OK, I lied. There's some comic-verse, but this AU is mainly movie-verse. I've divided this story into four parts: Prologue, Act 1, Act 2, and Act 3. Each act is too rich to really be divided into chapters in my opinion, so I'll be posting each part once a week so y'all get a chance to read.

Enjoy! (And for any of my Supernatural followers, I'm workin' on the third installment, don't you worry.)

PROLOGUE: An End and a Beginning

September 1956, Rural Ukraine

Magda Lehnsherr was happy. She was living her childhood dream: a healthy child, a roof over their heads, and a marriage to a man she loved. Even better—she no longer lived in fear of Nazis dragging her family off on their sadistic whims.

Five-year-old Anya swung her short legs against the kitchen chair, singing softly and painting with old watercolors. The chair creaked as the girl moved because everything in this house was old. In fact, the Ukraine house itself was old, but Magda adored its charm. While on the small scale, it was the perfect size for the Lehnsherr family of three.

But not for much longer, Magda thought to herself as she fondly caressed her faintly swollen belly. She smiled in anticipation of the night. It was tonight that she would give Erik the good news—another baby would be joining them in a few short months.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Magda looked up in surprise, not expecting any visitors. Through the windows on her narrow front door, she could see Apostol Melnyk impatiently peering into the house. With a frown, she left Anya's side to answer him.

"Magda, is Max here?" Apostol spewed in Ukrainian as soon as the door was opened. He didn't wait for an answer, stepping into the house and looking around wildly.

Magda frowned at his rudeness but her worry for Erik (known to the townspeople as "Max") overwhelmed a rebuke. "No, he's still at the factory."

Apostol shook his head, ringing his cap in his hands. "He ran out early. He went in to see the Boss, and then he bolted out of the place! The Boss has called the police, Magda! They won't say what happened. They said Max is dangerous, Magda!"

Magda paled, easily filling in the gaps of Apostol's story.

"Mama?" Anya piped up from the table. She looked curiously at Mr. Melnyk.

"Do you know where Max might be?" Magda asked anxiously. She bustled around the kitchen, pulling their three passports out of a drawer and stuffing it into the pockets of her skirt.

Apostol shook his head, still clutching his cap. "No, but they're looking to take him away, Magda. You must—"

"Thank you, Apostol," she replied shortly, pulling a secret wad of money from the back of a kitchen drawer. She tucked it into her skirt and then whirled around to face Anya.

"Mama?" the girl asked, staring up with large, brown eyes. "What's wrong with Papa?"

Magda shook her head and smoothed Anya's short, brunette hair. "Nothing's wrong, darling. Papa will be here soon."

Anya frowned but returned to her watercolor.

"You must go," Apostol urged Magda softly, glancing at the small Anya. "The three of you are no longer safe here."

Magda gave a curt nod and knelt in front of her daughter. "Anya, I need you to go up to your room. Wait for Papa or I to come and get you, alright?"

Anya became distressed. She'd never been left alone before. "Where are you going?"

"I have to go find Papa," she replied calmly, even as her nerves sparked and threatened to crawl out her throat. "I won't go far, just to the edge of the woods."

"I'll go look for him in the city," Apostol offered, backing out of the house. Magda nodded gratefully, and he gave a parting nod before bolting from the property.

"I don't want you to go," Anya pled fearfully, clutching her mother's sleeve.

"I'll be right back," Magda promised, taking the small hands off of her sleeve and into her palms. "You go upstairs and do not come out for anyone but me or Papa."

Anya's lower lip trembled but she pushed herself off the chair obediently. Magda pushed the girl up the wooden staircase, and Anya complied slowly.

As soon as she heard the click of Anya's door shutting, Magda took off running into the woods.

It hadn't been long. Magda had only been waiting at the edge of the woods for a half of an hour when Erik finally jogged into view.

"Magda?" He looked at her questioningly. He held a leather-bound notebook in one hand.

"Erik, what's happened?" she demanded. She looked him over and found him to be unharmed. "Apostol came to the house and said the police is after you."

Erik's jaw tightened, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Nothing. I used my powers at the factory, and now the men are afraid." He tried to lead her through the woods and back towards their home, but she pushed him off.

"But why the police?" Magda demanded. "Was anyone hurt?"

Erik scowled and shook his head. "They don't understand it, so they want to control it. But we have nothing to fear from them, Magda; we haven't done anything wrong."

Magda searched his eyes and only saw truth. She collapsed against his chest, and he pulled her to him. "Oh, Erik. Why must we always live in fear?"

Erik briefly rested his chin against the crown of her head. "It won't always be this way, Magda."

With a worried sigh, Magda pulled back.

Erik frowned as he looked around her. "Where's Anya?"

It was then that the smell hit them: old wood crumbling under hot flame.

Smoke.

With a shared look of panic, the parents shot off through the trees, pushing themselves as fast as their legs could carry them. The smoky haze and burning smell assaulted their senses as they neared their home.

"Anya!" Magda called desperately as they reached the wooden structure. The entire first floor was in flames, and smoke clogged the second floor.

"Anya!" Erik called out as they reached the front door. With his powers, he turned the scalding hot, metal doorknob and stepped inside the house. He shielded his eyes from the scorching flames and peered through the thick smoke for any sign of his daughter. "Anya!"

Magda was right as his heels. "I left her upstairs—in her room!"

"Papa…!" The girl's cries were faint, drowned out by the roaring fire.

The only way up was through the narrow passageway of the stairs. The passageway was entirely engulfed in flames. Still, Erik, pushed through the heat towards his lone, crying daughter.

CRACK. A large, burning beam snapped from the ceiling overhead, slamming down towards Erik and Magda. Magda had just enough time to cry out before the beam fell and hit—nothing. Magda blinked through the smoke in surprise. The beam had bounced off of a force field surrounding them. Erik looked down at his hands in astonishment as the beam crackled beside them.

"Erik?" Magda asked, looked at his seemingly normal hands. How had her husband just done that? The beam wasn't even metal.

"MAX EISENHARDT!" The shout came from the front doorway, and the couple whirled in fear. A police officer barged into the burning house, three other policemen flanking him. Still in a stupor, Erik was manipulated into the policeman's grip and yanked away from the burning staircase. "You are under arrest for assaulting—"

"NO!" Erik shouted, writhing against the man. "My daughter! Please!" Another policeman joined his comrade to manipulate the mutant out of the overtaken home.

"No, please!" Magda pled as a third police officer stepped in to pull her from the burning house. She resisted, but the man dragged her out all the same.

"Papa!" Anya screamed from the second floor of the home. "Mama! Papa!" As Erik was pinned down into the dirt in front of his house, he could see little Anya shrieking in the second-story window.

"Let me save her!" Erik pled in a panic. Rage and fear and desperation flooded him, and his eyes pricked at the sight of his little girl trapped in such a cruel, painful manner. "Please! Help my daughter!"

A policeman stomped on Erik's face, kicking his teeth into the dirt. "Nobody's going kill themselves over the kid of someone who is an enemy to the state!"

"Please!" Magda cried, clutching and pulling at the uniform of a policeman. "My Anya! Please, help—" The policeman grabbed her wrists and threw her to the ground. Her head connected with a thick tree stump with a sickening thump, and Magda collapsed lifelessly to the soil.

"PAPA!" Anya's screams grew in desperation and fear.

Erik looked between his collapsed wife and his burning child. He tried to wrench himself away from the policeman with a frustrated yell, and the metal on the men's uniforms trembled.

With chunky, dirty boots, the three policeman held him face-down on the ground. One delivered a kick to his side as another wrestled handcuffs onto his pinned wrists.

"PAPA! PAPA!" Anya's screams grew tortured and frantic. Erik could do nothing but listen with tears streaming down his cheeks. And Anya's screams became haunting, indistinguishable screams of agony, rising in pitch and losing all forms of words—until they stopped all together.

Erik was shaking. Tears flowed freely down his face as the idea of his little girl being devoured by flames consumed his mind. These bastards had let her die. These bastards had probably started the fire themselves.

And they. Would. Pay.

The metal buckles on the men's belts began to twitch. The brass buttons on their uniforms began to stir. The policemen looked between themselves in fear, and then their holstered guns began to shudder.

The three scurried off of Erik, and the fourth hurried away from Magda's body. But it was too late for them.

Erik felt absolutely empty. He had nothing left to feel. But at the recesses of the dark edge of his soul, a hatred flickered to life. A hatred that sparked and burned him alive—just like these men did to Anya.

The cuffs on his wrists snapped open and apart, falling to the dirt. It vibrated with all the rest of the metal as Erik pushed himself off the ground and to his feet. With dead eyes and a tear-stained, dirty face, Erik stared at the frantic policemen.

"Stand down!" one of them commanded, pulling out his gun and pointing it at the mutant. The weapon shook, either from Erik's pain or the man's fear. Maybe both.

The other three pulled out their own guns, fearfully ready to fire.

Erik watched them with hollow eyes. There was no point in any dramatic speeches with these men. It would be like trying to rebuke a dog for a mistake it'd made hours ago; it was too small-minded to connect the meaning of its actions. These Homo sapiens could never comprehend what they had done.

So Erik Lehnsherr turned the four men's guns around in their hands. They watched in mute terror as the barrels faced them, and then they watched in mute terror as the guns cocked.

Four guns fired before a single man had the forethought to run.

The policemen crumbled to the ground, and Erik stood in the forest. Those men had deserved to die, and they had. But Erik still didn't feel any better.

He turned and looked up at his collapsing, fire-consumed home. Somewhere in that disintegrating structure, his daughter's face was being consumed and ground to ash.

There really wasn't a point to living anymore.

A soft groan snapped Erik to attention. He noticed that Magda was stirring, pushing herself up from the ground.

"Magda?" Erik called, falling to his knees at her side. He wrapped his arms around her as she blinked up at him in confusion.

"Anya…?" She searched her husband's face and immediately found her answer. Her lower lip trembled, and she slowly shook her head.

Erik's expression fell into fierce despair as he clutched her closer to him. He rocked her as she sobbed, and he praised God that he was not left alone in his grief. Magda was the only person left on this godforsaken earth that he could feel anything towards.

Eventually, the fire had taken its fill of the Lehnsherr family home. Sparks flicked themselves down in the soil beside the couple, drawing Erik's attention back to the present.

"Magda, we have to leave," Erik said. He helped her sit up, and she looked around in desolation.

Until her eyes landed on the four corpses a few feet away. She stared at them until she could manage to look back at her husband. "Erik…"

"Don't look at them," Erik spouted harshly as he helped her to her feet. "They don't deserve recognition."

Magda slowly shook her head and dropped her hands from his. "You… you killed them…?"

Erik showed no remorse. "They let Anya die. I wish they had burned like she had."

Magda took a shaky step backwards, looking between the lifeless men and her emotionless husband. "You used your powers… to kill people."

Erik was impassive. "They deserved nothing less."

Magda stumbled backwards, and Erik stepped towards her. Immediately, she held up her hands in defense and jerked away from him. Erik remained still, but he was growing horrified of her reaction.

"You're not the man I know," she blurted in panic. She hurried backwards further. "You're not the man I've loved."

It took all Erik had to not reach out and pull her back towards him; she was all he had left in this world. "Magda, I did it for Anya."

Tears pooled in her eyes, and she staggered further back. "You're a monster! No man would perform an act like this out of compassion for his child." With those final words spat, Magda turned and hurried through the woods.

"Magda!" Erik called, falling against the trunk of a tree. "Where are you going?!" Magda's brown hair was the last he saw of her as her icy words burrowed into his chest.

"MAGDA!"

February 1957, Alexandria, Virginia

Magda Lehnsherr (now US citizen Magda Maximoff) had faced nothing but months of despair. It had been hard to immigrate to the United States, a place that promised freedom when she felt constricted by her circumstances. It had been harder to find a place to live. It had been even harder to find enough food to eat.

Magda couldn't remember what it had felt like to be truly happy.

Until February 24, 1957. In Alexandria, Virginia at 2:42 a.m., Magda Maximoff gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

His cries flooded the delivery room, flooding his mother with relief and elation. The doctor brought her son to her with a smile, and she gratefully cradled the tiny human close to her chest.

She'd been debating names for months, wondering if she should name the new baby something to commemorate his deceased older sister. But upon looking into his brown eyes, she knew he deserved the name that she and Erik had wanted to name Anya if she had been a boy.

"Pietro," she cooed softly. The baby gurgled his acceptance, and closed his tiny eyes, making Magda smile.

Pietro was her son's name, even though she planned to call him Peter in the American public eye. It felt settled and right—until they handed her the birth certificate.

With a baby in the crook of her left arm, Magda's right hand clutched a pen above the important document. Father's name? The pen swirled the air before scribing "Erik Lehnsherr."

Mother's name? She twirled the pen in thought. God, she didn't even know her own name. When she was very young, her parents had been killed in a concentration camp; she'd never really used a maiden name. So, Magda Lehnsherr or Magda Maximoff? She hesitated before deciding "Magda Maximoff" had given birth to this baby.

Child's name? Pietro… The pen stalled. Would he be a Maximoff or a Lehnsherr? His father was a Lehnsherr. But his father wasn't in the picture… She brought the pen back down and finished his name with a "Django Maximoff."

Pietro Django Maximoff blinked sleepily up at his mother as she handed the paper off to a nurse. Magda smiled down at her son, finally feeling something like she used to, back when she considered herself to be a real, live person.

With her son's birth, Magda had been revived.

April 1959, Alexandria, Virginia

Unfortunately, the world continued to crumble around the edges, even if Magda now had someone to share it with.

With a sigh, she set the faded newspaper onto the kitchen table. MUTANT ATTACKS NEW YORK BAR, the headline screamed. And underneath it was a fuzzy, distant picture of a man that only Magda could identify—and it wasn't the first she'd seen of him in recent years. While Magda had immigrated the United States to make a better life for her son, Erik had come to the country to seek vengeance. The men in the forest had not been enough of a bloodbath for that man.

But he is seeking to destroy the Nazis… Magda's subconscious reminded her. She sighed and pushed the paper away. While some bystanders had been killed, it was obvious that the metal-manipulating mutant was targeting the World War II villains.

It was days like this that she wished she'd immigrated back to Poland instead.

"Maaaa!"

Magda's attention snapped up to her son. He was sitting on the carpet, clutching two small trains in his chubby fists. He looked to his mother and wailed again.

"Come on, Peter," she said as she lifted her child into her arms. "Are you hungry, my sweet boy?" She smiled as he wrapped his short arms around her neck. She lightly brushed her thin hand through his short, gray hair.

The hair had been shocking at first. She spent all of the money she had on multiple doctor visits to diagnose the silver color. And while the money may have been wasted, her fears had been calmed; her son was simply special (and very healthy).

Magda set her son in his highchair and fetched a premade peanut butter and jelly sandwich. As she tried to feed the boy, Peter turned his head away from the sandwich and frowned.

"Come on, Peter," she encouraged. "I know you're hungry…" And it was pretty much the last of their food.

Peter wailed and jerked his head away from the sandwich. "No!"

Magda slumped into a kitchen chair and dropped the pb and j. "No" was definitely Peter's favorite word lately, and he often refused to eat anything unless a Twinkie or Hostess cupcake was involved. She rubbed a hand over her forehead, hating herself for ever introducing her son to the apparently addictive Hostess desserts.

She needed to feed Peter, drop him off with the neighbor, and head to her nightshift. And could her eternal headache just go away? With a huff and renewed determination to feed this sandwich to her son, she brushed a hand under her nose.

And her hand came away crimson.

March 1960, North Salem, New York

Magda's past year felt like a funnel. A funnel of increasingly shrinking options.

It had started with the nosebleeds and headaches: ignore it or see a doctor? But it was just nosebleeds and headaches. Everybody gets those, and Magda didn't have the money to see a doctor.

Because she ignored it, the nosebleeds increased in frequency; the headaches got stronger. She didn't have a choice then: she had to see a professional. And then they had offered her a diagnosis: brain cancer. And then they had offered her a choice: live with it (for as long as she could) or try to fight it with a radical new procedure called "chemotherapy"?

But Magda didn't have the money for experimental drug treatments. So she decided that she could live with it; they didn't know how long she had to live, so maybe she could live a good long while without treatment.

But life is cruel, and hers was sadistic. A few months after her decision to exist with the nosebleeds and pain, she collapsed at work. She was wheeled to a hospital where they offered her a more accurate prognosis: less than a year to live.

She then was given the terrifying options: find family to take in Peter or a couple to adopt him? Both fractured her soul. She wanted to take care of her son. She loved Pietro. But life didn't care what the hell she wanted; Peter was going to be an orphan in less than a year's time whether she liked it or not.

A nice, normal couple could raise her son. They could afford to offer him everything she never could. But Pietro Maximoff was not nice and normal; he had silver hair, and his father was a deranged mutant. There would always be the chance that Peter would be a mutant, and then the nice, normal couple would kick him to the streets.

Magda didn't have family; they'd been slaughtered in Poland. Erik didn't have family; they'd been slaughtered in Poland. Which left one possible candidate to raise young Peter…

Life was so damn cruel.

Magda tried to find Erik Lehnsherr, but he was elusive. The only way she could think to track him down was to follow the trail he was on: hunt down Nazis. While the vengeance could be satisfying, it seemed like an extensive risk, especially as she was frail with a three-year-old son.

And then the newspaper had shouted a saving grace: MUTANTS: EXPLAINED. The article had been written all about PhD geneticist Charles Xavier, who operated his studies out of his mansion in North Salem, New York. This Dr. Xavier mentioned having keen insight into mutants like no one had ever seen before.

It was barely a choice at that point: get Dr. Xavier to help her find Erik or die trying. Magda Maximoff then packed up everything she wanted to keep, sold the rest, and used every penny she had to travel with her son to North Salem, NY.

"Mama, what're we doing here?" three-year-old Peter asked. He looked up at the massive gates to the mansion.

Magda held her son higher on her hip, two duffel bags on her other arm. "We're going to meet someone, Peter." She looked around the extensive grounds, and the mansion that lay beyond the gates. The slightly ajar gates…

Magda slipped through the gates and struggled to march towards the grand, wooden doors. (Carrying two bags and a child did a toll on a decaying body.)

"Who're we meetin'?" Peter asked, playing with the ends of her brittle hair.

"Just wait and see, Pietro," she said breathily. She was really exhausted now. She brought her fist up to the door and knocked on the door thrice.

After a solid, tense minute of waiting (and practicing what she would say), the door finally opened. A man in his late twenties answered, squinting at her presence.

"Oh," she blurted as the man opened the door. "Dr. Charles Xavier?"

The man stared at her in confusion. "Yes."

"Oh," she said. "You are a lot younger than I pictured. Well, they didn't have a picture of you, so…"

Charles leaned around her to peer at the ajar gate. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

Magda blinked in surprise and blushed. "Oh, yes. I mean, no! We, uh, we have not. But… I, er, read about you in the newspaper. And I was hoping that you could help me." Her eyes hinted to the desperation that swelled in her chest.

Charles threw a final look to the open gate before opening his door for her. "Please, come inside."

Magda hurried to oblige, and she followed Charles in to a sitting room.

"Please, take a seat, Miss…" he trailed off, realizing he hadn't caught her name.

Magda blushed again and held out the hand that wasn't clutching her child. "Oh, I am so sorry. I am Magda Maximoff. And this is Peter."

Charles shook her hand before smiling at the small boy. "Hello, Peter."

"Hi!" Peter cheerily greeted.

Magda looked down at him in fond exasperation. "I have been trying to teach him to be cautious of strangers, but he seems to love everyone immediately."

Charles smiled. "He's charming." He noticed the bags on her shoulder and helped her set them down before offering seats on one of the couches. "What can I do for you, Miss Maximoff?"

"Magda is fine," she assured him. "And I have been reading about the work you do. The, the mutation studies." Peter wriggled out of her hold and scurried over to a nearby, intricate vase.

"Peter, do not touch anything," Magda warned him fiercely. She'd be damned if she was kicked out of here before she could even explain why she came.

Peter frowned but didn't touch.

"Are you a researcher yourself?" Charles guessed.

She shook her head and came back to the conversation. "I… Well, Peter's father had… a mutation. And I was hoping that you could help me find him."

Charles's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I do study mutations, Miss Maximoff—"

"Magda."

"Magda," Charles corrected himself, "but I'm not sure that I'd be able to help you locate a man with one."

"I understand," she assured him. "I came here, not expecting a thing from you. But you are the only person in this world that could possibly help me."

Charles became bashful. "I'm not certain that that's true…"

Magda leaned forward. "Is there any place that people with these mutations congregate? I… I need someone who might be able to find Peter's father, Charles, and you are the only one who knows this population."

Charles looked pained. "Magda… I don't think I can—"

Crash!

Magda jerked her head up to see Peter staring guilty. His small shoes were surrounded in the ceramic shards of the once antique and expensive vase.

"Oh, God!" Magda hurried up and snatched her son out of the shards. She swatted his backside and gave him a firm, swift rebuke in Ukrainian. As Peter emitted quiet whimpers, a frazzled Magda turned back to Charles. "I am so sorry. This has been a mistake. I've wasted your time and…" She looked down at the broken vase in slight horror.

Charles stood and held up placating hands. "It's entirely alright. Please, don't worry about it. Sit. I want to be able to help you, Magda. Let me listen to the rest of your story."

Magda hesitated, but what choice did she have? She picked up Peter and sat on the couch again.

Charles sat and leaned towards Peter to stage whisper, "I didn't like that vase anyways." He winked, and Peter gave a small giggle.

Magda relaxed a bit. "Thank you. I… I just couldn't go anywhere else."

Charles gave a nod. "I feel there is more to your story. Please, if you're comfortable, enlighten me."

Magda hesitated and looked down at her content son. With a deep breath, she told her story. How she met Erik in the Auschwitz concentration camps. How they fled the camps together. How they fell in love and were married. Their daughter. Ukraine. Their daughter's murder. Erik's killing. Fleeing. Peter. The cancer. All of it.

After she was finished, Charles stared at her, stunned. "I am truly sorry, Miss Maximoff."

"Magda," she faintly corrected, brushing tears away.

Charles rubbed his jaw and stared at her and her son. "I have a confession. I, myself, am a mutant."

Magda blinked.

"I, I'm telepathic," Charles explained. "So I can read minds and send mental messages."

Magda touched her temple. "You can see—"

Charles held out his hands. "No, no. I don't invade others' minds without their permission. But I feel you should know. Especially since it may help us find where Erik has gone."

She stared at him in stunned disbelief, but not because he just admitted that he could read minds. "You'll… You will help me?"

"Well, I was already planning on taking a month off of my current PhD program." He gave her a soft smile. "I'd be more than happy to spend it helping you any way I can."

Tears flooded her eyes, and she was forced to close them. Tears escaped all the same. "Thank you."

"Now," Charles said, pulling a newspaper off the coffee table, "I believe I did read where your former husband was last spotted…"

April 1960, New Port, Rhode Island

The three had spent weeks together, hunting down Erik. Their efforts took them to northern New York, a small town in Connecticut, the slums of Pittsburgh, and, now, the tip of Rhode Island.

And Magda prayed to God that they would find Erik here.

"Perhaps, you ought to stay here while I go searching for him," Charles suggested kindly as he tied his tie.

Magda was sunken into the plush hotel bed, but she managed to vaguely shake her head. "No, I'm alright. I am… just a bit tired." A headache was consuming her mind, but she thought Charles couldn't tell.

"Mama, I'm hungry!" Peter yelled, bouncing onto the edge of her bed. Magda flinched at his sharp sound and movement, but the boy didn't notice.

"Peter, why don't we take a walk down to get some breakfast, hmm?" Charles suggested. He held out his hand to the boy, and Peter scrambled off the bed to claim it.

"Thank you," Magda wheezed, shutting her eyes. She would die with nothing but gratitude for that man.

Charles gave her a small smile as he led the boy out of the hotel room. "Get some rest." As Magda nodded, he quietly shut the door and let Peter drag him down into the hotel lobby.

"I want eggs, and I want, um, toast," Peter declared as he led Charles towards the hotel doors. "And, uh, maybe some, um, hot dogs…"

His hair!

Charles flinched at the thoughts. He really did try to never invade others' minds, but some people mentally screamed at him. Like when he walked with a three-year-old who had gray hair.

Charles gave the gawking woman a disapproving stare as Peter pulled him out of the hotel's entrance.

"…and maybe some cupcakes!"

Charles looked down at the enthusiastic youngster. "That's an awful lot of food, Peter. Are you sure you can eat all of it?"

Peter smiled brightly and nodded. The boy caught sight of a bakery down at the end of Cessation Boulevard, and he pulled his current caretaker towards it.

With an affectionate smile, Charles obliged. He really was growing fond of the boy; he would miss Peter when the time came to part ways.

If Shaw imports the materials at this bay…

Charles paused, entirely rigid, jolting Peter to an abrupt stop. Shaw? As in, Sebastian Shaw? Where had that thought drifted from?

Magda was nearly out of time; Charles let his moral compass turn a blind eye so he could follow that mental voice…

He's been growing his ranks. If I do not intercept him at this pass…

Charles focused on that mind and followed the thoughts, dragging Peter with him as he crossed the street.

"Mr. Charles!" Peter whined. "I wanna donut!"

A rundown apartment complex stood in front of him, and Charles hurried up the stairs to follow the voice.

"Mr. Charles," Peter pouted, weakly pulling on the adult's hand but ultimately following.

I will end him here.

Charles stopped in front of apartment 4B. That voice, whoever was thinking of a Shaw, was behind this door. Should he knock? Barge in? His years of etiquette training hadn't trained him for this situation.

I must head to the dock.

Just as Charles raised his fist to knock, the door was yanked open. Erik stared at him impassively, his bewildered thoughts the only indication that he'd been caught by surprise. At his stony stare, Peter leaned behind Charles's legs.

"Hello," Charles squeaked out after some time. He cleared his throat. "Might you be an Erik Lehnsherr?"

Erik still showed no outward sign of being surprised. His gaze drifted down to the boy clutching Charles's leg before settling on Charles himself. "No."

But your thoughts confirm otherwise, Charles told him telepathically.

Erik's eyes focused in on Charles then, throwing a quick glance to Peter. "What do you want?"

"It's rather a long story," Charles admitted and looked beyond Erik towards the apartment. "Might we come inside?"

Stiffly, Erik stepped aside to let them pass. Charles tugged Peter in behind him before claiming a seat at the kitchen table.

Erik didn't sit. He closed the door, walked towards them, and stood with his hands balled in his pockets. "I suggest you make this a quick story; I have somewhere to be."

Charles nodded. "Shaw. Yes, I know."

Erik's jaw tightened. "I prefer you keep your mind out of my head."

Charles adjusted Peter on his lap. "No, I'm sorry; you misunderstand. I have been tracking you for some time, and I know who you're after. I don't delve into others' minds if I can help it."

Erik's stare was relentless.

"I…" Charles looked down at the silver-haired child and faltered. How was he supposed to bear this news? He looked back up at Erik. "I am Dr. Charles Xavier."

Erik remained impassive. Besides, this telepath already knew his name.

Charles withheld a sigh. This really wasn't his place. He stood and held the boy in his arms. "Perhaps, I can persuade you to come back to my hotel, just for a bit? There's someone that wishes to speak with you."

Erik's eyes narrowed slightly. "I have prior engagements."

Right, yes. Charles ground his teeth. "Please, I promise it to be brief and worth your while."

Erik still was not persuaded. "It was good to meet you, Doctor." He led the two back to the door.

"Please, Erik," Charles pled as the door was opened. "It's Magda."

Erik froze, his hand stilled on the half-opened door. He slowly turned his gaze on Charles. "Who sent you?"

Charles shook his head. "You misunderstand; Magda is here. She asked me to help her find you."

Erik stared long and hard at the telepath. If this was true, Erik would stop at nothing to reunite with his wife. And if this was a joke… Well, he'd had plenty of recent experience in using his powers to kill.

Erik stretched his hand ahead, indicating for Charles to take lead. Charles gratefully hurried to do just that.

As the trio made their way down the stairs and back to the main street, Peter tugged on Charles's sleeve. "Mr. Charles, who's that?"

"A friend," Charles told him. He figured that he should not be the one who breaks the news to the boy.

As they walked, Erik's eyes landed on the small, curious boy. His mind ran rampant with possible reasons for the boy's presence. He could be Charles's son, Charles's nephew, Charles's charge… He could be Magda's new son… He could be Charles's and Magda's new son… A distant gate creaked at that thought.

"She's in the hotel room," Charles told him as he led the way into a hotel lobby.

Erik wanted to know why they were sharing a hotel room. But Erik wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Mr. Charles, I didn't ever get a donut," Peter pouted.

"We'll get you one in a bit," Charles vowed absentmindedly. He continued on as the boy slumped unhappily in his arms.

When they reached a certain door, Charles knocked softly and called, "Magda? Are we alright to come in?"

"Yes," she called back faintly. Erik's heart raced at her voice. Magda. His Magda. She was here.

Charles pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and pushed it in.

Erik stepped in, eyes searching for her, and then he saw her, and then he saw her—her tired eyes, her brittle hair, her hollow cheeks. He hadn't seen her look so poorly since Auschwitz. His heart constricted and sank into his belly.

"Erik," she breathed weakly. Her eyes brightened, and she pushed herself up to sit.

Erik stepped forwards, still stiff from disbelief.

"You're here," she said. Something in her expression calmed; she'd made her peace with something, now that he was here.

"Magda," was all Erik managed to whisper. He dropped to his knees at her bedside, and he enveloped her small hands with his own.

"I have been searching for you," she told him in Polish. "For months."

"I'm here," he assured her in their native tongue.

She closed her eyes in relief, and Erik's worry blossomed. When she opened her eyes again, she admitted bluntly, "I'm dying, Erik."

Erik's eyes roamed over her, seeing the obviousness of that statement but not wanting to believe it.

"I have cancer," she said. "And I do not have much time left."

Erik brought one of his hands to smooth her stiff hair. "No. I'm here. I, I will help you fight it."

The corner of Magda's mouth turn upwards. Erik may have been a monster in her eyes, but she still loved the man she had married—and that man felt he could control the world. "Not this time, Erik."

Erik's eyes locked onto hers. He noticed her eyes were full of acceptance. He noticed that her nostril was dripping blood.

"I needed to find you," she said, "so I could say goodbye. And that… I, I am so sorry." Her eyes washed over with tears.

Erik pushed her leaking tears away with his thumbs.

"I'm sorry about what I said," she admitted. "You scared me, Erik, but I regret every day that I had not stayed by your side."

He shook his head. "It's alright now."

She shook her head then. "I can't take it back now, and I suppose that this is my penance. But I am full of regret. And I am sorry that I did not let you have him."

Erik's eyebrows furrowed, not following.

Magda's eyes drifted to the boy sitting on the carpeted floor. As Erik followed her gaze, she explained, "He's yours, Erik. I meant to tell you the night of the fire. And I'm sorry that I never did."

Erik turned back to her in shock. He had… a son? He was a father?

"I hope I'm not too late," she pleaded. "He's yours now, Erik." More tears rolled down her cheeks.

Erik stared between his wife and his son. He couldn't believe that he was actually awake, that this was actually his reality. His wife was back. His wife was dying. He had a child.

Magda's nose began streaming blood, and she sat up to pinch it with her handkerchief.

"Perhaps, we should go back to my estate," Charles suggested with a worried look at Magda. He mentally added to Erik, She'll be more comfortable there.

Erik helped Magda get to her feet as Charles collected their belongings.

"Are we gonna get donuts?" Peter asked when he noticed everyone standing.

"How about an apple for now?" Charles suggested, extending a red apple to the boy. "And donuts later?"

Peter frowned at it. It was not a donut. But he was really hungry… He grudgingly accepted the apple and took a small bite.

Erik watched the exchange before staring at Charles. "And who are you to him?"

Charles offered a thin smile. "Just a man that desired to help a family reunite."

"Charles has helped us so much, Erik," Magda said through her reddening handkerchief. "He's paid for everything, and he's helped me so much with Pietro."

Pietro. Erik turned back to his son. His son. His son's name was Pietro.

"We can catch the noon train if we hurry," Charles said with a look to his watch. He hefted the bags onto his shoulders as Erik helped support Magda.

"Come on, sweet boy," Magda said, extending her hand towards Peter. Peter pushed himself off the floor and used one hand to hold his mother and the other to clutch his apple.

"We should arrive back at the mansion in time for supper," Charles informed them as he led the way down to the lobby. He glanced back at Erik. "Is there anything you need from your apartment?"

Still dazed, Erik shook his head.

Charles continued on, leading the way out onto the sidewalk. Peter pulled away from his mother to be picked up by the telepath. Even with the bags, the boy was easily held.

"How long did the doctors give you?" Erik asked her as they stepped into the fresh air.

Magda brought her bloodied handkerchief down; her nosebleed had stopped for now. "Not long, Erik."

Erik's grip on his wife tightened.

She leaned into him and sighed wearily. "I'm sorry for keeping him from you, Erik. I wish our lives hadn't become this."

Erik hushed her as they continued to follow Charles and Peter. "It's not too late. You're here. He's…" Erik looked up at his silver-haired son in wonder. "…here." Still in Charles's arms, the boy pointed excitedly to a butcher shop window and launched into an excited story with large hand gestures.

He was everything that he didn't know he'd been missing.

"I hate that I have to leave him," Magda said softly. "He's extraordinary, Erik. Please, don't tarnish him."

Erik looked down at her.

Magda glanced up before looking to the road. "You were a good man for Anya. Be that man for him."

Before Erik could respond to that, the four rounded a corner, and a pier stretched open in front of them. And getting onto a dock was none other than Sebastian Shaw.

"Stay here," Erik ordered darkly. He helped lean Magda against a brick building.

"Erik, no," she pled, weakly clutching his arm. "Not here."

"Mama?" Peter scrambled out of Charles's arms and over to his mother. He watched in confusion as the tall "friend" abruptly turned and marched towards the docks.

"Erik, don't!" Charles called, dropping the bags and chasing after him.

"Sh, it's alright, sweet boy," Magda told her worried son. She held one of his hands and then pointed to his other. "Eat your apple."

Peter looked down at his apple and frowned.

"Let go of me!"

The mother and son looked up to see Charles using his telepathic powers to wrestle Erik away from the docks.

Shaw, having heard the shouts, looked up and smirked in recognition. Slowly, he strutted towards the mutants, a blonde woman at his side. "Erik Lehnsherr. My, how you've grown."

As Erik pulled against Charles's mental grip, a metal rowboat crumpled in on itself.

Shaw looked over at it in vague interest. "And your powers are as magnificent as ever." He glanced at his watch. "Unfortunately, I don't have time for a show today." With a wave of his hand, he turned and headed back for his boat. The woman turned, right on his tail.

"NO!" Erik jerked himself out of Charles's mental hold and used his powers to levitate two guns from his belt. They aimed and fired at Shaw, but the woman turned herself to diamond and covered him in time. Instead, the bullets ricocheted and Shaw stepped into his ship unharmed.

In a fit of anger, Erik fired the guns again and again, even as they bounced harmlessly off of Emma Frost's exterior. They ricocheted around, burrowing themselves into nearby boats, hitting the dock, the water, back at them—

And straight into Magda Maximoff's chest.

The choked sound that she made was the only sound that could have stopped Erik like it did. He froze, the guns dropped into the ocean, and then he whirled around. His Magda was falling to the concrete pavement with a gushing wound in her chest.

"Mama?" Peter asked, completely panicked. He'd seen her sick, but he'd never seen her collapse.

Dumbly, Erik faltered towards his dying wife. He reached her just as her head hit the pavement, just as Charles tried to coax the boy away from his mother.

"No!" Peter shouted, fighting against Charles's hold. He latched onto Magda's sleeve and gripped it with everything he had. "Mama!"

Erik was on his knees at her side. He'd done this. He'd been back in her life for all of fifteen minutes, and she was already dying—because of him.

Magda stared up at Erik as blood bubbled from her lips. Her bloodied handkerchief was still trapped in her fist as she reached up to touch her husband's cheek. "Please… take care… of our boy. Take care… of our son."

Erik held his hand over hers and stared. A tear rolled out of his frozen eyes. "I'm so sorry, Magda."

Her head shook, just barely. "Be… be the man…" She struggled to get her words out as more blood dribbled from her mouth. "Be good… for him."

Erik remained frozen as Magda's chest heaved and heaved and then stilled. Light faded from her eyes, and her hand drooped in Erik's grip.

"No," he whispered, not wanting to believe that he had watched another family member die in front of him. Die because of him. "No, Magda. Come back. Come back to me." Tears flowed freely as he clutched her close to his chest. "Don't leave me again!" He closed his eyes in despair as he rocked her to his chest.

"Mama!" Peter cried, still holding her limp arm. Charles held the boy back, but Peter wouldn't let go of her.

"Magda," Erik sobbed in despair. It was always the ones he loved and never the ones who deserved it.

Life was so damn cruel.

Distantly, sirens sounded. Erik didn't give a damn. The earth could swallow them all, and he'd been be perfectly content to sit it through.

"Erik, you need to run," Charles encouraged. He shook Erik's arm to get his attention. "The police will be here any minute. They'll recognize you, Erik. You can't be arrested."

Erik opened his red-rimmed eyes but didn't let his love's corpse go.

"He needs you now, Erik," Charles insisted.

That brought Erik out of his stupor. Slowly, he let Magda lie on the pavement as he looked to his panicked son. Peter had never stopped crying for his mother.

Charles stuffed a business card and a wad of bills into Erik's hand. "Go, get on the train, and go to the mansion. I'll be there when I can."

Erik looked down at the paper and then at Magda's motionless body.

"Go!" Charles urged.

Erik blinked and then looked at Peter. His son was wailing, pleading for his mom. Quickly and robotically, Erik pried Peter's fingers from her sleeve and lifted the boy into his arms.

"NO!" Peter shrieked, jerking wildly away from Erik. "MAMA!" Erik's grip on his son was iron; he wasn't going to lose the last piece of family he had left on this earth. With only his son's wellbeing in mind, Erik made himself walk away from Magda and towards the train station.

"MAMA! MAMA!" Peter screamed. He reached over Erik's shoulder for the bloody woman sprawled at Charles's feet. His small hands extended in desperation, and he dropped his red apple. It smacked the pavement and rolled away, landing at Magda's lifeless feet.

I'm going to let him sleep, Charles told Erik mentally. And just before the pair turned the corner, Charles pushed the boy's mind into a slumber. He wilted in Erik's arms, and Erik threw the doctor a grateful nod before turning the street corner.

Charles looked down at the woman he'd spent the past month with. A pool of Magda's blood had gathered under her. Charles sighed in despair.

The sirens screamed and turned onto Cessation Boulevard.

Later in North Salem, New York

Erik had taken a train to New Haven. He had then taken a train to Norwalk. He had then taken a taxi to North Salem, where he was dropped off in front of an enormous estate—all while holding a sleeping, traumatized toddler.

No one had commented on his blood smeared clothes, but that was most likely due to Peter covering them. Besides, one look from Erik sent any on-lookers turning in the other direction.

Erik looked up at the metal gates and easily manipulated them to creak open. He glanced down at his sleeping son. While he was grateful that the boy was in an unconscious reprieve, this five hour nap was beginning to worry Erik.

He continued up the paved path to the large wooden doors and manipulated the locks open. He stepped inside the large entryway and shut the door. He looked around, wondering where he was supposed to go.

With Magda ill, their room must have been close to Charles's. And Charles likely had the master suite. And the master suite… Erik went up the large staircase and turned right. After peeking in a few bedrooms, he found one that had a small child's outfit strewn across the bed.

Erik stepped inside and began searching the drawers for more children's clothing. He quickly found some, stashed away next to a few outfits for a woman. Erik slammed the drawer closed.

Erik saw an adjoined bathroom, but Magda had used this room. He simply couldn't stomach… He grabbed the boy's clothes and left the room. The one next door would do just fine.

The one next door, it turned out, was Charles's master suite. Figuring he was rich enough to buy more clothes, Erik yanked a shirt and dress pants out of the closet. He noticed a large bathroom inside of the suite, and he looked back down at Peter. Gently, he laid the boy down on the massive bed and grabbed his clothes.

As he made his way to the bathroom, his arms felt empty. They'd been carrying the three-year-old's weight for hours, and now they seemed limp and incomplete. Funny how things could change over the course of a day.

Erik had left the bathroom door cracked while he took a quick shower. He tried not to think of the blood or where it had come from; it simply ran off his body and swirled down the drain. It was when he was pulling on the borrowed (and a bit too small) clothes that he heard the whimper.

Erik stepped back into the bedroom to see Peter groggily sit up. Amidst the large, dark blue comforter, the silver-haired boy looked so small.

Peter stared at Erik with hurting, questioning eyes.

Erik stepped towards him slowly, his empty hands showing that the boy had nothing to fear. "It's alright, Pietro. I will never harm you."

Peter shrunk away from him all the same. "I want Mama." His tiny hands scrunched at the comforter.

Erik knelt down beside the bed. "I want that too, Pietro. But she can't be here now."

Peter frowned. "How come you know my real name?"

Erik's heart constricted as he said plainly, "Because I'm your father, Pietro."

The boy's frown deepened. "I don't have a father. Mama said I didn't."

"You do," Erik insisted once his voice returned. "I didn't know you were alive, but now I do. And I won't ever leave you, Pietro." He reached a gentle hand out and caressed Peter's knee.

Peter's eyes swelled with tears. "I want Mama."

Erik's chest burned, and he forced his lungs to inflate and deflate. Slowly, he stood back up and reached for Peter. "You need new clothes, son." Son. The word was new on his tongue.

"I want my mom," Peter whined as Erik lifted him into his arms and carried him to the bathroom. Erik gently placed his son on the counter and reached to wet a washcloth.

"Where's my mom?" Peter pleaded.

Erik remained stoic as he dragged the wet cloth down the boy's skin. He, again, forced himself not to think of where the blood had grown and why it was there. This was just washing his child up after a long day, the way he had done many times with Anya.

Peter was full-on crying at this point, wailing for his mother. Erik continued bathing him, letting his own tears fall.

"These clothes are dirty, Pietro," Erik coaxed over Peter's cries. He pulled the pants off of his son, but the shirt was a bit more of a struggle.

"No!" Peter cried, writhing against Erik's assistance. The shirt bunched at Peter's neck and tangled his short arms. "I want my mom! Mama! MAMA!"

Erik gripped the shirt and tore it in half. It split down the center, and he was easily able to manipulate it off the boy; its bloodstains would've never come out anyways.

Peter wilted against the counter and mirror, and his cries became wordless.

Erik was able wrangle a soft pair of pajama bottoms onto Peter, but that was when he figured they'd both had enough. Erik picked up the shirtless child and carried him back into the bedroom.

"I want my mooooom," Peter wept softly, his arms wrapped around his father's neck.

Erik frowned and held his son close to his chest. He slowly laid them down on the still-made bed, and neither let go of one another.

"Mama," the three-year-old continued to cry.

"Pietro," Erik exhaled softly. How was he to tell a toddler that his mother was dead? "Your mother… she isn't coming back."

"No!" Peter shrieked, trying push himself up and off of Erik's chest. "I want her!"

Erik sat up and gripped the boy's small, bare arms. "I loved her, too, Pietro. I miss her desperately and would give anything to bring her back."

Peter's face scrunched as he sobbed.

"But I am not alone, Pietro," Erik told him urgently. His stare bore into his son as he gave him a little shake. "You are not alone. I am your father, and I will always look after you. Always."

It wasn't the same. It would never be the same. But Peter understood that he wasn't abandoned. He understood, on some level, that he still had someone.

Peter tiredly sagged against Erik. Slightly surprised, Erik wrapped his arms back around his son and lowered them to the mattress. He held him as the boy sobbed, as the boy cried, as the boy whimpered, and as the boy quieted into an exhausted sleep.

Erik followed him soon after.

April 1960, North Salem, New York

The past week had been understandably solemn. From the time that Charles came home to find father and son asleep (in his bed) with tear-stained faces, the mood of the mansion was stagnantly somber.

The mood only plummeted when Magda's body was delivered from a coroner's office. Her funeral had been a small affair. The only outsider invited had been a rabbi who simply recited burial prayers and Psalm 91; Magda had no one else. The three men had dressed in dark suits, torn strips of black ribbon pinned to Erik's and Peter's clothes. They had stood at the edge of the Xavier mansion as Magda's simple pine coffin was lowered into the ground under a large oak tree.

It hadn't been discussed that she would be buried there; it hadn't been discussed that Erik and Peter would remain there. Charles had offered both in passing, and Erik had simply, gratefully nodded.

And Peter, the rambunctious and overly friendly three-year-old, was rarely excitable these days. It was a challenge to put him to sleep, making him grumpy throughout the day. And eating (one of his favorite pastimes) was now a testing chore.

"Pietro, you need to eat your dinner," Erik said flatly. He sat beside the boy, each with a plate of chicken and mashed potatoes. Peter, still in his black dress suit, left his food untouched.

"I don't wanna," Peter grumbled with a scowl to his plate.

"You will get sick if you do not eat," his father insisted. He leveled his stare on his son.

Peter glared at the table and kicked his feet against his chair.

Erik's patience felt tried. How was he to convince a child to eat? How had he ever handled Anya?

By Magda's side, a voice in the recess of his mind reminded him. Erik scowled at his plate.

"Peter, I still have a spare box of Twinkies," Charles said from across the table. "You might persuade your father to let you have one if you finish your supper."

Peter thought about it for a moment before grudgingly picking up his fork and taking a bite.

Erik leaned an elbow against the table and continued eating his own food.

"He… he's been a great fan of the Hostess company in the time I've known him," Charles explained to Erik.

Erik nodded but didn't turn his focus away from his plate.

That night, after Peter had been fed his Twinkie, bathed, and put to bed, Erik sat in Charles's study. From a large, red chair, he faced the moonlit grounds and reflected on the inappropriateness of this whole situation.

I shouldn't be here, Erik thought. I shouldn't be a father; I failed the first time around. Magda should be here.

"Care for a drink?"

Erik didn't turn as Charles strode into the room with his hands in his pockets.

"I may not be delving into your mind, but your thoughts are rather apparent," Charles said. He poured a large bottle of Brandy into two tumblers.

Erik accepted the glass and took a healthy swig. "I shouldn't be in that boy's life."

Charles leaned against the windowsill to look at the metal-bender. "But you are."

Erik looked to his Brandy. "He deserves better."

"He deserves his father."

"What kind of father can't get his own son to eat?" Erik snapped, glaring up at the telepath.

"You've only known him for a week, Erik," Charles reminded him softly. "Give it some time."

Erik swirled the dark alcohol around his glass. "Did Magda tell you we had a daughter?"

"She did."

Erik gave a curt nod. "And you know what happened."

Charles hesitated. "She explained the entirety of her story to convince me to help locate you."

Erik gulped down the rest of the Brandy and leaned back in his chair. "You can't imagine grief until you witness the horror of your child screaming as they're burned alive."

Charles offered mute sympathies because, honestly, what could he say to that?

"I can't have anything like that happen again." Erik dragged a hand down his weary face.

"And it won't," Charles said.

"I'm a danger to the boy," Erik muttered.

"He's in danger without you," Charles insisted. "It's a dangerous world, especially for mutants like us."

"He isn't a mutant," Erik grumbled half-heartedly.

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Have you seen his hair, Erik? It's only a matter of time."

Erik didn't respond.

"He needs someone that he can count on to look after him," Charles pressed. "He needs his father."

Erik brought his eyes back to the moonlit grounds as Charles's insistence slowly sunk in.

"It'll take time," Charles said as he rose from the sill. He laid a hand on Erik's shoulder and urged, "Give it time." With a comforting squeeze, Charles walked out of the study.

Once the door was shut, Erik sighed and rubbed his eyes. There really wasn't a choice anyways; he couldn't stomach the idea of leaving his son behind.

Besides, he'd made Magda a promise—he intended to fulfill it until his dying breath.

I'm so excited to share this story with y'all. Please drop a review and let me know your thoughts!