Kooks

The rain hit the windowpane in a gentle pattern. Peter’s schoolbooks lay open in front of him, but he wasn’t focused on the text.

It had been a year since the apocalypse incident as the Professor liked to call it. Incident. Peter had to fight a snort. An incident was a minor inconvenience. That had been a fucking nightmare.

Erik, his dad, hadn’t left yet. Why, he had no clue. It wasn’t like he knew, was it? And there was no way he would have stayed for Peter anyway. Every conversation so far had been Peter trying – a little bit desperately – to get to know the man and Magneto shutting down faster than Peter could run to the fridge when he was hungry.

A quick ‘hello’ was acceptable, ‘how are you’ was pushing it, and anything about interests was just not happening.

The worst part was that Charles was interceding on his behalf. Charles! The guy Magneto had definitely had a thing with that Peter didn’t want to think about. No thank you. No. Never.

The telepath had probably made everything worse when he told Erik that Peter looked up to him.

He wished something would happen so he could talk to his father. Anything! Anything at all.

In hindsight, he probably should have been more specific, like asking for a traffic jam or an elevator breakdown or something less dramatic.

In hindsight, everyone becomes wiser.

As it happened, they were in the bluebird, returning from a rescue mission. They were over the Bridger-Teton National Forest when a Thunderstorm hit them. Extreme turbulence, 100-million-volt lightning bolts, and Erik and Hank too busy arguing to notice.

Actually, Erik probably did notice, but he must have thought it was him shaking the plane.

He left the cockpit slamming the door behind him and sat back down in his seat.

Things seemed to calm down for a minute.

Then, everything went to shit.

The turbulence knocked Scott’s glasses of and the laser beam hit Peter in the leg. Erik tried to gather enough focus to stop the metal cage of doom tumbling to the ground but was crashed into by a screaming Peter.

He had Jean beat in pitch.  Although, if you could move at superspeed, there was no reason your vocal cords shouldn’t do that as well.

Jean tried to pull herself together and use her telekinesis but was tackled back into her seat by a concerned Scott. Kurt grabbed Raven and Jubilee and teleported them out in panic.

The plane hit the ground, crashing through trees and losing parts. Everyone was thrown around like drink ingredients in a shaker. Jean threw up a quick energy shield as she and Scott were ripped out of the side. Peter saw them hit the ground just before the plane skidded to a stop and he was thrown the length of it, followed by a loose crate.

A couple of other things too by the feel of it.

He had only just regained full use of his leg.

Erik was clinging to the metal in the plane floor. Hank had done some solid engineering on it. He lifted his head, looking around at the carnage. Most of the team was nowhere to be seen. The only one he could see was Peter beneath a crate and some bags. He was just lying there, staring at the ceiling (what was left of it) taking shaky breaths.

“Da- Erik?”

Erik took a deep breath. The kid sounded so scared.

“Are you there?” Peter’s voice cracked on the ‘there’ as if he didn’t expect anyone to hear him.

“I’m here.” Erik replied, not moving from the ground. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

Peter sniffled. “I- my- my leg…”

Erik took another deep breath in. Shit. This was really bad. He hesitantly started to get up, checking himself for injuries as he went.

“Peter? Peter, what’s wrong? What’s wrong with your leg?”

“Hurts.” Peter sniffled, before he let out a sob he hastily tried to stifle.

Erik felt his blood run cold. It wasn’t broken again, was it? It couldn’t be. He sat there for a second, staring at the silver-haired boy who was looking all too young to be there. To be in this mess, with his leg trapped and, most likely, badly injured.

He was too still, like he was scared to move. Peter always moved, even if it was just tapping his fingers or nodding his head to that music he listened to, loud enough to hear through headphones.

He was too quiet. The boy talked constantly, a flow of words falling from his lips and filling any cracks of silence. His silver jacket was loud as it rustled, his shoes squeaked on the wooden floors in the mansion, and he made constant tapping sounds with his fingers, knuckles, and feet.

Peter shouldn’t be like this.

Erik got up and staggered over, to drop to his knees next to the boy. Next to Peter, who had made so many efforts to make him feel welcomed when he chose to stay in the mansion. Next to Peter, who was the type of person to stay up with the younger student and curb their feelings of homesickness with funny stories and ice cream, he snook from the kitchen, only to get reprimanded. Next to Peter, who was so very kind, and so much smarter than everyone seemed to give him credit for.

Erik grabbed some bags, moving them off peter.

“Erik?” Peter asked between sniffles. “How bad is it?”

“I don’t see blood.” He moved a few more crates. “Your leg looks fine as well. The armor took most of the laser blast. Where exactly does it hurt?”

Peter was struggling to take breaths, let alone the deep ones that would have helped him calm down.

“Peter?” Erik tried again.

He didn’t seem in a state to answer, like Nina, until you told her that the scrape wasn’t life threatening and placed a band aid over it.

Erik shook that thought away. He grabbed more of the pile and moved it off Peter’s leg. Through a tear and cracked armor, he saw the boy’s knee had swollen and was turning a hideous purple color.

“You may have dislocated your knee or fractured it.” He said, trying to keep his voice even, calm like Hank when he explained anything medical to the students. Hank, who was probably still in the cockpit.  He moved the last two crates. Peter’s trouser leg had a dark growing stain on it.

Shit.

“Hank?” he called.

Muffled cursing and scraping reached him.

“I’m fine!” Hank growled through the door. “Is everyone alright?”

“Peter’s hurt! He’s hurt, Hank.” Erik hated how his voice shook. “Get out here, he needs a doctor!”

“What?” Peter had turned pale, his breathing speeding up again. “I thought you said it was just a fracture! Erik! Erik, what’s going on?”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I – what? No. No.” Peter was hyperventilating. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die and no one is gonna be at my funeral and it’s gonna be all gloomy and I don’t want to die! I don’t wanna die! I’m eighteen! I don’t wanna die! I’ve barely lived! I’ve never even been to a school dance. I only just found friends. I just started to get my grades up. I’m graduating next year. I don’t wanna die! I-“

He broke off speaking in a choked sob.

Erik sat there helpless.

Hank finally got to them.

“You’re not going to die, Peter.” Hank told him firmly. “I’ll stop the bleeding. And we may need to pop your knee back into place. I won’t lie, this will hurt.”

“I thought it was a fracture,” Peter whimpered.

He looked around for first aid supplies. He found some dressing in one of the crates and instructed Erik to use it to put pressure on the wound.

Peter’s face scrunched up in pain. He seemed to struggle to take breaths, teeth gritted and clinging onto Erik’s sleeve. He was acting like Anya.

Erik blinked, trying to push the memories back.

“Do you think anyone would come to my funeral?” Peter asked, voice small.

“You’re not dying.” Erik said, through gritted teeth.

“But if I was,” Peter said, tightening his clutch on Erik’s sleeve while Hank worked on his leg, “would you come to my funeral?”

Erik looked at the empty plane for help.

“I mean, you’re basically obligated to I think.” Peter gave a pained laugh.

Erik was the picture of confusion. If you had looked it up in a dictionary in that second, you would have seen his face.

“I- I just mean – since the pentagon- “

Erik nodded in recognition. This was a joke. Peter was joking. He found comfort in jokes.

“I’ll come to your funeral.”

He supposed he owed the kid that. What was one more funeral anyway? He'd already been to plenty.

Actually, Erik couldn't remember the last time anyone he had ever known had had a proper funeral.

He would make sure Peter got one.

He'd be damned if he let the kid die though.

Peter seemed to calm down a little bit.

“What happened to the others?” He asked.

Hank grumbled something unintelligible.

“We haven’t seen them.” Erik admitted.

Just at that moment, there was a clatter behind them. Scott had been floated into the wreckage and had bandages over his eyes. Jean floated in after him.

“We’re okay.” Jean replied to the unanswered question. “We’re just a little bruised.”

“Jean was awesome!” Scott added. “Her energy shields are so cool!”

“Where are Kurt, Raven and Jubilee?” Jean asked. “I can’t find their minds.”

“I saw them teleport out.” Peter answered. “I don’t know where they are.”

“Maybe they went for help?” Jean said. “I hope they went for help.”

“Mystique would get them too.” Scott reassured her.

“I’d be more worried about Jubilee. She would talk several people to death to get the here.”

“How quickly do you think they’ll get here?”

“I don’t know. They have to ask the government for help.”

Erik’s head whipped up.

“You’re acquitted.” Jean reminded him.

Erik looked back at the plane floor.

A dark patch was forming on Peter’s bandages.

“Oh my God, I’m bleeding again!” he shrieked.

“Peter, breathe, we just need to redress the wound.” Hank said calmly.

“Fuck. I’m going to fucking die. I’m going to fucking die and Erik’s never going to know he’s my dad and I’m gonna die right in front of him and I don’t wanna die in front of him and I’m gonna but I don’t wanna because I wanna get to know my dad and I-“

Peter’s eyes rolled back, and his world went dark.