[A/N: Chapter four, roughly on time! I really didn't think I'd end up getting this done, but I scraped it together at the last minute and it's...longer than anticipated. It's also, if things go according to plan, the penultimate chapter before this fic is over - gasp! But don't worry, I've got some other stuff planned for this 'verse - probably a few one-shots.

As usual, a big thank you to everyone who is reading - especially those who have favourited and followed and left reviews. Reviews are great.

And a warning: this chapter contains violence, bullying, a spattering of homophobic slurs, and more mentions of Magneto The Absolute Worst Dad.]

Perhaps there's some merit to the idea that criminals always return to the scene of their crime, because it's only three days after their initial conversation that Scott and Pietro once again find themselves in that same bathroom in Bayville High, staring each other down like they don't know how to talk.

Scott certainly doesn't know what to say. Pietro hadn't been at school on Friday - the day after The Pietro Incident, as Scott has officially dubbed it in his head - and the weekend had felt agonisingly long, even though it had been filled by a trip to the mall and plenty of fun with all of his friends. Even as he'd laughed with them - watched Jean try on eight thousand different dresses and crop tops and shoes and told her she looked great in all of them, listened to Kurt gleefully tutor Kitty and Evan on what every item they picked up is called in German, encouraged Rogue to try on the pretty emerald green dress she kept staring at until she'd caved and they'd all told her she looked great and she'd scowled but smiled when she bought it - his mind had been constantly plagued with Pietro and, by extension, Lance, wondering what their lives are like at the boarding house, if the Brotherhood boys ever hang out together or go on days out or have fun.

Pietro certainly doesn't look like he's had a fun weekend. He looks somehow even more worn down than the last time Scott had seen him, his shoulders hunched forward and his eyes surrounded by darkness, and Scott has to wonder whether Pietro had really been waiting for him, or if he's simply too tired to run away.

"No lunch today?"

It's as good an opening as any. Pietro, indeed, does not have any wrappers in his hand this time, nor are there any around the cramped bathroom. The litter from last week had long since been cleaned up by Scott, after Lance and Pietro had left.

"No," Pietro says. He's fidgeting, pulling at his fingers, his movements lethargic and his back stiff. It's an odd look on him, awkwardness - particularly when he usually seems so infuriatingly aloof, always lax even when he's getting yelled at by a furious teacher or mocked by some obnoxious jock. "'S'more trouble than it's worth."

Scott, somewhat confused, raises an eyebrow.

"Didn't think some petty thievery could cause you trouble. You've never seemed to have any issues with it before."

He's expecting a snippy response, and he gets one - just not in the usual caliber.

"It's not the stealing," Pietro scoffs, letting out the sort of chuckle that's entirely devoid of humour. "I could do that in my sleep. It's…"

He trails off like he's remembering something and, just like that, he clamps up again, shaking his head. "It's something else. None of your business, Summers. Anyway, you're one to talk with your 'no lunch?' Where's your merry band of losers? Didn't wanna have your picnic with them today?"

Scott shrugs, trying to swallow down the ire that Pietro's wording builds. "I ate quickly. They're all talking about Jean and Duncan, anyway. I'd rather not listen to that."

"Oh, right. Forgot that they're the hot new couple. Of course, you're jealous," Pietro lips curl into a grin suddenly, tired eyes wicked. "I'm glad to see even the great Scott Summers isn't immune to pettiness. Isn't being the bigger man supposed to be a big part of the whole hero shtick? Although, I guess, you've always let Duncan get under your skin. It's even worse now that he's stolen your girl."

"Jean isn't my girl," Scott fails to stop himself from snapping. He breathes deeply and tries to calm down, the way the Professor's taught him - the way the Professor had told him to do when they'd finally sat down and talked about The Pietro Incident. The Professor had said that Pietro is good at avoidance, that he annoys people and acts out so that they'll lose patience with him, and Scott had wondered how he knows all that. It doesn't seem like the sort of thing that telepathy would tell you.

"I mean—Sure, me and Jean...We're close, but—" Scott tightens his jaw and shakes his head, gaze dropping to the floor. "She's not mine if she doesn't want to be. She likes Duncan."

That much had been made clear on the mall trip. Scott doesn't even know how Matthews had found them, if it really had been pure coincidence, but he'd shown up with his stupid grin and made quick work of whisking Jean away to hang out with him and his gaggle of football and cheerleader friends. Jean had called over her shoulder, not unkindly, that she wouldn't be needing a ride home with Scott.

Scott had felt empty, in a pathetic sort of way. A dull sort of pain. But it hadn't been the sharp, hot jealousy that he used to feel about Jean.

In a moment, Pietro has moved from standing opposite Scott to instead being lounged atop the row of sinks, already settled like he's been there an hour. Already fidgeting. "It must hurt, though, right? The person you like liking someone else."

Honestly, Scott doesn't know whether Pietro's trying to rile him up or hurt his feelings or what. He always talks like everyone else in the room is an idiot.

It doesn't really feel like that now, though. Pietro's still being a little haughty, sure, and Scott's definitely being a bit standoffish, and it's awkward, but it's the closest to a normal conversation they've ever come together.

"It...it does," he says, too softly, too unsurely. "I mean, you must've experienced it before too, right? Or...maybe not, since you're younger."

Pietro rolls his eyes, swinging the leg that's hanging from the sinks and letting his heel thump rhythmically against the cupboards. His torn-up Vans leave dark scuff marks behind. "Yes - by, what, a year? Two years? Oh, tell me, wise elder, what knowledge am I lacking in my youth? Will my hubris be my downfall? Will my rage leave me cold in the grave? Exactly how hard is eleventh grade Chemistry?"

Pietro flutters his eyelashes, expression blank, and Scott bursts out laughing. He feels the strange urge to reach out and ruffle Pietro's hair like he does to Kurt sometimes, but it's a different feeling somehow. He kind of just wants to see if Pietro's hair is really as soft as it looks, even underneath all that gel keeping it slicked back.

He quickly shoves the thought away and shakes his head, still smiling.

Pietro's smiling too, just a little, and Scott stares. Just a little.

"Seriously," Pietro says, "You shouldn't be worrying about Jean like you're both in your thirties. She's not going to run off and marry Matthews. You've got plenty of time to win her heart right back, hero. All that time you spend fighting valiantly side-by-side against the threat that the Brotherhood poses to this fine town has gotta count for something. And Matthews can't touch that. Not unless he sprouts wings or turns purple or something. But, then again, maybe he'd rather join us."

Scott lets out a soft sort of breath of laugher at that, but his brows crease at the same time. He hesitates, not sure if he wants to break the air of camaraderie that has somehow been created, but he decides he'd like to know.

"Why do you do what you do?"

When Pietro merely raises an eyebrow, Scott struggles to elaborate. "I mean...why are you with the Brotherhood? I get that you hate the X-Men and think we're stupid or whatever, but do you really believe in Mystique to follow her? And...that other guy. Magneto. Doesn't he scare you?"

Scott isn't prepared for exactly how quickly Pietro's expression turns dangerous. The colour drains from his face and suddenly he's tense like he had been on Thursday. His heel stops thumping.

"Doesn't Xavier scare you?" he asks icily, glaring, and Scott backs up a half-step before he can stop himself, unprepared for the turnaround. "You're willing to let him train you into a soldier in his personal army? His passion project of narcissism, throwing children into the fray under his own name. What do you think he's training you for? Why do you think he needs you to fight?"

A small part of Scott thinks to apologise, say that this isn't what he intended to start with the question. The rest is consumed by his temper, goaded by Pietro's attitude.

"The Professor isn't selfish," he says, too loudly. "He took us into his own home out of the goodness of his heart—"

Pietro barks a laugh. "For the small price of your life."

Scott wants to punch him.

"Not for any price! We don't have to fight. We choose to, because it's the right thing to do. We want to protect others like us, just like the Professor does."

"Do you pick and choose like he does, too?"

"The Professor doesn't choose who to save!"

"Then why didn't he save me?!"

Pietro's voice is so loud all of a sudden, so full of hurt and fury, that it seems to physically push Scott back. He stumbles, the fire of his temper dying out beneath the ice of Pietro's pain.

"I—" he stammers, but then Pietro really does shove him. Scott didn't even see him move, but suddenly he's not on the sinks and is instead stretching up so that he can get in Scott's face, clutching the collar of his shirt in two harsh fists to keep Scott pressed to the wall.

"Why didn't he save us?" he yells. "He didn't save Lance. Didn't even try. He didn't save Todd or Freddy. He didn't fucking save Wanda!"

Pietro shoves him again, knocks some of the breath out of him, and then he lets go and stumbles back towards the sinks, his whole body shaking and his breaths coming out short and shallow.

"Hey," Scott says desperately, pushing himself off the wall, and Pietro lashes out at him blindly, narrowly avoids knocking Scott's glasses off of his face. Scott tries again, steps closer, but this time Pietro doesn't miss.

Scott manages to scrunch his eyes shut as soon as he feels his glasses shift, and is thus unable to help himself as they tumble and hit the floor and go skidding off somewhere with the sharp scrape of metal against tile.

Pietro takes another shuddering breath in the ensuing silence, and Scott wonders if Pietro had blinded him intentionally, to keep him from looking.

"Are...are you okay?" he asks, unsure whether he's saying it to a Pietro or a wall or a stall door or what. He doesn't even know if Pietro's still in the room - the boy could be in Mexico by now, if he wanted to be. There's the sound of movement, of Pietro's trainers squeaking against the floor, and Scott thinks that that must be him leaving - until suddenly there's breath right against his neck, just beneath his ear.

"You're a piece of shit, Summers," Pietro says, soft and scathing. "You and all the rest of Xavier's soldiers."

A breeze, a door slamming, then silence.

Scott stews in it for a few long minutes, trying to work out his feelings, before he lets out a bitter sigh and resigns himself to crouching down and crawling until he finds his glasses. The room isn't big, he thinks, but they could've easily skidded behind a toilet or into the gap beneath the sink cupboards.

He clenches his fist, trying to reign in his anger, and he realises then that his glasses are in his hand. He's confused for a moment, wondering if he'd somehow caught them by instinct without realising, but then he thinks about Pietro coming so close before he left.

He must've given them back, curled Scott's hand around them without him noticing, before he disappeared.

There's a strange and uncomfortable mix of ire and tenderness in Scott's chest as he replaces the glasses on his face, opening his eyes to see the empty, red-flushed room.

He wonders who Wanda is, wonders what Pietro needed saving from, wonders why the boy hates Charles Xavier so fiercely.

He wonders if he'll ever get to know.

︎

"Fag!"

Of all the things that people like to yell at Pietro in the school hallways, it's one of the less original choices - which means that it's the work of Duncan Matthews.

"Creative," Pietro responds with a smile, spinning around - ignoring the way it makes his head spin - to see the footballer and his friends leaning against a row of lockers, looking proud of themselves. "But I think I've earned the second half of the word too, don't you? Didn't suck all those dicks for nothing, after all. I like to be credited for my work."

The "rumours", of course, had also been the work of Matthews and his friends, but Pietro has been loathe to acknowledge them, despite how furious Lance has been ever since someone in his gym class stifled a laugh as they asked if it was true.

Lance had been sent home that day, and so had the other guy. The only difference was that the other guy had a broken nose and a bump to the head from Lance tackling him to the floor, and Lance just had bruised knuckles and - blessedly - no addition to his colourful criminal record.

Teenage boys are such idiots. Pietro would bemoan his sexuality if the girls of Bayville weren't just as bad, but at least they're easier. Pietro's never fought with a girl he'd liked quite like he's fought with Lance and Scott.

But even those two idiots are nothing compared to the jocks - all cartoonish caricatures of their archetype.

"'S'not 'work' if you enjoy it, Maximoff," one of the shorter boys - dark-haired, sans letterman jacket - grins, parroting words which had been spoken in a school assembly about their futures last week. It makes sense that the jocks would mock it - they're probably still struggling to comprehend that high school football doesn't last forever, and they're all going to be losers in college if any of them manage to scrape a sports scholarship. "And you must do, considering you just came crawling out of that bathroom down there again. Who's in there? Bet it's Alvers."

Pietro thinks of Scott, still stood in there by himself, and the thought of him getting cornered by Duncan and the others makes Pietro's heart jump in a way he doesn't like at all.

"Oh, please. You're just jealous it wasn't you."

It's intentionally goading, trying to work them up so they'll either pay attention to him rather than the door all the way at the end of the hallway or just get bored when it becomes apparent that their lame insults aren't doing shit, but it falls flat when the bathroom door opens and Scott fucking Summers comes walking out. Pietro clenches his jaw as the jocks burst into loud, obnoxious laughter, catching the attention of the few other students in the hallway who fairly quickly decide to give the group a wider berth.

"Summers!" Duncan yells, sounding delighted, and Scott jumps noticeably, spinning around to face the taller boy. "I didn't know you were the type, man. Guess you're not so straight-laced after all."

Another round of laughter, and Scott looks a dangerous mixture of confused, annoyed, and angry as he walks closer.

"What the hell do you want, Duncan?" he demands, looking over the group, and it's then that his eyes meet Pietro's. His confusion increases, perhaps wondering if Pietro had put the group up to this, but then one of the bigger jocks grabs Pietro far too roughly by the shoulder and shoves him forwards a bit, his grip not letting up.

"We were just asking Py-tro here what you two were getting up to in the bathroom."

Pietro scowls and jerks his shoulder, just fast enough for the asshole's wrist to click. He wrenches his hand back with a cry of pain and confusion, cradling it, and Pietro smirks at him.

"It's Pietro, you thick-tongued asshole, and we weren't talking about anything. I was just a captive audience to you losers' performance of jock West Side Story. Which sucks, by the way. You should ask the theatre kids to give you some pointers."

The punch swung at his face doesn't come as much of a surprise. Pietro dodges the clumsy left hook easily and laughs in the guy's face, but Scott doesn't seem to find the humour in the situation.

"Hey!" he yells, diving forwards to grab the back of the guy's letterman jacket and wrench him backwards, away from Pietro. The boy's attention swings like a dog's, and a moment later another shitty punch is connecting with Scott's chest. Pietro throws himself into the fray a split second too late, and Scott is already coughing by the time he's managed to get between the two much larger guys and aim for the jock's jaw. He swings, but then a large hand grabs his wrist and twists it backwards, and he can't help the way he cries out in a mixture of pain and distress - why is he so slow?

"Pansy's trying to fight!" someone jeers, prompting another spattering of laughter. Pietro twists and manages to yank his arm out of the jock's grip, and - in the same moment - spin around and punch him in the jaw, hard enough that his teeth clack together audibly. He doesn't go down, just stumbles backwards with a sort of wail, but Pietro doesn't have much of a chance to enjoy it before someone's grabbing him and someone else is taking a swing at his face, and from there it's all chaos.

A few passing students shout out encouragements while others shout out pleas to stop, threats to call the principal. The jocks don't do much but grunt with each of their clumsy attacks, apparently treating this like the football field, but Scott and Pietro don't make a terrible team. Pietro spends most of the scrap watching Scott's back, swinging at or tripping up anybody who comes close to landing a dangerous hit on the other boy - and he pays the price for it himself with a few of them landing on him instead.

He's really not moving that much faster than anyone else, and that's confusing and a little bit scary, because even this feels like he's pushing himself. It's like he's moving through treacle, all of his muscles trying to protest each movement, and then dizziness comes over him in a wave. He stumbles, reaching out blindly to balance himself against something, but he gets nothing but a solid punch to the cheekbone that sends him straight to the floor.

There's blood rushing in his ears, loud enough that it sounds like a crowd screaming, and the floor feels like it's shifting beneath him, and his vision is spinning like it does when he loses control when he's moving too fast. Like it does when he goes days and days without eating.

It's loud - too loud - and he's just thinking 'Scott', and then his senses finally come back to him and the chaos has ceased.

There's someone crouched in front of him, shoulders squared like they're protecting him, and it takes him only a single moment to recognise it as Lance, his hair a mess and blood smeared over his stupid fingerless leather gloves. Most of the jocks are still standing, most only a little bit bruised, but there's one seemingly passed out cold on the floor with blood poured down his nose and mouth.

Lance's victim, more than likely.

Beyond the jocks, Scott is stood with a busted lip and one hand still holding his glasses to his face, perhaps on instinct.

In the center of all of this stands Principal Kelly, who looks furious. He's shouting, and the words fade in like a radio station through static.

"—troublemakers! Every day you make the case against you worse. It's almost as if it's in your nature."

Of course, he's yelling at the three mutants - not a word spoken to the jocks.

"It was self-defence!" Scott cries angrily. "Lucas tried to hit Pietro first!"

"In case I'm mistaken," Kelly says, voice cold, "You and Mr. Maximoff are all but sworn enemies. Tell me, why exactly were you so eager to jump into a fight to protect his honour, Mr. Summers?"

Scott falters, looking almost embarrassed.

"He didn't protect shit!" Lance yells, sounding genuinely furious as he springs suddenly to his feet. It's a tone Pietro has heard only a few times before, and Lance's posture screams violence in such a manner that Kelly backs away a few steps rather than trying to interrupt his path to Scott. Lance grabs him by the shirt collar and wrenches him to his tiptoes, and another tremor travels through the ground. "'Tro almost got knocked the fuck out, you piece of shit! You think you're a protector? A hero? You fucking asshole!"

A security guard grabs Lance and pulls him back just before his fist can hit Scott's jaw, struggles to wrangle him while he kicks and writhes and seethes and the floor shakes.

"Lance," Pietro says, suddenly finding his voice and struggling to get to his feet, not at all helped by the uncontrolled bursts of Lance's powers. His vision swims again, but he tries not to show it. His face fucking hurts. "I'm fine. Lance, I'm okay. It's okay. Come on, stop. You're only going to make it worse."

As if it isn't bad enough already. Pietro can only be thankful that his and Lance's usage of their powers wasn't obvious enough to tip anybody off, but there's no way they're getting out of this without some sort of action by the school.

Father is going to be furious.

Pietro suddenly feels very, very nauseous, but some of it fades when Lance struggles to turn in the guard's arms and their eyes meet. His face is full of concern, protective, and Pietro is struck with the simultaneous urge to kiss him and to slap him.

"Calm down," he says instead, quiet and a little bit hoarse, and Lance nods slowly. The earthquake fades.

"I'm calm," he says. Breathes deeply. "I'm good." Then, "Are you okay?"

Pietro isn't, but he nods - an easy lie. The last of the tension seems to drain from Lance, but the guard doesn't let him go. He's still holding him way too hard, one arm across his chest to keep his arms pinned to his sides and the other at his belt, ready to grab some weapon or another at the slightest show of disobedience. Pietro wants to kill the asshole for daring to touch Lance, to hurt him, but he's in no position.

He's used to recognising the point where it's best to just accept what happens, because kicking and screaming and crying will only make it worse.

Another lesson from Father.

"The three of you, follow me."

Kelly's voice is still so cold. He turns and makes his way towards his office, and Pietro hears the voice of another security guard and the nurse talking gently to Duncan and the others as he follows, falling into step with Scott. Lance is being dragged in front of them both, still held tightly like he's some dangerous criminal.

"Hey," Scott whispers. "Are you okay?"

Pietro's already incredibly sick of the question. He wants to be angry with Scott, to turn and glower at him or ignore him or maybe just accept that he's already fucked so he might as well just turn around and punch the idiot in the jaw.

But he thinks about every punch he took for Scott, the way his heart would jump every time he saw Scott in danger, and he thinks of Wanda and Father and blood on tile floors and words whispered in darkness when everything is over.

Are you okay?

"No," he whispers back, expression flat and cold, and then he speeds up his pace so that Scott can't speak to him any more.

The security guard sits Lance down on the middle chair of the three in front of Kelly's desk in the Principal's office, so Pietro sits on his left and Scott reluctantly sinks down on his right. The security guard stands behind them, blocking the door, and Kelly rounds his desk to stand facing them, staring at them long enough to make Lance squirm and make Pietro want to crawl out of his skin. He wants to say something, wants to make Kelly mad so that he'll just start fucking talking, but he doesn't want to put Lance and Scott in any more danger.

He has to protect them - always has to protect. Always has to take the brunt of whatever he can.

Somehow, though, it's Scott who ends up talking.

Pietro was planning to jump in immediately, to talk his way into as much trouble as possible if it would mean that Scott and Lance's sentences would be lessened - and that's what it has to be, a sentence, not expulsion, not being given up on.

Not abandonment.

But his senses feel dulled again, like he's got a pillowcase over his head and the conversation is taking place in the next room. Kelly is still yelling, but he gets quieter as time goes on, his voice softening to something simply cold, and then finally to something almost human. Scott's voice is interspersed with it, and he's talking like he does on the battlefield, with the X-Men. Like a hero - like a leader.

Pietro struggles to focus, because he wants to hear, wants to know exactly what's going on, but he doesn't manage to - or perhaps his brain just doesn't let him - until most of the tension is entirely gone from the situation. He blinks, gaze finally focusing where it's been flitting around rapidly and unseeingly, and he realises that Lance has shuffled their chairs closer, pressed himself closer to Pietro, and their hands are linked in the small space between the sides of both their thighs - carefully hidden from Kelly and the guard. Lance's skin feels so warm it's almost burning. Pietro feels so, so cold.

"This isn't a situation which can be taken lightly, regardless of who is at fault," Kelly is saying, gaze carefully roaming over the three teenagers in front of him.

"We understand that," Scott says politely. "Violence in schools is always unpleasant. I bet anyone would agree, if they found out."

Ah. Maybe Scott isn't being quite as goody-two-shoes as Pietro had thought.

He struggles to subdue a smile at the way Kelly blanches, and kicks Lance's heel when the older boy fails to hold back a snort. He clumsily turns it into a cough, and Kelly thankfully doesn't look at them.

"O—of course, I hope that this is an issue that can be kept between us for the moment," Kelly says. "Everyone involved will be dealt with. Including you three, but also including Mr. Matthews and the other boys. We can...try some immediate disciplinary action, before we think about getting your guardian or anyone else involved, hm, Mr. Summers?"

Even though he knows what 'disciplinary' in a school setting means, the word still opens a pit in Pietro's cramping stomach.

Ow. When did that start? He hadn't noticed the pain, but it seems to consume him rather suddenly now, makes him fidget in his seat. Lance's hand tightens its grip as Kelly runs a hand down his face.

"Alright," he says. "Mr. Maximoff and Mr. Summers, you two will be in detention all week for starting the fight, even if it was - as Scott says - in self-defence. Mr. Alvers, I think a week-long exclusion will be enough for you for finishing it."

It's not a perfect outcome, certainly, and Pietro feels the way Lance panics, the way his grip tightens further and then grows slack as he sits up in his seat. He's going to start yelling, Pietro knows, start insisting that this isn't fair, so Pietro tightens his own grip and keeps him down.

"Yes, sir," he says, meeting Kelly's eyes. "I think that will be plenty of time."

'Be glad it's not more, idiot.'

Pietro feels the apology in the way Lance squeezes his hand, his shoulders draining of tension steadily. Kelly gives them both a strict look, but there's tiredness in his face - the clearly painted fact that he really doesn't want to have to deal with this anymore.

"Mr. Alvers, a letter will be sent home about your exclusion, but I think it would be best if you considered it to begin now, unless you wish to go and see the nurse for your injuries. You can return again on Monday next week - I'll organise a reintegration meeting for you and a guardian."

Well. Looks like Pietro is going to be forging another letter from one Raven Darkholme about how she's busy with work and can't attend. What a joke.

Thankfully, Lance just nods, and Kelly sighs again, handing both Pietro and Scott a slip of paper - a note explaining their tardiness.

"Mr. Maximoff and Mr. Summers, you two can go back to class, but you'll be staying after school today and every day for the rest of the week. I'll have a room decided upon by the end of the day. Your teachers will let you know."

Scott thanks the Principal politely, and Pietro mumbles something that might count as the same, before all three of them are being freed from the room and let out into the empty corridor, the school near silent as classes progress.

"You two, to the nurse and then straight up to class," the guard barks as he closes the office door behind the four of them, turning to point at Scott and Pietro, then he turns his gaze to Lance, "You, out. One of these two can pick up your work after detention and bring it to you."

For a moment, it seems as if he's going to stand and watch them, just to make sure that they all really do what they've been ordered to, but then he turns and disappears off down the hall, leaving the three of them in silence. They stand stock still, listening as the click of his boots steadily fades, listening to see if there's any risk of Kelly emerging from his office again, but silence comes and stays, and suddenly Lance is grabbing Pietro like a man starved.

His thumb runs over Pietro's cheekbone, draws a pained hiss from him as he gets a feel for exactly how bad the injury is, and then suddenly they're kissing.

Pietro's cheeks flush and he panics, very aware that Scott is right there and he can see them - he's watching - but Lance is shaking just slightly against him, and he can't help but to kiss back. His eyes slide closed, one hand settling on Lance's shoulder while the other tangles carefully in his long hair, and he lets Lance press close to him and move their lips together as the older boy rides out whatever protective panic he's been in since he showed up magically at the scene of the fight.

Still, Pietro pulls back firmly long before they're anywhere near makeout territory, and his gaze roams over Lance's face for a single moment, making sure he's okay, before it travels to Scott, who's standing slack-jawed and red-cheeked with somehow the same look in his eyes as the one he'd worn when Kelly had asked why he'd jumped into the fight to protect Pietro.

Something like shame, like embarrassment.

"Uh—uh, sorry," he says quickly, backing up a half-step as both Lance and Pietro look at him, the two of them still pressed close in some sort of embrace. Pietro shakes his head and steps away from Lance, hoping to ease the awkwardness of all of this at least a little, but it doesn't really work. "I didn't know. I didn't know you two were…were like that."

"'S'not a big deal," Lance says, eyes narrowed in something like a glare, and Scott's face reddens further.

"It's not!" he agrees. "It's...it's really not. I'm sorry. I think I'm just...a bit on-edge right now. I'm gonna go see the nurse, to get...my face...s—sorted. Fuck. I'm sorry."

He rushes off then, something like pain in his gaze, and Pietro wants to follow him but he also really, really doesn't want to go anywhere near the infirmary. He knows he's too slow to catch up with Scott, too, but Lance's arms are wrapping around him from behind and a kiss is being pressed to the back of his neck before he can start really working himself up.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, carefully, and Pietro sort of wants to cry for a lot of different reasons, but he nods and says 'yeah'. His face hurts. His stomach hurts. His head hurts.

"'M'gonna head home, then. I'll pick you up after detention. Every day. Tell Todd and Freddy they can either hang around to wait for you or walk."

Pietro lets out a soft breath of a laugh, lets Lance kiss his neck again rather than turning around to kiss him properly like he really wants to, and then the arms around him are gone and he's forced to listen to Lance's boots announce his retreat, still feeling nauseous and vaguely dizzy.

He wonders if Father already knows what happened. He's made it abundantly clear that he's keeping a close eye on Pietro, and is also willing to show up whenever he really fucks up, but getting into a scrap at school doesn't really count for anything, right? No powers were used noticeably, nothing was revealed before Magneto decides the world is ready, nobody really got hurt.

Father will be disappointed. But maybe he won't be angry. Maybe he'll decide that the school's discipline - and Pietro's self-administered punishment of his dizzy head and cramping stomach and freezing cold fingers - is enough.

It's the only thing that allows Pietro to feign any degree of normalcy as he makes his way towards his class without his bag or any books - just a bloodied bruise on his cheekbone that's showing no signs of healing and an irregularity to his slow steps that feels like torture.

The class stares at him as he walks in, including Kitty Pryde in the front row. Her brows crease in no small degree of concern, surely already planning to call Lance later and see what happened, but Pietro ignores her - ignores everyone. The teacher doesn't even ask for a tardy note, just lets him slide into a seat at the back of the class and drop his head atop his crossed forearms.

He just has to make it through the week, he tells himself, but even that feels too daunting, so he tells himself that he just has to make it through today, just a few more hours, in a weak attempt to combat what he knows is the truth.

It's only ever going to get worse.