earlier exercise by losing himself in a book he'd been enthralled with. The longer he read, the heavier his eyes got and before he could register it, he'd curled onto his side and dozed off, clutching the book to his chest in his sleeping state.

Throughout most of the night, Kurt rested peacefully, somehow ending up with one arm and his tail dangling off the edge of the bed. It wasn't until about two in the morning that something dark crept into his mind, began disturbing the quietness of his dreams; the smell of burning skin and something else he couldn't quite make out, his own familiar scent of brimstone, mixed with the acrid smoke of fire.

He coughed in his sleep, as if struggling to breathe, shifting up onto his hands and knees, face burying into his pillow. Why did his hands burn?

Another flash in his thoughts - the screaming of the announcer from the cage fight, his own pained whimpering (had he done that out loud?) from trying his hardest to get out of the electrified prison, the cry of agony from when Angel's feathers had burned away when he'd slammed the winged warrior into the metal to protect himself.

"Nein!" he shouted, struggling about in his blankets, sweat-dampened limbs tangled effectively in the sheets and blankets. "Please ..." And try as he might, no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't seem to get free of his bed, of the damn cage, of the turmoil inside of his head ...

[Works perfectly for me!]

Sleeping had become a thing of difficulty since his return home from Egypt and what had happened. The nightmares tended to come when he least expected it and left him panicked, sweating, and reliving parts of it that he didn't even want to remember. Hank was the only one who knew how he spent most of his nights - reading, researching into the scientific or politic side of being a mutant, checking on the finances for the school. All things until he could exhaust himself. No wonder he had fallen asleep in the library.

What surprised him that night was the feeling of something wrong in the air. He lifted his head from his work, one hand spread across a bill he needed to speak to the landscaping company about, and he tried to focus on that sensation creeping on the air. It was something he had become far more sensitive to in the time since Jean had become a part of their school, given how dangerous her nightmares had the potential to be, but while similar, didn't 'taste' of her.

With some effort, he shifted himself over into his wheelchair, still in his pajamas, and started up towards the student rooms. Barefoot and in a thin teeshirt, he didn't think too much of it as he narrowed down the feeling towards the boys' side, then to his surprise, Kurt. His brows shot up as he knocked on the door, and in a split second it was opened by a very sleepy looking Peter.

"...kinda late isn't it, teach?" Peter asked, cracking a yawn. Definitely had been asleep at the knock.

"I think your roommate is having a nightmare," Charles calmly explained, making the speedster look over his shoulder towards the thrashing Kurt. Charles caught that blink of surprise.

"Uh, yeah. Should I wake him up?" Before Charles could even respond, Peter was at Kurt's side. Charles just managed a 'wait!' before Peter's hand touched Kurt, catching Peter before possibly he ended up getting a very startled Kurt to react. He gestured for Peter to go over to his own bed and came into the room, wheeling himself beside Kurt.

"Kurt?" Trying quietly, not wanting to pull the young man out of his sleep any more violently than the dream felt even from a distance.

The burning in his hands only seemed to intensify, causing his distressed whimpering to increase, despite the fact the pain was only phantom; it all felt so real and it was like he was there again, in the cage fight with Angel and then-- darkness.

For a moment, his struggling ceased - just as Peter had reached out to wake him. Then, Kurt twisted onto his back, threw his head against the pillow and arched before dropping rather suddenly and falling still once more. Another image, something that seemed more comforting to start with, but it didn't last long. He was in a basement, surrounded by a circle of candles, hands clasped around ebony prayer beads and a blade gripped in the spade of his tail.

The knife lifted to his shoulder, cut into the skin, allowing crimson to pour forth and although it hurt, he simply applied more pressure to continue the motion, knowing the pain would fade and the blood would dry, but the scar would be forever. All the while, a voice - deep and unrecognizable - echoed through his thoughts: 'It's an abomination. We must be rid of it.'

'It's a demon.'

Another voice, 'Fight or they'll kill us both!'

"I won't," he pleaded, curling into himself and clutching his arms. "Never again." A return to the darkness, the faint crackling of electricity. The box he'd been kept in before battles. The claustrophobic conditions, the inability to see, to move, to break free ...

'Kurt?'

His name, spoken by a familiar voice, shot through with concern. He reached with both hands, pressing them to the doors of the box and fighting against whatever was keeping them closed. Who? Who was--?

"Charles," he breathed, reaching, stretching, grasping at air, but in his dream, he couldn't push past the confines of the container he was trapped in.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. His brows came together and carefully he shifted himself to be closer, glancing once to Peter to make sure the young man was away where he'd left him but Peter already looked like he was fascinated where he sat. With a quick breath, Charles reached out and touched his fingertips to Kurt's temple. His eyes closed, and he reached in-

He jerked slightly in his chair as he dropped into Kurt's dream, burning inside as his whole being suddenly felt absolutely trapped, like he couldn't breathe, claustrophobic, but unlike Kurt, he could drag himself up above it. What was this? What sort of horrid nightmare? He could smell something burning, cooked flesh, hear the crackle of electricity-

"KURT!" A call out, trying to shatter through the dream and pull the other to him.

The touch at the side of his head earned a jerk in response, his face creasing with pain, as if it hurt for Charles to do that. Within the dream, he continued struggling in the enclosed space, twisting his torso this way and that, forcing the entirety of his strength against the doors, but to no avail. Kurt dropped his hands to his sides and slumped back, breathing heavily at the over-exertion; he wanted to cry for help, beg for someone to come and-- No! He was an X-Man now - he needed to be brave, he needed to--

His name again, louder this time, urging him to lift his attention back to the doors. Charles. It was Charles.

He drew his arms up again, slammed both of his palms into the doors with all his might, forced them to push open--

And woke suddenly in his bed, golden eyes snapping open in complete shock, mouth agape in the same manner. The hand that had been grasping for nothing reached and took hold of Charles' wrist, a little more firmly than he'd intended, but nothing too painful. His head whipped between his teacher and his roommate, features practically disintegrating into sorrow, "I ... I'm sorry," he whispered, releasing his hold on Charles' arm and withdrawing into himself. Then, again: "I'm sorry!"

For Charles, he came out of the nightmare with a gasp, his eyes flashing open and a roaring in his ears as he returned to his own skull. He snapped back into his chair, feeling a hand wrap around his wrist before it could fall into his lap. Then it was gone, and he could hear Kurt's voice in his ears, working past the roaring and leaving him sitting there, panting.

"I'm gonna... go for a run," came the voice from the other side of the room and for once, Charles was grateful for a bit of a more subtle decency out of Peter. He heard the door open and shut, but he didn't look up. Instead, he looked to Kurt with a pain blooming in his chest at this young man's reaction to his nightmares, a sympathy that couldn't be denied. Quickly eyeing the distance, he pulled his chair as close to the bed as it could get and leaned, his hand landing on Kurt's arm and squeezing gently.

"Don't be sorry," he started with, any signs of sleep roughness gone from his voice. "Everyone's fine." Except you, but he wouldn't tell Kurt that. He wanted simply to reassure, for now. "It's okay, Kurt. It's okay." His voice stayed low, trying to be soothing, giving Kurt the grip of his hand to focus on and see that he wasn't being pulled away from.

He brought a hand to his head, tangling his fingers through his bangs, the inside of his wrist rubbing across his sweat-covered forehead. Had he ...? His head jerked in the direction of Charles, heart leaping into his throat at the sight of him reeling back in his chair and breathing heavily.

Oh, God, no. He'd hurt him and ran Peter out of the room, if the sound of the door was any inclination. Kurt gripped his head harder and let out what could only be described as a pathetic whimper. Why? Why did the people he cared about always get hurt without any intention? He inhaled, almost ready to lose himself to the fear and and despair building within him, but a touch on his arm drew him back to the reality of the moment.

"But, I--" he stopped his wavering voice from continuing, glancing between where Peter had been then back to Charles, mouth hanging open in wordless shock. The telepath was right, though; he hadn't physically hurt anyone from the looks of it, but now - now, Charles knew his secret. The nightmares that tormented him more often than he wanted to admit and suddenly, he felt so small and afraid, terrorized by his own painful memories.

He was able to keep the dam from bursting, but not strong enough to stop himself from gripping Charles' arm and bending forward to throw his free limb around him, face burying into his shoulder. "I did not want to hurt anyone ..."

His heart broke there for the young man with the truly good heart who had suffered so much at the hands of others. Charles shifted his weight to hold Kurt and brought his arm up so that he could hold Kurt, giving him that place to hide himself away from his nightmares. His other hand gently stroked back some of the dark hair, his voice so very soft. "I know," he murmured quietly, "I know you didn't." His arm around Kurt tightened, his own eyes closing.

"This should have never have happened to you. Never. I will make sure it never happens again." His head leaned against Kurt's, feeling a fierce protectiveness like a hot coal in his chest. This, his mind thought in passing, had to be what being a parent felt like. The thought was pushed aside for now, holding himself in that leaning position to let Kurt find himself again.

Peter seemed to understand he needed to be out of the room and after a moment of concentration, he could feel the young man in what he believed was one of the lounge rooms, probably in front of the TV already. Good. Kurt wouldn't have to worry too much about this moment of pain being seen. Teenage pride was a touchy thing and he didn't need any more done to it.

"...Have you been having these often?" asked quietly, worried that this was an ongoing series of nightmares instead of just one tonight.

This was ridiculous; he was seventeen - almost an adult - and here he was, seeking comfort in the arms of his teacher like some child. Part of him hated it, while the other half told him to accept the consolation as it was being offered. The caressing of his hair eased some of the built up anxiety, ceasing the shaking of his shoulders and stuttering of his breath for the moment.

Kurt wanted to point out that there would be no possibility of Charles knowing what would happen in the future, but he decided against it and further hid his face in the other mutant's shoulder when Charles' head rested against his own. There was a split second where an image darted through his mind: his tiny arms clutching to Margali's legs, face buried into her side as she gently stroked his hair and whispered sweet words to calm him.

He clung to Charles in the same manner, afraid to let go and fall back into the painful nightmare, although he knew he was awake. His thoughts drifted to his roommate, wondering if Peter was all right, if he had been frightened, if he would continue to share a room with him ...

They didn't linger long because once Charles spoke again, he cringed at the question then hesitantly pulled back to look at him from beneath his dual-toned bangs. No reason for him to lie, right? "... about three times a week."

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