Chapter 8
"What did you see?" Natasha asked, and Charles gave her a troubled look.
"If I may," he reached out a hand and she sat next to him obligingly, leaning into his touch.
Images flashed in her mind - of a young man that glowed like molten bronze. She knew it was Stiles, recognized those eyes, those moles and that pale skin - but most of all she recognized the look in his eyes, the look that promised he would never give up. She saw him first with hair buzzed short, no older than 16, and standing against a man at least twice his age who exuded feral danger. She saw him taking a punch, standing between two teens being tortured and an old man who hit him again and again. She saw him hugging his friend as his friend cried, saw his hair grow longer, saw him face down monster after monster, saw him offer his life for the lives of others over and over - taking a flare, inhaling water - then she saw him face off against himself, and win. She watched the eyes all but glow in the shadowed room, not even flinching as a gun was put to his head, flinching only at the gunshot and the blood that splattered his features, but he didn't wipe it away. She saw him stand with weapons in hand, grin wolfish as he protected those who'd seemed far stronger, but he was also the last standing. She saw the 3 men made up of spare parts, saw him take them down one by one, saw the bright red hair of his companion, her scream bringing out the desire to check her ears for blood. It was humans who finally took him down - got him on his own - took out his father - who made him promise not to give in - and sent the boy spiralling into despair. It was humans, and not monsters, that cornered him and took him away, and it was humans who beat him, wanting something they called a spark to create their weapons to face the monsters. What was old was turned young and still they beat him - but still he denied them - lost but never without that brave glint of molten bronze in his eyes.
Natasha pulled back, blinking away the images, but Charles drew her attention with his frown.
"Did you notice anything unusual?" He asked, and Natasha immediately dismissed every actual event - as unusual of a life as Stiles seemed to have lead, she knew that wasn't what Charles was asking.
"All the perspectives are of him rather than from him." She paused, digesting the information. "Are you saying they're not his memories?"
"I think Stiles has some sort of -ability." He decided on. "I think it's aware, like a living thing. I think we're seeing it's memories, rather than his. His don't exist right now, but his - ability - shows what he can potentially remember. You'll notice that the perspective is always close, an extension of his immediate field of vision, only turned inward." Natasha nodded and Charles continued. "Like a magnetic field. But stronger."
"So the magic they were looking for, you think it exists?"
"I think some form of ability exists, but magic or mutation, it's hard to say." Natasha gave him a look for that that earned her a small smile. "Natasha-"
"You aren't taking him anywhere, Charles. Mutation or not, he's staying with us."
"And if he does have a mutation? Are you equipped to help him through that?" Natasha stood in one fluid motion, and on queue the elevator door opened.
"We can handle it. But Charles - if you try and force him to admit his abilities, we will have an issue." He inclined his head in understanding.
>>>
"What did he see?" Natasha looked up in surprise to see Stiles staring at her, expression pinched with nerves. He'd gone to bed with Clint hours earlier but it looked like worry had kept him awake.
"Is Clint still asleep?" Stiles nodded.
"He was worried, I didn't want to make him more worried." Natasha waved him forward and he moved into the room, curling up onto the couch next to her, whisky eyes almost glowing as they stared at her. "What did he see?"
"You were right. You were bigger." Stiles nodded, he'd thought as much. "And you went through a lot."
"How old am I supposed to be?"
"We think about 28."
"That's a lot of years." Stiles admitted, and Natasha nodded, reaching out to wrap a hand around Stiles' calf in comfort.
"Do you want them back?" Stiles shrugged.
"Sometimes." Then he was looking at Natasha again, a fear in his gaze. "What if older me is mean? What if older me does bad things or wants to hurt people?" Natasha gave a gentle squeeze where she'd made contact.
"I asked Charles to show me what he saw, and I promise you, you are a good person no matter how big or small you are." Stiles offered her a smile.
"I'm glad Clint found me."
"Me too."
"I think - I think it would be nice to be able to choose." Stiles finally said, and Natasha nodded, understanding.
"I'll talk to Bruce and Tony in the morning." Stiles nodded, standing up only to move closer to her to hug her tightly. She hugged him tightly in return.