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“One…two…THREE!” Ricky watched Hidden struggle to open the escape hatch on the roof of the bridge, the short SandWing dangling from the metal handlebars like a limp noodle as he swung himself back and forth to gain momentum. He had offered to help him get it open, but Hidden had insisted on doing it himself in spite of his lacking height. “Are you sure you don’t need my help?” Ricky offered yet again. “I’ve…almost…GOT IT!” THUNK! With one last swing the handlebars were spun all the way open, abruptly locking in place and causing Hidden to slip off and topple onto his back on the floor. “Ugh…got it!” Ricky just shook his head as he helped his brother up. They’d all survived the rough trip through the vortexes in one piece, though Ricky still had a throbbing headache, and his neck was still a bit sore from slamming into the windshield. The Salvation was tilted slightly backward atop the mound of earth it had pushed up, the debris piled against its windshield allowing only the

John entered the train station, with a bag full of supplies. In the bag there was rope, a torch, a water bottle, a phone, and a few snacks. He was very curious for a boy who is 13 years old. Vines dangled down from the roof and graffiti was spread all over the walls. Rubble was on the train tracks and there were cracks in the ground. Gasses filled the air and his lungs. Then, earth began to rumbled beneath him. John dove under one of the chairs. BANG! The roof collapsed, blocking the entrance. He was trapped like an animal in a cage. John quickly ran to the entrance and pulled at the rubble. It wouldn't budge. Then, he remembered that he had a phone in his pocket. No signal. Suddenly, a roar came through the tunnel. It was definitely not an animal. He looked back at the tunnel. An idea popped up in his head. He could get to the other side from the train tracks. He scrabbled through his bag to get his torch. He jump onto the train track and turned on his flashlight. A large, thin silhouette ran through the light. He jumped back. He got up. "It was just my imagination." He whispered under his breath. He ventured deeper. "OW!" He yelped. His foot fell in a narrow hole with serated edges, and he couldn't get it out. SCREECH! it sounded as if a train was coming. Lights turned the corner. John didn't hesitate and grabbed a sharp object. He started smashing around the hole. He kept on smashing until he smash through, but he stabbed his foot. It was too late, the train was about to smash into him. He closed his eyes and prepared for impact. He didn't feel anything. John opened his eyes. The train was going through him! He knew what was happening, it was hilutionation. He had heard stories and seen people who were hilusinating, some of them died. He started to sprint but couldn't because his foot. The roar echoed through the tunnel. John limped as fast as he could. John went dizzy and his vision went blury. Something was filling his lungs. He smelt a weird smell. A thought came to his head. It must be gasses. Figures darted infront of him as if they were haunting him. John quickly limped through the figures as if they weren't there. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel. It was the moonlight shining through the sunroof. John used all of his energy to get to the other side. He quickly jumped out of the train track. He limped like a zombie out of the train station. He ran through the a first to a town. In a park a man was walking his dog. "Help!" John yelled with all his might. Everything hurt. Then John fainted. The last thing he heard was the dog barking at him.

This WON'T happen in the main story at all. Hence the stories here are two, with roles reversed. These are just 'What if they lost the other' stories meant to explore the relationship dynamics between Pitch and Hazel. HAZEL Two years had passed since they were forced to live in this peculiar setting, somehow accustomed to the conditions of life without magic and their powers, now. It wasn’t always that bleak. The small flat under the roof is mostly filled with laughter... And love. Strikingly different conditions of their lives meant that when they found Jack and Tooth, them being thrown into this mortal, ordinary life just as well, it wasn’t that hard to form a friendship in the end. Life went on and it was supposed to stay that way... Until they find a way back home eventually, or until their days on Earth are fulfilled, one day in the distant future. But then Pitch got sick. He tried to act like it didn't mean much, but the fever was stronger than his will. He didn't do well in

Astrid stepped out of the gym, her hair damp with sweat and her hands red beneath the wraps. She slung her bag over her shoulder, footsteps echoing in the near-empty parking lot. The air was humid with the last breath of summer. She liked this time of evening—the quiet after a hard workout, the calm before the return to the noise of home. But it didn’t stay calm. “Boo!” a voice called from behind her. She froze, spine stiffening. Two boys—both from her school—approached from the alley side of the gym. She recognized them. Loud, obnoxious, always flippant in class. One of them was grinning, too casually. “You scared me,” she muttered, pressing her key fob to unlock her car without turning around. “Didn’t mean to,” the shorter one said with a fake smile. “Didn’t think you’d be here this late. Alone.” Astrid didn’t respond. She just opened her car door, tossed her bag in. “You know,” the taller one said, stepping closer, “we were talkin’ the other day. About how you think you’re some badass just ’cause you don’t talk to nobody and beat up a few guys in P.E.” “Back off,” she warned, her voice low, even, deadly calm. “Unless you want an elbow to the face and be knocked unconscious.” The shorter one laughed. “She’s bluffin’.” He stepped closer—too close—and reached out, maybe to poke her shoulder, maybe worse. But he didn’t get the chance. In one fluid motion, Astrid turned, grabbed his arm, and twisted it behind his back, locking it until he gasped in pain. “I said back off,” she hissed. She was too focused on him to notice the second boy circling behind her. The sudden whistle of air was her only warning before pain cracked across the back of her head. A wooden bat. She jerked forward from the impact, crashing into her car with a grunt before falling to her knees, blinking through a rush of pain. Her vision blurred. She could feel blood trickling at the back of her scalp. Her balance swayed as the taller boy laughed. “Dang, she’s tougher than she looks.” Astrid looked up, still conscious, face twisted in pain and fury. She staggered to her feet. “That’s it,” she hissed. She launched forward, her fists a blur. One-two, one-two—her strikes were sharp, fueled by adrenaline and rage. She slammed her fist into the stomach of the one who hit her, then elbowed the other in the face when he tried to grab her again. They didn’t expect her to hit back harder. But the head injury was catching up to her. Her breath came ragged, her body heavier by the second. Her timing slipped. One of them tackled her. She struggled, kicking and punching, until the taller one grabbed her from behind and locked an arm around her throat. Everything started to go dim. That’s when she heard it—heavy, quick steps pounding toward them. Remy had been walking a block over, casually flicking a card between his fingers, enjoying the quiet, when he heard the shouting—followed by the unmistakable sounds of a fight. He cursed under his breath. “Don’t tell me… the girl’s still there.” He sprinted toward the sound, rounding the building just in time to see the taller boy straddling Astrid, choking her while she kicked weakly beneath him. The other boy stood to the side, wiping blood from his nose. Remy didn’t think—he just moved. “Hey!” he barked, his voice hard and low as thunder. The boys froze. Remy’s eyes were glowing faint red in the shadows as he stormed toward them, all trace of charm gone. “I suggest you get off her. Now—Or it’s the hospital for the both of you. ” The one on top stumbled back like he’d seen a ghost. The other dropped the bat and bolted. Astrid gasped, coughing, struggling to sit up. Remy knelt beside her instantly, placing a hand gently behind her head. “Easy, chère. You’re al’ight.” She blinked at him, confused, her breath still ragged. “You—?” “Just stay still,” he said, checking the wound on her scalp. “You got a nasty hit. But you stayed on your feet longer dan most would’ve.” “I… had it handled,” she muttered. Remy gave a small smile. “Sure y’ did.” Then he looked up at the retreating figures, eyes narrowing. “But next time, maybe don’t take on two jerk jocks wit’ a bat alone.” Astrid coughed weakly, wincing. “I didn’t plan on it.” “I figured,” Remy said softly, pulling off his coat and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.” The breeze carried the last warmth of the sun as he helped her to her feet, his arm steady around her. Astrid leaned into it, more shaken than she wanted to admit. Astrid sat in the passenger seat of her own car, hands clutching Remy’s coat around her shoulders. The world tilted slightly when she blinked, the aftershock of the blow to her head still pounding behind her eyes. Remy settled behind the wheel with casual familiarity, his long frame folding into the driver’s seat with ease. He adjusted the seat only slightly, glanced at her as he turned the ignition. “Alright, chère. You’re gonna have to give me directions. I can drive, but I ain’t psychic—least, not yet.” Astrid blinked at him, disoriented, her lip quirking. “You’re driving my car.” Remy glanced at her with a faint grin. “That I am.” “I don’t even know you,” she muttered, head tilting against the window. “Like… at all. You could be a kidnapper. Or a serial killer. Or one of those cult recruiters.” “Y’re in rough shape to be tinkin’ so sharp,” Remy said with a chuckle, pulling out of the lot smoothly. “Don’t worry, I’m none of the above. Jus’ a good o’ Samaritan with decent reflexes and a bad habit of bein’ in the right place at the wrong time.” Astrid gave him a sideways glance, skeptical. “That accent says otherwise.” He laughed—low, warm, familiar. “Whut, dis?” he drawled, laying it on a little thicker. “Darlin’, this here’s just southern charm. You ever been to New Orleans?” “I’ve heard enough stories,” she said dryly. “Voodoo, pickpockets, smugglers, crime rings—” “Guilty of two of the four, maybe,” he muttered under his breath, smirking. “What was that?” “Nothing, chère,” he said, flashing her a lazy grin. “Now tell me which way to go before I accidentally take us to Baton Rouge.” Astrid winced, a sharp inhale cutting through her attempt to give a faint smile. Her hand flew up to her head as a stab of pain lanced behind her eye. Remy’s expression shifted immediately—his humor softening into concern. “Hey, hey—easy,” he said, voice low and grounding. “Still bleedin’? Or just the headache?” “Feels like someone dropped an anchor on my skull,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Dat bad, huh?” “I’ve had worse,” she lied. He gave her a look but didn’t argue. “Keep pressure on it. Y’re lucky it ain’t deeper. Dose boys—” “—are gonna have bruised ribs tomorrow,” she finished, voice brittle but satisfied. Remy couldn’t help but smile. She was tough—that kind of quiet, self-built resilience he’d seen in mutants who’d had to fight their way through life without support. It made his chest ache in that annoying, protective way he usually tried to avoid. “So where am I takin’ you?” “Drive out of town. Follow the old highway until you see a red barn with a white roof. There’s a dirt road next to it—take that all the way back.” He glanced over, eyebrows raised. “Y’ live out in the country?” “Yeah. A farm of sorts,” she said, her voice quieter now. “It’s peaceful. Until tonight.” Remy nodded, guiding the car onto the old highway, where the lights of town gave way to open fields and tree lines painted dark against the twilight. Fireflies flickered in the high grass. The road ahead stretched long and empty. For a while, they sat in silence, the steady hum of the tires a quiet companion. Then Astrid spoke again. “You really not gonna ask what happened back there?” she said quietly. “I figure y’ll tell me if y’ want to,” Remy replied without missing a beat. She looked at him again, this time for longer. “Most people don’t wait. They just assume.” “Most people ain’t me,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “And believe me, I’ve seen enough to know dere’s always more goin’ on dan what’s on de surface.” A beat. “Right turn ‘ere?” She nodded. He made the turn off the main road, tires crunching onto gravel as they rolled down a narrow dirt lane flanked by tall corn and weathered fences. In the distance, a warm porch light glowed on a modest farmhouse, standing quiet against the coming night. “You didn’t run,” she said suddenly. “From de fight?” She nodded. “No,” he said simply. “Didn’t really cross me mind. I’m used to danger.” She gave him a curious look. “You military or something?” “S’mthin’,” he said, smiling faintly. “Let’s just say I’ve done my fair share o’ fightin’. Might say I still do.” Astrid didn’t answer right away. Then, softly, she said, “I think you saved my life.” Remy blinked, surprised by the bluntness. “Don’t go makin’ a hero outta me, chère. I was jus’ passin’ by.” “Yeah, well…” she murmured, turning her face back toward the window. “You passed by at the right time.” They reached the house. Remy pulled up beside a rust-colored pickup truck in the gravel drive and cut the engine. The farmhouse sat quiet beneath the bruised sky, its porch light casting a warm glow over the weather-worn steps. Fireflies blinked lazily in the tall grass, and the only sound was the quiet tick of the cooling engine. He glanced over at her, brows furrowed just slightly. “Y’ gonna be alright in dere?” Astrid didn’t answer right away. Her fingers lingered on the door handle, but her body hadn’t moved. She stared at the house, at the steps—seven of them, if she remembered right—and the ache in her ribs reminded her just how difficult they’d be to climb. Her head pulsed, her knuckles throbbed, and her limbs were beginning to shake now that the adrenaline had burned off. She bit the inside of her cheek. Then said, quietly, “Actually…” Remy looked at her again. “…If you don’t mind, you can help me inside.” He blinked once. “Y’ sure?” Astrid exhaled slowly, her voice stripped of its usual edge. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.” Then, with a reluctant smirk, she added, “Besides, it’s just me here. No one else to see me ask for help.” Remy tilted his head, studying her for a second longer—like he could see something deeper flickering behind her eyes. But he didn’t comment. Just nodded once. “All ’ight, chère,” he said, voice softer now. “Let’s get y’ inside.” He stepped out of the driver’s seat, rounded the car, and gently opened her door. She took his offered hand, and even though she kept her jaw clenched as he helped her out, she didn’t pull away. She swayed a little once upright, and he caught her elbow instinctively. “Still walking. Barely…” she muttered. Remy gave a half-smile. “Dat’s the spirit.” Together, they walked slowly toward the porch. The dirt crunched beneath their feet, the wood steps creaked as he helped her ascend them one at a time. She unlocked the door, pushed it open, and the warm scent of cedar, old books, and clean linen drifted out. Inside, the space was modest but comforting—weathered hardwood floors, faded quilts, an old radio on the counter beside a stack of unopened letters. Astrid leaned against the doorframe once they were inside, shoulders sagging as if she could finally let her weight drop. She let out a breath, one that felt like it had been held all day. Remy lingered near her side, unsure whether to step back or stay. “Couch is that way,” she said, nodding weakly toward the living room. “If you don’t mind just getting me there.” He nodded and moved with her at her pace, careful not to jostle her ribs or her still-aching head. When they reached the couch, she sank down with a small sigh of relief and reclined slowly against the cushions. She let her eyes flutter shut just for a second—just long enough to let the weight of the day settle. But then she lifted her head, blinking at him, her voice quiet but clear. “…What’s your name?” Remy, halfway to the door, turned around, surprised she’d asked. He smiled, the kind that curved slow and lopsided. “Remy. Remy LeBeau.” He tilted his head slightly, letting his red-on-black eyes meet hers. “And yours? Just so I know who to bill for the blood on my shirt.” She hesitated, lips twitching faintly. “Astrid… Just Astrid.” He gave her a playful glance. “That so?” She nodded once. “Don’t like the rest of it much.” “Fair ‘nough.” He walked back toward the couch, and as he picked up the small first-aid kit she’d left on the coffee table—probably untouched for months—she added softly, “Thank you…Mr. LeBeau.” Remy let out a low chuckle at that, kneeling beside the couch. “What do you know—bold-spirited and polite. Ain’t many like dat left in dis world.” She gave a faint, tired smile but said nothing as he opened the kit, pulling out antiseptic, gauze, and tape. Her knuckles were raw and still streaked with dried blood, her head tender where the bat had clipped her. She winced when he dabbed at the wound, but didn’t pull away. “You don’t have to do all that,” she murmured. “Chère,” he said, voice softer than before, “y’ took on two punks alone, bloodied half yer body, and still walked y’rself home. Let a guy do somethin’ useful for five minutes.” Astrid didn’t reply, but the set of her shoulders relaxed a little. She let him wrap her hands, clean the graze at her temple, and carefully press a cold pack against the side of her head where swelling was starting to rise. Outside, the cicadas hummed in the dusk, and the soft creak of the old farmhouse settled around them like a blanket. When he finished tending to her, she looked at him again—really looked at him. She couldn’t place why, but his presence didn’t feel like a stranger’s. It felt… solid. Grounded. Safe. “Why did you help me?” she asked after a while. “You don’t even know me.” Remy leaned back on his heels, gaze steady. “’Cause sometimes people don’t need to know everythin’ to know what’s right.” He gave her a wink. “Besides, s’mthin’ tells me dis won’t be de last time I see you, Astrid.” She looked away at that, and though she said nothing, the faintest flush rose in her cheeks. “Alright,” he said, rising slowly. “I’ll head out. You should rest.” But before he could move toward the door again, her voice stopped him. “…You said it like you meant it.” Remy glanced back at her, confused. “The part about seeing me again.” He smiled, but it wasn’t the usual charming smirk—it was something quieter. More honest. “I did.” And with that, he let himself out, the screen door creaking softly as it shut behind him. Astrid sat in silence for a long time after he was gone, staring at the wrapped hands in her lap—touched by a stranger, but somehow not unfamiliar. Scene Idea #2: Forest / Dusk “You’ve already suffered at the hands of humans,” Magneto said, calm yet forceful. “You know what they do to what they fear.” Astrid shook her head, stumbling backward through the trees. “No—no, you don’t know me,” she said, voice tight, trembling. “You don’t know anything about me!” “I know enough.” He advanced. “I know what you are. And what you’re becoming.” She grabbed her head as a sharp, splitting pain cracked down her spine. The world tilted sideways—then shuddered beneath her boots. The ground vibrated violently. A low hum filled the air, rising to an electric whine. Energy built beneath her skin like a storm caged for too long, each breath a battle. Her bones ached as if caught in a resonance chamber, vibrating too fast, too deep. “Please… stop it,” she gasped, her voice hollow and breaking. “I can’t—control it!” Magneto lifted a hand, pulling shards of wreckage toward her—twisted steel and chrome circling like vultures. “I’m not trying to hurt you, girl,” he said, his tone almost gentle. “I’m trying to free you.” That was the final crack. Her scream erupted—piercing, primal—and the world exploded around her. Waves of vibration ripped through the forest, ripping bark from trees, shaking branches loose. Blue energy surged from her core like liquid lightning—radiating outward in relentless pulses. Her body hovered inches off the forest floor, glowing veins tracing her skin like molten wire. Her eyes glowed white, unblinking, her expression lost in raw, uncontrolled force. The wreckage Magneto had summoned was instantly blasted away, tearing through the canopy like thrown knives. Trees bowed and groaned. Stones cracked. The ground around her cratered as if struck by a seismic blast. But it didn’t stop. The energy kept building. Kept pulsing. Kept screaming. Magneto raised both hands now, forced to create a sphere of scrap metal around himself to withstand the sheer force being emitted. The air was a chaotic orchestra of hums, shrieks, and tremors. His brows furrowed. “She’s going to destroy herself…” Then—bang! bang! bang! Magneto grunted as a trio of glowing red kinetically charged playing cards struck his barrier in rapid succession, detonating against the metal with crackling force and scattering the shield. He staggered a step back, shocked. “Not tonight, mon roi de métal,” a voice growled from the smoke. Remy LeBeau stepped out from the trees, his coat whipping in the wind generated by Astrid’s escalating power. His eyes were glowing red, jaw clenched, stance low and ready. Magneto’s eyes narrowed. “Another Xavier lapdog?” “Jus’ a man who doesn’t like bullies,” Remy replied coolly. Astrid’s screams continued, raw and ragged. Her energy pulses intensified, and cracks now formed in the earth around her—stones vibrating, trees splintering at the base. Remy glanced at her, heart pounding. “She’s losin’ it… fast.” Magneto stood his ground, but it was clear even he was surprised by the sheer scope of her power. He cast a final look at Astrid, then at Remy. “Until next time,” was all Magneto said. With a twist of his hand and a roar of metal, he launched himself into the sky, vanishing into the clouds of blue light and dust. Remy rushed forward without hesitation, fighting the surging waves of energy like a man swimming against a tsunami. “Astrid!” he called. “Hey—hey! Look at me, fille, c’mon!” She couldn’t hear him—her body arching, light pouring from her eyes and mouth, the vibration growing until Remy felt it deep in his chest. He cursed, then lunged. He grabbed her—actually grabbed her—and it felt like holding lightning. His body convulsed from the shock, but he held firm, grounding her with his presence, with the warmth in his voice. “Hey. I’m here, Astrid,” he said, straining against the pressure. “Y’ hear me? You ain’t alone now. I’m here. Come back.” Her body jerked, a final pulse surging outward— Then everything stopped. The light flickered, then vanished. Astrid collapsed forward into his arms—unconscious, trembling, but alive. And in the eerie silence that followed, Remy just held her close, kneeling in the cratered forest floor. “…I got you,” he whispered. The night had fallen still, but not quiet. The air still buzzed faintly where Astrid’s power had erupted, the earth scorched with the memory of what she had unleashed. Trees leaned awkwardly in directions they shouldn’t, leaves scattered like ash in a graveyard. The crater beneath them was shallow but wide, and at the center of it all—Remy LeBeau knelt in the dirt, one hand holding his communicator, the other cradling Astrid close to him. His gloved hand rested just over her chest, fingers faintly glowing with a dim red hue. It wasn’t a full charge—just enough kinetic energy to subtly interfere with the violent hum of residual vibrations still fluttering through her nervous system. Like holding a live wire under velvet. His body ached from proximity, but he didn’t pull away. She needed grounding. And Remy had always been good at walking on unstable ground. “C’mon, mon cœur… breathe steady,” he whispered, eyes never leaving her face. Her expression was slack, skin pale under the moonlight except for the faint glimmer of blue energy still ghosting across her veins. Her hair was a mess of twigs and sweat. Her breaths were shallow but there. Still there. Remy brought the communicator to his mouth with a sharp breath. “Professor.” A moment passed. Then Charles Xavier’s voice crackled through the line, calm but alert. “Remy. Report.” “She released her powers,” Remy said, low. “Full-blown surge, Charles. Dang near leveled de woods out ‘ere. Look like a war zone .” Silence for a moment before his voice returned, “Is she conscious?” Remy looked down. “Non. Passed out cold after it hit its peak. Still glowing a little. I’m keepin’ her stable wit’ a low charge—jus’ enough to keep the feedback from burnin’ her up.” “You’re using kinetic interference to counteract the vibrations?” “It’s like… touchin’ the pulse of a storm, but yeah. I got her.” Xavier’s voice softened. “You did well.” “I wasn’t fast enough,” Remy muttered. “Magneto was here.” A pause. “Did he harm her?” “Not before she lit up the sky,” Remy said. “He wanted her. Said she belonged with his kind.” His eyes hardened. “I didn’t let him finish the pitch.” “Remy…” “He got away, Charles. Took off soon as he realized she wasn’t gonna go with him easy. He’ll be back. Bet money on it.” More silence. Then Xavier’s voice returned,  “Hold your position. Hank and Ororo are en route in the Blackbird. Our ETA ten minutes. Can you keep her stabilized until then?” Remy looked down again. Her brow twitched, faintly. She murmured something under her breath—nothing he could catch. “I got her,” he said firmly. “Ain’t movin’ till backup lands.” Xavier’s voice gentled. “Good. Stay with her. We’ll bring her home soon.” The line went quiet. Remy let the communicator fall to the ground beside him, sighing through his teeth. His eyes flicked up to the trees—dark, broken silhouettes stretching to the sky. “Don’t worry, chérie,” he murmured, pulling his coat tighter around her shoulders. “Ain’t no one takin’ you. Not while I’m breathin’.” His hand kept glowing faintly, just enough to keep the storm inside her from starting again. And for the first time that night, Astrid’s breathing started to even out. Aboard the Blackbird / Mid-Flight The distant rumble of engines thrummed like thunder underwater. Low, constant. Like a heartbeat not her own. Astrid stirred. A dull ache pulsed through the back of her skull, bleeding down her spine like a live wire. Her body felt heavy—too heavy—and her breath caught in her throat. She tried to open her eyes. Blinding at first. A swirl of fractured light and shadows. Her vision was a smear of shapes, dark outlines against soft blue glow strips lining the cabin. She groaned. “Ah, y’re wakin’ up.” A familiar voice—deep, smooth, warm. “Easy now, chérie.” Her heart fluttered in response. “Remy…?” “I’m right here,” he said softly. She felt his hand brush hers. “Stay still. You’re safe.” Astrid blinked again, her lashes heavy with dried sweat. The room swam, shapes trying to resolve into focus but never quite landing. She felt the subtle vibrations beneath her—metal, humming with altitude—and her brain screamed aircraft even if the logic didn’t stick. “…where… where am I?” she croaked, voice hoarse. “You’re on the Blackbird,” came a second voice—older, clear, calm. A British cadence carried on a tide of serenity. “You’re en route to Westchester. Home of the Xavier Institute.” Astrid’s head turned toward the voice, slowly. “Who…?” “I’m Professor Charles Xavier,” the man said gently. “You’re safe now. We’ve taken you in for medical attention and rest.” Her fingers twitched as if trying to grip the air. “I… I didn’t mean to—” “I know,” Xavier interrupted, as though reading more than her words. “It wasn’t your fault.” Astrid grimaced, trying to sit up—but Remy’s hand found her shoulder as she did. “Whoa now, don’t push it,” he said. “You had a hell of a night.” “I…” Her eyes squeezed shut. “There was a man—metal—he threw my car—he—” “Magneto,” Remy confirmed grimly. “He wanted you. But y’ held your own, Astrid. Gave him a good run.” Astrid let out a shaky breath. Her fingers curled over the blanket tucked around her. “I—I couldn’t stop it. I tried. But it just—” Her voice cracked. “It just happened.” Xavier’s voice came gently. “Your powers responded to trauma. It’s common among young mutants, especially those whose abilities are tied to emotional states. You’ve been containing a great deal for a long time, haven’t you?” She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. Remy could feel the way her hand trembled beneath his. He could see the flicker of blue still glowing faintly along her pulse line. Astrid turned her face toward him, her blurry gaze searching. “Why… are you helping me?” Remy gave her the smallest smile. “Let’s jus’ say… I know what it’s like to have powers explode before you’re ready for ‘em.” “You don’t even know me.” “Don’t need to,” he said. “I saw enough to know you didn’t deserve what happened back dere. And maybe I like bein’ the guy who shows up when the world turns its back.” Astrid blinked at him. Her lips moved, the words faint. “Thank you…” Remy leaned back, relaxing just slightly now that her voice held a thread of strength. “Don’t thank me yet, chère. You still gotta meet Hank.” A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. Astrid didn’t laugh—but the tiniest ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. It was quick, almost invisible—but it was there. Before the silence could stretch too long, Professor Xavier’s voice broke in gently from across the cabin. “Astrid,” he said, measured and calm, “have you ever used your abilities before?” She blinked sluggishly, her gaze drifting toward the soft overhead lights. The ache in her head still throbbed dully, her body too heavy for her bones. “Not really,” she murmured. “Not like in the forest…” Remy leaned in a little, listening. “It’s only ever been… little things.” She swallowed, her voice growing thinner. “Like when I wake up from bad dreams… the room starts to hum. Or the bed… just the floor around me. Not loud. Just enough to feel it in your teeth…” Xavier nodded thoughtfully. “A sensory response tied to trauma. The subconscious releasing energy—fascinating.” Astrid’s eyelids fluttered. “Sometimes it’s just in my arms. Like a shiver, but it’s deeper. Electric.” Her words were beginning to slow, edges fraying. “Like something’s… trying to get out. But I don’t…” She winced slightly, breath catching. Her grip around Remy’s hand, still glowing faintly from the energy he was using to keep her stable, suddenly tightened—tense, almost desperate. Her voice broke on the next word. “Like… echoes…” Her breath hitched. The word was barely out when her body went slack, her head tilting sideways as unconsciousness overtook her again. Remy’s expression shifted in an instant—his other hand steadying her shoulder as her full weight leaned into him. “Whoa, hey—Astrid,” he said softly, worry threading through his voice. “Stay with me, petite…” But she was gone again. Her face was pale, lashes resting against her cheeks, lips parted slightly as her body sank deeper into exhausted stillness. The glow beneath her skin had dimmed but not disappeared, humming just beneath the surface—unspent energy looking for direction. “She’s overdrawn herself,” Xavier said quietly. “It’s remarkable she lasted this long.” Remy glanced down at her after setting her head back on the pillow, brushing a few strands of damp hair from her temple with the back of his hand. “Before she went out, she grabbed on,” he muttered. “Like she was scared to fall back into the dark.” Xavier’s face grew solemn. “She was. Whatever’s in her past—whatever trauma is rooted in these dreams—her powers are tied to it. Strongly.” Remy didn’t let go of her hand. Outside the window, the landscape began to shift—rolling forests giving way to the distant gleam of Westchester. Home was near.