Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The crisp November air cut through the streets of New York City, a bite in the wind that spoke of the coming winter. Erik Lensherr, his face weary and marked by years of strife, walked slowly toward the old building at the corner of 47th Street, the place that once held so many memories. The apartment was small and quiet, much like the woman who lived there, but it had always been a refuge for him, a place where he could escape from the world that weighed so heavily on his shoulders.

Magda.

He hadn’t seen her in years. His obsession with stopping Shaw had taken him far from her, and when his rage had consumed him, his visits had stopped. The guilt of that decision gnawed at him now, but there was no time for regrets, not anymore.

When he rang the bell, the sound of footsteps echoed inside before the door creaked open. There she stood. Magda, though older now and frailer than he remembered, was still the same woman who had once been his everything. Her once radiant face was now drawn and pale, the dark circles beneath her eyes telling the story of sleepless nights and ill health.

"Erik," she whispered, a fragile smile breaking through her weakness. "You came."

His heart clenched. "Magda," he said softly, stepping forward and reaching for her hand. "I'm sorry. I should have come sooner."

"You were busy with your war," she replied, the sadness in her voice betraying her understanding. "I don't blame you for that. I only wish you had come back sooner… for them."

For a moment, Erik felt a twinge of confusion. "For them?" he asked, his voice tight.

Magda stepped aside, revealing the three children playing quietly in the corner of the room. His heart skipped a beat as his gaze landed on them. They looked up at him, their eyes wide with curiosity, but they didn’t say anything. There was an awkwardness in the air, a hesitation that felt too heavy to ignore.

Magda motioned toward the oldest girl, who was sitting on the floor, playing with a doll. "This is Lorna," she said softly, her voice filled with both love and pain. "She's six."

Erik’s gaze shifted to the twins, sitting a few feet away from Lorna. The boy had messy silver hair, his sharp features betraying the traits of someone much older than his four years. The girl beside him was just as striking, though softer in her expression, her dark eyes filled with an innocent curiosity. "And these are Pietro and Wanda," Magda continued. "Pietro is twelve minutes older than Wanda, but they’re inseparable."

Erik's breath caught. He stared at them, a mix of disbelief and awe flooding him. His children. His children. How had he not known? How had he been so blind to the existence of these little souls, so precious and innocent?

"I don’t know what to do, Erik," Magda said, her voice growing weaker. "I’ve tried. I’ve done my best, but my health… it’s failing. I can't take care of them anymore. You have to. Please."

Her words hit Erik like a punch to the gut. She was asking him to step into a role he hadn’t expected, one that seemed so foreign to him despite his desire for family. But as he looked at the children, his heart swelled with something he hadn’t felt in a long time: love. Pure, untainted love. These were his flesh and blood. His children.

"I’ll take care of them, Magda," Erik said, his voice steady but laced with a new sense of purpose. "I promise you. I will."

Magda gave a relieved sigh, her body sinking against the doorframe as though the weight of her illness was finally taking its toll. "I know you will," she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she looked back at him, her gaze filled with quiet gratitude.

In the months that followed, Erik settled into his new role as a father. Despite the constant threat of the Brotherhood’s missions and the battle against humanity’s oppression of mutants, he found time to care for his children. They became his world. Lorna was sweet and inquisitive, was quick to ask questions and always wanted to learn. Pietro was fiery and quick-witted, and Wanda… Wanda had a gentleness to her that drew him in.

Though none of them had manifested their mutations yet, Erik could see the potential in each of them. He spent hours with them, teaching them, loving them. Even amid his darkest days—leading the Brotherhood, planning against those who sought to eradicate mutants—he found moments of peace with his children. Every night, he tucked them into bed, kissed them goodnight, and promised that no harm would come to them.

But despite his best efforts, Magda's health continued to deteriorate. She grew weaker each day, her frailty becoming too much for her to bear. One evening, Erik sat by her side, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what was coming.

Magda passed away quietly, her last breath leaving her as Erik held her hand, her words of peace and love still echoing in his heart.

Her funeral was a small, sombre affair, attended by few. Erik made the arrangements himself, wanting to give her the respect she deserved. But in the silence that followed, as he stood before her grave, he realized something important: for the first time in years, he had a family to protect.

He would lead the Brotherhood with the same fire and resolve he always had, but now, there was something more. He had children to care for, to love, and to protect.

Erik Lensherr, the man who had once been driven by vengeance, was now driven by the love of his children.

Chapter Text

A year had passed since Erik had taken his place as a father, and life, in many ways, had settled into a new rhythm. He balanced his role in the Brotherhood with the love and care he had for Lorna, Pietro, and Wanda. Each day brought new moments of tenderness—small victories like Lorna learning to read or Pietro making Wanda laugh with one of his many tricks. The twins’ bond had deepened, and Erik found himself deeply grateful for the little family they had become.

But one thing still gnawed at him—the rest of the world. The world that feared and hated mutants. The world that could not understand them.

When Erik discovered that President John F. Kennedy was, in fact, a fellow mutant, he was struck by a mix of disbelief and concern. JFK had the potential to change things for mutants everywhere, but some dark forces were already conspiring to assassinate him, fearful of his power and what it could mean for the future of the world.

Erik knew he had to act.

He made the decision to travel to Dallas, where Kennedy would be visiting in the fall of 1963, to ensure that the President’s life was protected. But Erik would not go alone. He could never leave his children behind—not when the world could be so dangerous, even if it seemed like just another routine mission. The children had been through so much already, and he could never bear to leave them vulnerable.

That morning, before they left for Dallas, Erik took a moment to say goodbye to someone who had been there for him, someone who had always understood the chaos in his life—Raven, or Mystique, as the world knew her. She had been a confidante, a friend, even when things had been difficult between them. But now, with the children in tow, he knew he needed to make sure they were ready for the journey.

“Mystique,” Erik said as he found her in her hidden lair. She had been working on some of her own plans but stopped when she saw him enter. “I’m heading to Dallas. Protecting the President.”

She raised an eyebrow, as if skeptical. “With the kids?”

Erik nodded, his voice softening as he looked over at the three children who were busy packing small bags, unaware of the gravity of the mission ahead. “They’re coming with me. Can’t leave them behind. Not now.”

Mystique’s face softened just slightly, a rare expression from her, but there was something almost maternal in the way she looked at them. “Be careful. And take care of them.”

The children, with their innocent enthusiasm, ran over to her, their voices chiming with affection, though they struggled with the word they were trying to say.

“‘Bye, Auntie M… Aun… Aunty Mis’—” Lorna trailed off as she tried to pronounce the word, her small voice earnest.

Pietro and Wanda, caught up in their own attempts, followed suit. “Aunt Mis’!” Pietro declared with an exaggerated emphasis on the ‘Mis.’

Wanda, her voice quieter but just as endearing, added, “Auntie Mis’.”

Mystique couldn’t help but smile. The children’s attempts at a word so big for their small tongues made something inside of her soften. “Goodbye, little ones,” she said, crouching down to their level. “Be good.”

Erik could see the smallest glimmer of something in Mystique’s eyes as she straightened up, watching him for a moment longer than usual. Then she nodded. “Go, and make sure nothing goes wrong.”

The family left, driving down the road, with Erik at the wheel, the kids talking excitedly in the back seat, blissfully unaware of the political storm brewing just ahead.

Dallas was busy, a sea of people gathered to see the President. Erik had told the children about the mission, though he kept the full weight of it from them. They were excited and thrilled to be in the city with their father like any children would be when visiting a place with so much energy and activity.

The air was electric, filled with the excited hum of voices and the steady shuffle of feet. People waved flags, holding signs that read “Welcome, Mr. President,” and children with wide eyes stared up at the motorcade from the sidewalks. Lorna, Pietro, and Wanda were caught up in the spectacle. Their eyes sparkled with wonder, their small voices chiming in excited questions about what was happening.

Erik kept them close, his protective instincts on high alert. They had no idea of the danger looming just a few yards away. He could see the tension in the crowd, the flashes of suspicion in certain faces. It was there, beneath the cheerful façade of a nation’s pride—a darkness. Something was about to happen, and Erik was determined to stop it.

As the motorcade rolled through Dealey Plaza, Erik’s eyes scanned the crowd. He could feel something in the air—something off. Then, just as the car carrying President Kennedy passed beneath the Texas Book Depository, he saw it.

A flash of metal.

Before Erik could react fully, his instincts kicked in. He stretched out his hand, feeling the pull of his magnetic powers surge through him, and he deflected the bullet, sending it veering off course. But his actions were too quick and too subtle. The police, already watching the crowd with suspicion, immediately turned their attention toward him. The chaos that ensued was instant—shouts rang out, sirens blared, and people screamed in confusion.

Erik didn’t stop. He pulled his children to safety as the shots rang out again. But his quick intervention wasn’t enough. The second bullet hit its mark—President Kennedy was struck.

As the chaos unfolded, the authorities zeroed in on Erik. They had seen him deflect the bullet, but they had no idea who he was or what he was capable of. The police were on him in seconds, arresting him before he could do anything else. His children were grabbed by social workers and taken from him with no explanation, their fearful eyes staring back at him as they were carried away.

Erik struggled and tried to fight back, but he was outnumbered and overwhelmed by the sheer force of the law. His arrest, in front of the President’s motorcade, ensured that no one would believe his version of the story. To the world, he was nothing more than an assassin in the making, a villain who had somehow been behind the assassination.

And just like that, his world was shattered.

He was taken into custody and charged with the murder of President John F. Kennedy.

His children, lost and confused, were taken into protective custody. The world believed that they were orphans, their father a murderer. But Erik knew the truth. He had tried to protect Kennedy, tried to save him.

And now, everything had changed.

Chapter Text

The room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of the television the only source of light. Charles Xavier sat in his wheelchair, nestled comfortably but still alert, the faint hum of static filling the silence between news segments. It was a quiet evening at the mansion, the kind Charles had come to appreciate after the chaos of the past year. Hank was tinkering away in the basement, likely buried in one of his many experiments, leaving Charles to his own thoughts.

He sipped his tea, the warmth a small comfort against the chill that seemed to permeate the old house. The mansion was still largely empty, a vast expanse of unused rooms and echoing hallways. The school hadn’t been established yet, and the dream Charles held so dearly—a place where mutants could live and learn in peace—still felt so far away.

On the screen, a well-dressed news anchor shuffled papers, his voice grave as he began to speak.

“We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news from Dallas, Texas. President John F. Kennedy has been assassinated during a motorcade through Dealey Plaza.”

Charles froze, his teacup halfway to his lips. The weight of the announcement settled heavily in his chest. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on the television as the broadcast cut to grainy footage of the motorcade. People screamed, their faces twisted in shock and horror as the camera captured the chaotic aftermath.

“The President was struck by a bullet shortly after passing the Texas School Book Depository. Eyewitnesses report seeing a man in the crowd displaying unusual behavior, who has since been identified as Erik Lehnsherr.”

Charles’s breath caught. Erik.

A photograph of Erik flashed on the screen, his face unmistakable even in the blurred, black-and-white image. Charles stared at it, his heart racing. The broadcast cut to a slowed-down replay of the moment the first bullet had been fired. Charles watched intently, his eyes narrowing as the footage clearly showed the bullet curving unnaturally mid-air before veering off course.

It could only have been Erik.

“Authorities believe Lehnsherr used some sort of advanced technology or weapon to interfere with the bullet’s trajectory. He was apprehended at the scene and has been charged with the assassination of the President.”

Charles’s grip tightened on the armrests of his wheelchair. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Erik had always been bold, audacious even, but this? Killing a sitting President? It was unthinkable. Charles replayed the memory of their last confrontation in his mind—the beach in Cuba, the deafening roar of missiles exploding in the distance, and Erik’s betrayal.

He felt the phantom pain in his legs, a reminder of the moment Erik had deflected that bullet, the one that had ricocheted into Charles’s spine. That day had changed everything. Erik had walked away, taking Raven—Charles’s sister, his family—with him. It had shattered Charles, and even now, the pieces of his life felt fragile, barely held together by his vision for the school.

And now, Erik had done this.

The news anchor droned on, speculating about Erik’s motives and discussing his arrest, but Charles barely heard any of it. He was too focused on the image of the bullet curving, the undeniable proof of Erik’s involvement. He had done it. Erik had killed JFK, and for what? Some misguided attempt to protect mutants? A vendetta against humans? Charles didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

Erik’s face lingered on the screen, a haunting reminder of the man Charles had once loved, the man who had inspired him and broken him in equal measure. But that man was gone, replaced by someone Charles could no longer recognize.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, Charles reached for the remote and turned the television off. The room plunged into silence, but his mind was anything but quiet.

Erik was not his problem anymore.

Charles exhaled slowly, willing himself to let go of the tension that had settled in his chest. He had spent too much of his life trying to understand Erik, trying to save him from the path he had chosen. But Cuba had been the breaking point, and this—the assassination of a President—was just confirmation of what he already knew.

Erik was beyond saving.

Charles wheeled himself away from the television, moving toward the window. Outside, the grounds of the mansion were dark and still, the vast expanse of lawn stretching out like an empty canvas. It was a fitting metaphor for his life now: quiet, solitary, with only the faintest glimmers of what might someday grow into something meaningful.

He thought of Hank, of the work they were doing together to establish the school. That was his focus now, his purpose. He couldn’t afford to waste any more energy on Erik or the wreckage he left in his wake.

“Goodbye, Erik,” Charles murmured to himself, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. It wasn’t a goodbye filled with anger or sadness—it was empty, resigned. He had mourned the loss of Erik long ago.

And with that, Charles turned his chair and wheeled himself out of the room, leaving the darkened television and the ghost of his past behind.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet as Charles finished his evening routine, the soft rustle of fabric and the faint creak of his wheelchair the only sounds breaking the stillness. It was late, and the events of the day had left him exhausted—emotionally more than physically. The news of Erik’s alleged involvement in JFK’s assassination still hung heavily in his mind. Though he had tried to put Erik behind him, tonight had reopened old wounds.

As he moved to his bedside, ready to transfer himself into bed, the shrill ring of the telephone cut through the silence. Charles paused, frowning. It was unusual for someone to call at this hour. He hesitated for a moment before rolling over to the small table where the phone sat.

“Hello?” he said, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

“Is this Charles Xavier?” The voice on the other end was a woman’s—professional, measured, but with a hint of urgency.

“Yes, this is he. Who’s calling?”

“This is Evelyn Parker, a social worker with Dallas County Protective Services,” the woman said. “I’m calling in regard to Erik Lehnsherr.”

Charles felt his stomach tighten at the mention of Erik’s name. His first thought was that Erik had somehow convinced someone to contact him, but why? He was in custody, facing what would undoubtedly be a high-profile trial.

“I see,” Charles said cautiously. “What about him?”

“Well,” Evelyn continued, “Mr. Lehnsherr named you as the legal custodian of his children in the event of his arrest or any other unforeseen circumstances. Given the situation, we’ve taken his three children into protective custody, and we need you to come down to Dallas to claim them.”

Charles froze, the words catching him completely off guard. Children? Erik had children?

“I—I’m sorry,” Charles stammered, his mind racing. “Could you repeat that?”

“Yes, of course. Erik Lehnsherr has three children: Lorna, age six, and twins Pietro and Wanda, both four—Pietro being twelve minutes older than Wanda. He listed you as their guardian in his legal paperwork.”

Charles sat back in his chair, his thoughts spiralling. Erik had children. Three of them. And he had never said a word about them. A sharp pang of betrayal coursed through Charles, the idea that Erik had hidden something so monumental from him stinging deeply.

But as the social worker continued speaking, something clicked. The ages. Lorna was six, and the twins were four. Charles quickly did the mental math, realizing that these children would have been born before he and Erik had ever met.

Relief washed over him, replacing the sting of betrayal. Erik hadn’t cheated on him—not that it would have mattered now, but the thought had momentarily consumed him. Instead, these children were a part of Erik’s life long before Cuba, before Charles had even known him.

“Mr. Xavier?” Evelyn’s voice broke through his thoughts. “I understand this is a lot to take in, but we need someone to come down and take custody of the children. They’re very young, and it’s important they’re placed with someone who can care for them.”

Charles took a deep breath, his mind shifting to the practicalities. “Yes, of course,” he said finally. “I’ll come down to Dallas. I just need some time to make arrangements.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn said, her tone softening. “I’ll send over the details of where you can pick them up. Please try to get here as soon as possible.”

“I will,” Charles assured her before hanging up the phone.

He sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of the conversation settle. Erik had named him—of all people—as the guardian for his children. Charles wasn’t sure whether to feel honoured, insulted, or simply overwhelmed. It wasn’t as though Erik had ever asked him about it. And yet, there was something profoundly Erik about the gesture: a mix of trust and assumption that Charles would step up when needed.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Charles wheeled himself toward the door and called out, “Hank! I need you to get the car ready!”

Moments later, Hank appeared in the hallway, his hands smudged with grease from whatever project he’d been working on. “What’s going on?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

“We’re going to Dallas,” Charles said firmly. “Erik has children, and I’ve been named their guardian. I need to bring them back here.”

Hank’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Erik has kids? Since when?”

“Since before we met him,” Charles said, his voice tinged with both exasperation and disbelief. “I’ll explain everything on the way, but we need to leave immediately.”

Hank nodded, sensing the urgency. “I’ll get the car ready,” he said, disappearing down the hall.

Charles returned to his room, quickly gathering what he would need for the trip. As he moved about, his mind returned to Erik—his decisions, his secrets, and the weight of their shared history. Despite everything, Charles couldn’t abandon Erik’s children. Whatever Erik’s faults, these children were innocent. They deserved a safe, loving home.

And if Erik trusted Charles with this responsibility, then Charles would not fail them.

Chapter Text

The Texas sun was relentless, beating down on Charles as he wheeled himself into the sterile, white-walled building where Erik’s children were being held. His heart pounded, though he told himself it was just the heat—or perhaps the stress of the situation. He had been bracing himself for this moment the entire drive from Westchester, but now that he was here, he felt woefully unprepared. Erik’s children.

The receptionist, a woman with a kind but tired smile, led him down a hallway. “They’re in the playroom,” she said as they approached a door with a window. She stopped and gestured for him to look inside.

Charles peered through the glass, and his breath caught. There they were—three small children sitting on the floor with a pile of wooden blocks. The oldest, a girl with startlingly green hair, was busy stacking blocks while the twins, a boy and girl, argued over which one would knock the tower down first. The boy’s hair was a shock of silver, messy and sticking out in all directions, while the girl’s dark hair framed her delicate face.

They were unmistakably Erik’s. Each of them bore traces of him—the sharp cheekbones, the intense eyes, the determined set of their tiny jaws. Charles felt a pang in his chest, equal parts awe and sorrow. Erik had always been so much more than he let people see. These children were proof of that.

The receptionist opened the door, and three heads turned in unison. Wide eyes stared at Charles, filled with curiosity and a hint of caution.

“Children,” the receptionist said gently, “this is Charles. He’s going to take care of you now.”

Lorna, the oldest, stood first, clutching a block in her hand. Her gaze was steady, assessing Charles with a maturity that seemed far beyond her six years. The twins scrambled to their feet, each clinging to the other as they regarded the stranger before them.

Charles gave them his warmest smile, rolling his chair forward. “Hello, little ones,” he said softly, his tone as soothing as he could make it. “My name is Charles Xavier, but you can call me Charles if you’d like.”

Lorna tilted her head, her green hair catching the light. “Are you here to take us to Daddy?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm.

Charles’s heart clenched. “No, my dear,” he said gently. “But your father wanted me to make sure you’re safe and cared for. You’ll be coming to live with me for now.”

The twins exchanged a glance, their small hands tightening around each other. Pietro, the boy, frowned. “Where’s Daddy?” he asked, his voice small.

Charles hesitated, unsure of how much they understood about what had happened. “He’s… taking care of something very important,” he said finally. “But he loves you all very much and wants the best for you.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was what they needed to hear.

As he spoke, he couldn’t help but marvel at their appearances. Lorna’s vibrant green hair, Pietro’s shimmering silver, and Wanda’s dark, thoughtful eyes all hinted at the possibility of mutations to come. It was subtle but undeniable.

He spent a few more moments getting to know them, cooing softly as they warmed up to him. Lorna showed him the block tower she had built, Pietro raced around the room with uncontainable energy, and Wanda climbed into his lap, staring up at him with solemn curiosity.

Charles couldn’t help but laugh, his initial apprehension melting away. These children were utterly enchanting. Despite everything—despite Erik—Charles felt a fierce protectiveness growing within him.

After signing the necessary paperwork, which he discreetly sped up with a bit of mental persuasion, Charles returned to the playroom. The children were huddled together, their small voices echoing as they whispered to one another.

“Well,” Charles said with a smile, “shall we go?”

He scooped all three children onto his lap, balancing them as best as he could. It wasn’t the most practical solution, but it was the easiest way to keep them close. The twins giggled as they clung to him, while Lorna sat calmly, watching the world go by with quiet intensity.

When they reached the car, Hank was waiting in the driver’s seat. He turned and gave Charles a quizzical look before noticing the children. “Well, would you look at that,” he said with a grin. “I didn’t realize you’d be bringing back an entire litter.”

Charles rolled his eyes as he manoeuvred the children into the car, strapping them in safely. “Hank, meet Lorna, Pietro, and Wanda. Children, this is Hank.”

The twins gasped as they took in Hank’s blue, furry form. Pietro leaned forward, his silver hair glinting in the sunlight. “You’re blue!” he exclaimed.

“Like Auntie ‘Stique!” Wanda added, her pronunciation endearing and slightly garbled.

Charles froze at the mention of Mystique, the familiar ache of her betrayal surfacing briefly. But he pushed it aside, forcing a smile. “Yes, Hank is blue like Raven,” he said gently. “But he’s very different in other ways.”

Hank chuckled, reaching back to give the twins a friendly wave. “Don’t worry, kids. I don’t bite.”

As the car pulled away, Charles leaned back in his seat, watching the children in the rearview mirror. Lorna was already dozing off, her head resting against Wanda’s shoulder. Pietro gazed out the window, his fingers drumming against his knee with restless energy. Wanda, meanwhile, stared at Charles with wide, thoughtful eyes.

Despite the chaos of the day, Charles felt a deep sense of peace. These children were now his responsibility, and he was determined to give them the care and love they deserved. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

Chapter Text

The familiar sight of the mansion loomed before them as the car pulled into the long driveway. Charles couldn’t help but feel a wave of apprehension as he glanced at the three children, still wide-eyed and brimming with curiosity. Erik’s children. His responsibility now.

The twins pressed their faces against the window, marvelling at the sprawling estate. Lorna, sitting quietly in the middle seat, clutched her brother’s hand while keeping her other hand firmly on the hem of Wanda’s dress.

“Is this your house?” Pietro asked, his silver hair catching the fading light.

“Yes,” Charles replied with a smile. “It’s where we’ll all be living for the time being.”

“It’s big,” Wanda murmured, her wide eyes reflecting the grandeur of the mansion.

“It is,” Charles agreed, wheeling himself out of the car as Hank helped the children out. “There’s plenty of space for you to play, and I think you’ll find it quite comfortable.”

As they stepped inside, the children immediately scattered, drawn to the mansion’s sheer size and elegance. Pietro zipped ahead, exploring the wide hallways with an energy Charles could hardly keep up with, while Wanda lingered near a towering bookshelf, her small fingers brushing against the spines. Lorna stayed close to Charles, her green hair glowing faintly under the warm lights.

Despite their fascination with the mansion, Charles couldn’t ignore the growing weight of responsibility pressing down on him. He had no idea how to raise a child, let alone three of them. He’d devoted his life to academia, to his powers, and to the dream of building a safe haven for mutants—not to parenthood.

“Well, you’ve done it now,” Hank muttered, leaning against the wall with a smirk.

Charles shot him a look. “I didn’t exactly have a choice, Hank.”

“You’ll manage,” Hank said, his tone light but encouraging. “You always do.”

Charles wasn’t so sure, but there was no time to dwell on his doubts. He had three very small, very tired children to look after.

The first hurdle was dinner. After a quick assessment of the mansion’s supplies—or lack thereof—Charles managed to scrape together a meal of sandwiches and milk. The children ate quietly, their small hands fumbling with the sandwiches as they cast curious glances at Charles.

After dinner, the next task was finding them something to wear for bed. It became immediately clear that the mansion wasn’t equipped for children, let alone ones so young. Charles rifled through his wardrobe until he found a few jumpers that could serve as makeshift pyjamas.

The sight of the children wearing his clothes was enough to make him pause. The jumpers swallowed them whole, hanging well past their knees and making them look impossibly small and endearing. Pietro tugged at the sleeves of his jumper, which pooled around his hands. “It’s too big,” he said, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

“You’ll grow into it,” Charles said with a chuckle, helping Wanda roll up her sleeves. Lorna, ever the quiet observer, simply wrapped her arms around herself, the hem of the jumper brushing against her shins.

With the children dressed, Charles guided them to a guest room near his own. The room contained two twin beds, but the thought of trying to move a third bed in was daunting—especially with the children already starting to nod off.

Charles carefully lifted Lorna into one bed, tucking the blankets around her small frame. She mumbled something incoherent before settling into the pillow. Turning to the twins, Charles found them huddled together on the second bed, already half-asleep. He sighed and gently adjusted the blankets, tucking them in side by side.

They looked so small, so vulnerable, curled up in the oversized beds. Charles lingered for a moment, watching their tiny faces relax into a peaceful slumber. But even in sleep, he could see traces of Erik in them—the same stubbornness, the same strength.

“Goodnight, little ones,” he whispered, brushing a hand lightly over Lorna’s hair.

As he turned to leave, Wanda stirred, her small voice breaking the silence. “We miss Daddy.”

Charles froze, his chest tightening. He wheeled himself closer, leaning down to whisper softly. “I know you do. But I promise I’ll take good care of you until he comes back.”

Wanda’s eyes fluttered shut, her hand gripping Pietro’s as she drifted back to sleep.

Charles wheeled himself to the doorway, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. The thought of these children waking up in the middle of the night, frightened and alone in an unfamiliar place, was unbearable.

He positioned his wheelchair near the beds, close enough to hear them if they stirred. Though the chair wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, it was a small sacrifice to ensure the children felt safe.

As the night stretched on, the mansion grew quiet, save for the soft breathing of the children. Charles sat in the darkness, his thoughts heavy but his heart surprisingly light.

Despite the uncertainty, despite his own fears, Charles felt an overwhelming sense of purpose. These children had been entrusted to him, and he wouldn’t fail them.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, he let himself rest, content in the knowledge that they were safe and loved.

Chapter Text

The dim light of early morning crept into the room, casting soft shadows across the guest room where Charles had spent an uncomfortable night in his wheelchair. He groggily awoke with a stiff neck and a dull ache spreading across his shoulders. He shifted slightly, only to feel the gentle pressure of small fingers poking his face.

Lorna’s green eyes were wide with curiosity as she leaned in closer, her tiny fingers pressing against his cheek. “Are you awake, Charles?” she asked, her voice as soft as a whisper.

Charles blinked, momentarily disoriented. The quiet of the house was interrupted by the sound of soft giggles. He turned to see the twins, still in their oversized jumpers, perched at the edge of the bed, their eyes fixed on him. Pietro was grinning, his silver hair standing out in wild tufts, while Wanda’s expression was more contemplative, her hands resting on her lap.

“Morning,” Charles murmured, rubbing his neck with a sigh. “What time is it?”

“Too early!” Pietro declared with a grin, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

Lorna, ever the serious one, nodded in agreement but didn’t protest. She sat down next to him, curling up in the blankets with an air of quiet dignity.

Charles laughed softly, relieved to see that at least someone was taking the morning in stride. He stretched carefully, attempting to loosen the stiffness in his neck. “Alright, alright, let’s get some breakfast, shall we?”

The kitchen was unfamiliar territory for Charles, and though he’d had some practice with cooking over the years, the task of preparing breakfast for three small children seemed monumental. He fumbled with pots and pans, attempting to remember how to make something both nutritious and edible. The children, still sleepy but now alert, gathered around him, watching with interest.

Pietro, ever the bundle of energy, skipped over to the refrigerator, peering inside. “Do we have pancakes?” he asked eagerly, his voice filled with hope.

Charles chuckled, grateful for his earlier trip to the market. “I’m afraid not, Pietro. But we do have eggs and toast.”

Lorna, who had perched herself on a stool, tilted her head slightly. “What about bacon?” she asked, sounding almost wistful.

“There’s bacon,” Charles said, relieved that he could at least check off one thing from their request list. He turned back to the stove, scrambling eggs with a concentration that bordered on desperation. “There’s bacon, yes. And toast. A very traditional breakfast.”

As the smell of bacon filled the kitchen, the children seemed to perk up. But as the minutes passed and the food was prepared, a quiet tension began to build in the air. Lorna watched him intently, her gaze soft but calculating. The twins, sitting on stools at the kitchen island, seemed to sense that something was about to shift.

“Charles?” Lorna’s voice interrupted the quiet hum of breakfast preparations. “Where’s Daddy?”

The simple question pierced through the room like a knife. The children had been so busy with the excitement of their new surroundings that Charles hadn’t had a chance to address the elephant in the room—their father’s absence.

He paused, his hand hovering over the pan for a moment. The truth was a heavyweight in his chest, and as he searched for the right words, his mind raced. They were so young, so innocent. How could he explain Erik’s situation without causing them more hurt?

“I…” Charles began, his voice faltering slightly. “Your daddy is, um, he’s gone away for a little while. He has some very important things to take care of, but he loves you very much, and he’ll come back as soon as he can.”

Lorna’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Where did he go?” she asked, her small brow furrowing.

Charles swallowed, his throat tightening. “He… he’s just away for now. He has to do something important, and he asked me to take care of you while he’s gone.”

Pietro’s lower lip quivered, his silver eyes wide with worry. “But where is he? Is he coming back soon?”

Charles’ heart clenched, and for a moment, he had to fight the urge to simply tell them everything, to shield them from the truth. But he knew they had to understand, even if the truth would hurt them.

“I don’t know, Pietro,” Charles said, his voice soft and gentle. “I wish I could tell you that he’ll be back tomorrow, but I don’t know when he’ll return.”

Wanda, who had been quietly watching, suddenly burst into tears. Her small face crumpled as she began to sob, her hands clutching the sleeves of her jumper.

“Daddy…” she wailed, the heartbreak in her voice making Charles’s heart shatter.

Lorna’s eyes filled with tears as well, her hands reaching out toward her sister. “Wanda, it’s okay,” she said softly, though she too was on the verge of tears.

Charles’s mind raced, and for a brief moment, he panicked. The sight of the children in distress was almost more than he could bear. His hands shook slightly as he set the frying pan down and moved quickly toward them.

“I know you miss him, and I miss him too,” Charles said, trying to soothe them with his voice and his touch. “I’m so sorry. But I promise, we’ll be okay. I’ll be here with you, and we’ll take care of each other.”

He wrapped his arms around them both, pulling them close. Lorna sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, while Pietro simply huddled close to his sister. Slowly, Wanda’s sobs subsided, and the room fell quiet except for the soft sound of Charles’s reassurances.

After a few moments, Lorna looked up at him with tear-streaked cheeks. “Can we still have breakfast?” she asked, her voice small but hopeful.

Charles nodded, his heart still heavy, but grateful that the worst of it seemed to be over. “Of course,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “Let’s finish breakfast.”

As the children dug into their breakfast, their mood seemed to lighten. The food worked its magic, distracting them from the emotional storm that had passed through the kitchen. Charles took a deep breath, silently thanking whatever forces were watching over them. He had handled it—barely.

Once breakfast was finished, Charles set the children up in front of the television. They seemed to enjoy the novelty of watching cartoons in the expansive living room, their small faces lit up with wonder as they took in the strange new world of animated characters.

Meanwhile, Charles busied himself with the practical matters that needed addressing. He called a few stores to place orders for necessary items—clothing, toys, and other supplies—and made a mental note to hire help if needed. His mind, usually so focused on intellectual pursuits, was now consumed with the logistics of raising three small children.

There was no handbook for this. No telepathic shortcut to being a good father. It was just him—and these three kids who had suddenly become his responsibility. And despite the challenges, despite his lack of preparation, Charles was determined to give them a life filled with love, safety, and security.

No matter how difficult the road ahead might be, he would walk it with them. Metaphorically of course. 

Chapter Text

By the time the sun rose the next day, the mansion was a flurry of activity. Boxes and packages began to arrive early in the morning, delivered by a steady stream of trucks pulling up to the sprawling estate. Charles found himself directing the deliveries from his wheelchair, clipboard in hand, while the children trailed closely behind him like a trio of ducklings.

Hank, ever the reliable partner in these matters, appeared with a toolbox in hand, prepared to tackle the assembly of furniture and the rearrangement of rooms. “It’s a good thing you ordered everything at once,” Hank remarked, inspecting the newest shipment of a small wooden bed frame. “Though I’m not sure what they’ll think of some of your choices.”

Charles gave a tired smile, gesturing toward the stack of boxes labelled with children’s bedding. “They’re six and four, Hank. As long as it’s colourful and soft, I’m sure it will suffice.”

The children hovered nearby, their wide eyes darting between Hank and Charles. Lorna clung to Charles’s wheelchair handle, her green hair catching the morning light. Pietro, brimming with energy, examined each box with almost scientific curiosity, occasionally poking at the tape or trying to guess its contents. Wanda stayed close to her twin, her small fingers nervously twisting the hem of her jumper.

“Can we help?” Lorna asked, her voice quiet but eager.

Charles paused, touched by her willingness to assist despite her obvious shyness. “Perhaps you can,” he said gently. “How about you help me decide where everything should go?”

The guest room near Charles’s own had quickly been transformed into a cosy haven for the children. With Hank’s help, a third bed was brought in, and the room was rearranged to fit all three comfortably. Charles carefully oversaw the process, asking the children for their input on where the beds should be placed and how the furniture should be arranged.

“Can my bed be next to Lorna’s?” Wanda asked timidly, glancing at her sister for reassurance.

“Of course, Wanda,” Charles said, his tone warm and encouraging. “You’ll all be close to each other. I promise.”

Once the beds were in place, Charles began unpacking the bedding. Each child had a set tailored to their personality: a soft green duvet for Lorna, patterned with tiny stars; a bold, navy blue set with lightning bolts for Pietro; and a warm lavender quilt with delicate flowers for Wanda. The children helped as best they could, tugging at pillowcases and smoothing down blankets with small hands.

The room began to take shape, brightening with the addition of stuffed animals, storybooks, and toys that Charles had ordered. The children’s excitement grew as they explored their new belongings, their initial hesitation giving way to curiosity and wonder.

As the day wore on, Charles began to notice the subtle ways in which each child’s personality emerged. Lorna was thoughtful and observant. She often lingered by Charles’s side, watching everything he did with a quiet intensity. She was quick to offer help, whether it was holding a box steady for Hank or fetching a stray tool.

Pietro, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of energy. He dashed from one end of the room to the other, examining every new item with unbridled enthusiasm. He had a natural charm that made even Hank chuckle despite his usual seriousness.

“Is this my bed?” Pietro asked for the third time, pointing to his lightning bolt duvet.

“Yes, Pietro,” Charles replied patiently, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Cool!” Pietro declared, leaping onto the mattress and bouncing experimentally.

Wanda was quieter than her twin, but no less curious. She often followed Pietro’s lead, though she seemed more cautious in her explorations. When she found a stuffed bunny among the new toys, she clutched it tightly, her wide eyes scanning the room as if seeking reassurance.

“Do you like it, Wanda?” Charles asked gently.

She nodded, her fingers curling around the bunny’s ears. “It’s soft,” she whispered.

Despite their excitement over their new belongings, the children remained clingy and affectionate toward Charles. They followed him from room to room as he went about his tasks, their small hands reaching out to hold onto his wheelchair or his sleeves.

It was clear to Charles that the children were still grappling with the abrupt separation from their father. They were lost, unsure of their place in this unfamiliar environment. The weight of their emotions was palpable, and Charles could feel their unspoken fears even without using his telepathy.

He did his best to provide comfort in small ways—a reassuring touch, a kind word, or simply allowing them to stay close. When Pietro climbed onto his lap uninvited, Charles didn’t protest. Instead, he adjusted his position to accommodate the boy’s restless movements.

“You’re very brave, all of you,” Charles said softly as the children gathered around him. “I know this is a big change, but I promise you’re safe here. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Lorna nodded solemnly, her green eyes fixed on him. “Okay, Charles,” she said, her voice steady despite the uncertainty in her gaze.

By the end of the day, the children’s room was complete, and the mansion felt a little less daunting to them. Charles sat in the living room with the three of them curled up beside him, their tired faces softened by the glow of the fireplace.

“Tomorrow,” Charles said, his voice warm and gentle, “we’ll start fresh. We’ll make this place feel like home.”

Lorna leaned her head against his arm, her eyes fluttering closed. Pietro yawned and nestled closer to his sister, while Wanda clutched her bunny and looked up at Charles with quiet trust.

For the first time since their arrival, Charles felt a sense of calm. The challenges ahead were daunting, but as he looked at the three small faces around him, he knew he would do whatever it took to give them the stability and love they deserved.

Chapter Text

The mansion was quiet in the late afternoon, a tranquil silence that was punctuated only by the soft hum of the heating system and the occasional shuffle of Hank’s footsteps as he moved about in the kitchen. Charles sat in the library, his thoughts divided between paperwork and trying to anticipate what their next few weeks might look like.

As he pondered, the sharp trill of the phone broke his concentration.

Charles wheeled his chair over to the desk, surprised by the sudden ring. He wasn’t expecting any calls. The children were playing quietly in the other room, their soft voices a comforting hum in the background. With a glance at the clock, he figured it was a bit late for business calls, but nevertheless, he picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" Charles greeted, still a little distracted by his thoughts.

"Charles?" The voice on the other end made his heart skip a beat. It was familiar, yet unexpected.

"Raven?" Charles’s voice betrayed the shock he felt. "I... I didn't expect to hear from you."

There was a small, almost teasing laugh before Raven's voice softened. "You sound surprised," she said. "I thought I’d give you a ring. You’ve been quite the busy man, haven’t you?"

Charles’s fingers tightened slightly on the receiver. The tone was casual, but there was a hint of something underneath—something more serious. He braced himself for what was to come.

"Well," he began, trying to regain his composure, "I’m certainly keeping occupied. It’s been an interesting few days."

Raven paused. "I heard about JFK. About Erik. And the children." Her voice grew more pointed and concerned. "So, tell me, Charles—do you have them?"

Charles’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly in his chair. He couldn’t say he was entirely surprised, but hearing Raven voice the concern made him acutely aware of the responsibility he was now shouldering.

"Yes," he answered simply. "They’re here."

There was a pause, and Charles could almost hear Raven’s thoughts spinning as if she were processing the enormity of the situation. Finally, she spoke again, her voice gentler than before.

"Good. I need to talk to them, Charles. Please. I need to hear their voices."

Charles’s heart ached a little at the request. He understood. Raven had always been close to Erik, and now, after everything, she was worried about the children. Perhaps, in her own way, she also felt responsible.

"Of course," Charles said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Let me pass the phone to them."

He wheeled himself into the living room where the children were spread out on the floor, colouring quietly. Lorna looked up first, her bright green hair catching the light as she smiled at Charles. Pietro perched next to his sister, looked up as well, his silver hair gleaming under the room’s soft glow. Wanda sat curled up with a book, her bunny in her lap, a picture of quiet contemplation.

"Lorna," Charles called softly, "Pietro, Wanda, come here, please. There’s someone on the phone who wants to talk to you."

The three children looked at him curiously, their eyes wide with innocent curiosity. Lorna was the first to get up, her small feet padding across the floor to Charles’s side. Pietro followed, ever the impatient one, while Wanda lingered a moment longer, her fingers tightening around her bunny.

Charles handed Lorna the phone first. The receiver seemed so large in her tiny hands, but she grasped it with determination, holding it up to her ear.

"Hello?" Lorna said shyly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Lorna, my darling,” came Raven’s voice, smooth and warm, “It’s Auntie Mystique."

Lorna blinked at the phone, her face lighting up as recognition hit. "Auntie My...Mystique?" she said, the name still slightly garbled in her small voice.

“That’s right,” Raven’s voice replied, a chuckle barely concealed in her tone. “How are you, my sweet girl?”

Lorna’s face broke into a small smile, her voice growing a little more confident as she spoke into the phone. "I’m okay. I like my new room. I like the bed and the toys. And Charles is nice, too." She paused, thinking for a moment. "Where’s Daddy?"

Raven's breath caught slightly, but she recovered quickly. "Daddy’s... not here right now, sweetie. But I’m sure he loves you very much."

Lorna seemed satisfied with the answer, though her brow furrowed just a little. "I miss him," she said quietly.

“I know, darling. I know,” Raven said, her voice soft and gentle. “But you’re in good hands with Charles, okay?”

Lorna nodded, though it was clear that her mind was still on Erik. With a little hesitation, she handed the phone over to Pietro, her face still slightly downcast.

Pietro took the phone with little fanfare, holding it up to his ear as though it were an ordinary conversation. "Hello?" he said in his usual brash way, his voice more excited than his sister’s.

“Pietro!” Raven greeted, and the boy’s face lit up immediately.

"Auntie Mystique!" he exclaimed, though it still came out as more of a jumble of syllables. He grinned ear-to-ear. “You sound funny! I like your voice. It’s funny!”

Raven laughed lightly. "I’m glad you like it, little one."

“Where’s Daddy?” Pietro asked bluntly, his curiosity clearly piqued.

“Daddy’s not here right now, Pietro,” Raven said, choosing her words carefully. “But Charles is looking after you, right?”

Pietro nodded, his silver hair bouncing as he did. "Charles is nice. I like him. He gave me a bed with lightning bolts."

Raven couldn’t help but smile at that. "I’m glad you like your bed. And I’m glad Charles is taking good care of you."

Pietro handed the phone back to Charles after a moment, his eyes sparkling.

"Can I talk to Auntie Mystique?" Wanda asked timidly, clutching her bunny tighter as she took the phone from Charles’s hand.

“Wanda, darling,” Raven said softly, her voice full of warmth, “How are you?”

Wanda’s voice, though still soft and unsure, came through the receiver clearly enough. "I’m... I’m okay," she said, hesitating. "I have a bunny. His name’s Thumper. He’s soft."

Raven’s heart melted at that. “Thumper’s a wonderful name for a bunny,” she said. “He must be very special to you.”

Wanda nodded quietly. “Will Daddy come back soon?”

“I don’t know, sweetie,” Raven said gently. “But I promise, we’ll all look after you until he does, okay?”

Wanda’s brow furrowed in thought, but she nodded slowly, her fingers still clutching the phone.

After a few moments, she handed the phone back to Charles, who took it with a soft smile.

Raven was silent for a moment before speaking again. “I’m coming to see them,” she said, her voice steady. “I’ll be there soon, Charles. I want to make sure they’re okay.”

Charles’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected her to say that. “Raven, that would... I would appreciate that very much.”

“Good,” Raven replied, her voice still filled with that same steady tone. “I’ll be there tomorrow. I want to see them for myself.”

Charles felt a mixture of relief and elation wash over him. Perhaps this was the first step in healing—both for Raven and the children. Even if she was only coming for them, it was something.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said softly, holding the phone to his ear a little longer than necessary. “We’ll be here.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, the mansion was abuzz with activity. Charles found himself busier than usual, making sure the children were fed, dressed, and relatively presentable before Raven’s arrival. The children were more animated than he’d seen them in days, the promise of seeing their Auntie Mystique filling them with excitement.

“She’ll be here soon,” Charles assured them as Lorna tugged at his sleeve for the third time in ten minutes, her bright green hair bouncing as she peeked out the front window for any sign of their visitor.

“When?” Pietro asked impatiently, practically vibrating with energy as he zipped around the foyer. “She said she’s coming, but where is she?”

Wanda stayed close to Charles’s side, clutching her bunny, Thumper, with both hands. “Auntie Mystique won’t forget,” she said softly as if trying to reassure herself.

Charles gave her a gentle pat on the head. “No, darling, she won’t forget.”

Just as he spoke, the sound of a car pulling up the long driveway reached their ears. Pietro darted to the window, Lorna hot on his heels, both of them shouting, “She’s here!” at the top of their lungs.

The children all but flung the door open before Charles could wheel himself over, and there she was—Raven, stepping out of the car with a confident stride, her golden hair shining in the winter sunlight. She didn’t even have time to make it up the steps before three small figures barreled into her, nearly knocking her off balance.

“Auntie Mystique!” they cried, their voices overlapping in a chorus of joy.

Raven crouched down, her arms wide open, catching all three of them in a tight hug. “Hey, my little munchkins,” she said, her voice warm and teasing. “I missed you guys so much!”

The children clung to her, each vying for her attention. Pietro immediately launched into a rapid-fire explanation of everything that had happened since they’d arrived at the mansion, while Lorna showed off her new shoes, and Wanda simply buried her face against Raven’s shoulder, holding on as tightly as her small arms could manage.

Charles watched the scene from the doorway, a mixture of emotions swirling in his chest. Seeing Raven again after all this time was... strange. Bittersweet. She looked almost the same as she had the last time he’d seen her, but there was a hardness in her expression now, a sharpness that hadn’t been there before.

Hank appeared behind Charles, his own expression caught somewhere between surprise and unease. “Well,” he murmured, “this is... unexpected.”

Charles nodded but said nothing.

Once Raven had disentangled herself from the children—though they still hovered around her like little satellites—she straightened and looked up at Charles and Hank. Her expression shifted slightly, growing more guarded.

“Charles,” she said simply, her voice devoid of the warmth she’d shown the children.

“Raven,” Charles replied, keeping his tone neutral. “It’s good to see you.”

Raven’s gaze flicked to Hank, a hint of something softer crossing her face. “Hank,” she said, her voice a little less formal.

Hank nodded awkwardly. “It’s, uh... been a while.”

“Yeah,” Raven said, her lips quirking into a small, almost wistful smile. But the moment passed quickly, and she turned her attention back to Charles, her expression sharpening once more.

“So,” she said, crossing her arms, “you’re taking care of the kids.”

Charles raised an eyebrow at her tone but nodded. “Yes, I am. They’re... quite the handful, but I’m managing.”

Raven gave him a look that said she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Managing, huh? We’ll see about that.”

She spent the next hour grilling Charles about the children’s routines, their meals, their sleeping arrangements—everything. She asked what they’d been eating, how often they’d been bathed and whether they had enough clothes and toys. Charles answered each question patiently, though he couldn’t help but feel like he was being put on trial.

The children, meanwhile, were delighted to have Raven there. They followed her around like ducklings, laughing and chattering away as she playfully teased them and indulged their antics.

“They’re happier with you here,” Charles admitted quietly when Raven finally sat down for a moment, the children occupied with a new game nearby.

Raven glanced at him, her expression softening slightly. “They’ve been through a lot,” she said simply. “They need someone familiar.”

Charles nodded, a pang of guilt stabbing through him. He knew she was right.

As the afternoon wore on, Raven shared everything she could think of about the children—Lorna’s love of drawing, Pietro’s endless energy, Wanda’s quiet but fierce determination. She told Charles about their favourite foods, their bedtime routines and even the little quirks that made them who they were.

Eventually, though, the time came for her to leave. The children protested, clinging to her and begging her to stay, but Raven knelt down and hugged each of them tightly.

“I’ll be back,” she promised, her voice firm but gentle. “I just have to go check on your daddy, okay? But I’ll come back, I promise.”

The promise seemed to soothe them, though their eyes were still wet with tears as they reluctantly let go. Raven gently placed each of them into Charles’s lap, one by one, kissing their foreheads before she stood.

“You’d better take good care of them, Charles,” she said, her voice low and serious.

Charles met her gaze, his expression equally serious. “I will,” he said simply.

Raven nodded, her eyes lingering on the children for a moment longer before she turned and walked out the door.

As the car disappeared down the driveway, Charles looked down at the three small faces peering up at him.

“She’ll come back,” he told them softly, his voice filled with quiet assurance. “She always does.”

Chapter Text

Life at the mansion had settled into a rhythm, but it was far from smooth sailing. The children had started to adjust to their new surroundings, their days filled with exploration, games, and the occasional art project Lorna adored. Charles found moments of pride in how resilient they seemed—Pietro’s boundless energy could brighten even the dreariest days, Wanda’s quiet curiosity revealed a sharp mind, and Lorna’s imaginative stories during their drawing sessions were enchanting. Raven’s frequent visits also helped immensely. 

But nights were another story entirely.

The bedtime routine had become almost ritualistic: Charles would read to them from a book he thought they’d enjoy, tucking each one into bed with soft reassurances that everything would be fine. However, no matter how peaceful things seemed, the moment the lights dimmed, the ache of missing Erik would surface.

It always started with one.

That night, it was Wanda who sniffled first, her small voice breaking through the quiet. “I miss Daddy.”

Charles sighed, his heart twisting painfully. He moved to her side, brushing her hair back from her face as her tears began to fall.

“Me too,” Lorna murmured from her bed, her voice wobbling as she curled up under her blanket.

Pietro tried to be strong, but his resolve crumbled quickly as he watched his sisters cry. He buried his face in his pillow, his shoulders shaking.

Soon, Charles found himself cradling all three of them, their tears soaking into his shirt as he murmured soft words of comfort. “It’s okay, my loves. You’re safe here. I know it’s hard, but your daddy loves you so much. He’d be so proud of you.”

The crying ebbed eventually, though not without leaving Charles feeling utterly drained. Once the children were tucked back into their beds, their sniffles fading into soft breaths of sleep, Charles sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. The weight of their sadness was almost too much to bear.

Later, as the mansion settled into stillness, Charles rolled into Hank’s lab, where the scientist was tinkering with a new device.

“Hank,” Charles began, his voice quiet.

Hank looked up from his work, his expression concerned. “What’s wrong, Charles? Are the kids okay?”

“They’re... managing,” Charles said, though his tone betrayed his weariness. “But every night... they cry for Erik. I can’t bear to see them so heartbroken. I just... I don’t know what to do.”

Hank leaned back in his chair, his brows furrowing. “Well, why don’t you take them to see him?”

Charles blinked at him, stunned. “What?”

Hank shrugged as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. “You have the ability to get into the Pentagon unnoticed. With your mutation, you could pull it off. Let them see their father.”

Charles stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. “Hank, are you suggesting I break into one of the most secure prisons in the world just so the children can visit Erik?”

Hank tilted his head, giving Charles a pointed look. “Can you think of a better way to help them?”

“I can think of several reasons why that’s a terrible idea!” Charles retorted, his voice rising slightly. “Not least of which is the fact that Erik and I... we’re not exactly on speaking terms.”

Hank raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t about you and Erik, Charles. It’s about the kids. They’re struggling, and you’re the only one who can do something about it.”

Charles fell silent, Hank’s words settling heavily in his chest.

“Look,” Hank continued gently, “I know it’s not an easy decision. But think about how much it would mean to them. Just one visit might make all the difference.”

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The thought of seeing Erik again—of facing the man who had left him paralyzed on a beach and stolen his sister away—made his stomach churn. But when he thought of the children’s tear-streaked faces, the way they called out for their father in the dark...

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, his voice heavy with reluctance.

Hank nodded, placing a reassuring hand on Charles’s shoulder. “That’s all I’m saying. Just think about it.”

As Charles wheeled back to his room that night, the idea weighed on him like a stone. He didn’t want to see Erik—not now, not ever, if he could help it. But for the sake of those three small, heartbroken children sleeping just down the hall...

Perhaps he didn’t have a choice.

Chapter Text

Charles woke to the sound of soft giggles outside his door, the familiar sound of small feet shuffling across the hallway. The children were always up early, their endless energy a stark contrast to his more measured mornings. As he dressed and prepared himself for the day, the decision he’d wrestled with all night solidified in his mind.

After breakfast, with the children gathered around him in the sitting room, Charles took a deep breath.

“I have something to tell you,” he began, his voice steady but gentle.

The children immediately perked up, sensing something important. Lorna crawled up onto the armrest of his wheelchair, her green hair falling into her eyes as she looked at him expectantly. Pietro and Wanda flanked him, both clutching their ever-present stuffed toys.

Charles smiled softly, reaching out to brush Lorna’s hair back. “How would you like to see your daddy?”

For a moment, there was stunned silence, their little faces frozen in disbelief. Then—

“Really?!” Pietro practically shouted, his blue eyes wide with excitement.

“Daddy!” Wanda exclaimed, her voice tinged with joy as she bounced on her toes.

Lorna’s mouth fell open, and then she threw her arms around Charles’s neck, squeezing him tightly. “We’re gonna see Daddy!” she squealed.

The other two weren’t far behind, swarming him with hugs and excited chatter. Pietro climbed onto one side of his lap while Wanda clambered up on the other, their small hands patting his arms as they babbled in delight.

Charles laughed, the warmth of their joy melting away the lingering doubts he’d had about his decision. “Alright, alright,” he said, his voice full of affection. “Yes, we’re going to see him. But,” he added, gently prying Wanda’s tiny hands from his shirt, “there are some rules you need to follow.”

The children stilled, their wide eyes fixed on him.

“First,” Charles began, “you won’t be able to touch him. There will be glass between us and your daddy. You’ll be able to talk to him, but that’s all.”

They exchanged glances, their little faces serious for a moment before Lorna nodded resolutely. “That’s okay,” she said.

“Yeah,” Pietro chimed in, his usual impatience tempered by his eagerness. “We just wanna see him!”

Wanda nodded, clutching her bunny tighter. “Just wanna see Daddy,” she repeated softly.

Charles’s heart swelled with pride and affection for them. “Alright, then. Let’s get you ready.”

The next hour was a whirlwind of activity as Charles dressed the children in their best outfits. Wanda insisted on wearing her favourite red sweater, and Lorna demanded matching green ribbons for her pigtails. Pietro, of course, wanted something “cool,” and Charles had to gently steer him away from his idea of wearing sunglasses indoors.

Meanwhile, Hank readied the car, occasionally peeking into the sitting room to shake his head fondly at the chaos.

By the time they were all buckled into the car, the children were practically vibrating with excitement. Pietro couldn’t sit still, bouncing up and down in his seat as he peppered Charles with questions about the trip.

“How far is it? How long will we get to talk to him? What will he say? Will he be happy to see us?”

Charles answered as best as he could, though some questions he left unanswered, unsure himself of how the visit would go.

Wanda stared out the window, her small hand clutching her bunny as she hummed softly to herself. Every so often, she would glance at Charles, her eyes shining with anticipation.

Lorna, seated between her siblings, kept swinging her legs, her feet tapping against the seat. “Do you think Daddy misses us?” she asked suddenly, her voice small but hopeful.

Charles glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his voice warm as he replied, “Of course he does, darling. He loves you very much.”

Her face lit up, and she turned to share her joy with her siblings.

The car ride was filled with their chatter, the sound of their laughter echoing in the enclosed space. It was the loudest Charles had ever heard them, and though the noise was nearly deafening, he found himself smiling through it all.

“They’re happy,” Hank remarked quietly from the driver’s seat, casting a glance at Charles.

Charles nodded, his gaze soft as he watched the children. “They are,” he agreed. “It’s... wonderful.”

By the time they reached their destination, Charles’s heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. Despite his own apprehensions about seeing Erik again, the sight of the children’s joy made it all worthwhile.

As Hank helped unbuckle the wriggling children from their seats, Charles took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. Whatever happened next, he would face it—for their sake.

Chapter Text

The air outside the Pentagon was crisp, the concrete expanse of the building looming in front of Charles as he wheeled the children closer to the entrance. His heart beat a little faster in his chest—no matter how often he had used his telepathy, this felt different. This wasn’t a mission or a covert operation; this was a visit to someone he never thought he’d see again. But it wasn’t just for him—it was for the children.

Charles looked down at them, their eager faces full of excitement, and felt a surge of protectiveness. They had been so excited when he told them they were going to see Erik as if all their hopes had been rekindled at once. The bond they shared with their father was undeniable, and though Charles had his reservations about the situation, he could only hope that this small moment would bring them some peace.

“Alright, my little adventurers,” Charles began, his voice warm but firm, “we need to be very quiet when we go inside. Can you do that for me?”

Without missing a beat, the three of them froze, their wide eyes staring at him with full attention. Then, in perfect unison, they each placed a tiny index finger to their lips, signalling their understanding. The sight was so adorable that Charles had to hold back a chuckle.

They were so serious about it.

Charles smiled to himself and nodded. “That’s a good job, little ones. Now, let’s go.”

As they entered the building, the children followed closely behind, their steps light and swift as they kept their fingers pressed against their lips. Their tiny faces were so intent on following the rules that they barely seemed to notice the massive scale of the Pentagon’s interior.

Charles manoeuvred his wheelchair carefully through the corridors, mentally adjusting for the obstacles, all the while keeping the children close. He could feel their wide-eyed curiosity radiating from them as if everything in this place was new and exciting. They were used to the mansion, but this was something else entirely.

“Wow,” Pietro whispered, tugging at the sleeve of Charles’s jacket. “This place is big, Charles. Like... really big.”

“I know, Pietro,” Charles replied softly, his tone amused. “But remember, we have to be very quiet.”

Lorna, walking ahead of them, stopped to glance back at him. Her green hair shimmered faintly under the harsh lights, and she tilted her head. “Like superheroes?” she asked, her voice full of innocent wonder.

Charles chuckled softly, his lips curving in a smile. “Exactly like superheroes.”

The children nodded enthusiastically, their attention already shifting elsewhere as they walked.

They made their way deeper into the building, Charles ensuring that they stayed as unobtrusive as possible. Once they reached a more secure hallway, he gave a subtle thought, and the guards standing nearby froze mid-step, as if time itself had halted for them. The children gasped softly in awe, their wide eyes glued to the now-still figures.

“Wow, Charles,” Wanda murmured, her voice filled with a kind of admiration. “You’re so cool.”

Charles gave her a quiet smile. “It’s nothing, sweetheart,” he said, his tone playful. “Just a little trick I can do.”

The children were utterly fascinated by the demonstration. Pietro in particular bounced on his toes, clearly eager to see what else Charles could do. “Show us more!” he demanded in an excited whisper.

“Shh,” Charles warned with a smile. “We don’t want to get caught. You have to be quiet, remember?”

Pietro immediately pressed his finger to his lips, his face scrunching in concentration as if he were channelling all his energy into staying as still as the frozen guards. It was so endearing that Charles couldn’t help but chuckle quietly, the lightness of the moment helping to calm his nerves.

Eventually, they arrived at the elevator, and Charles took a deep breath. The reality of what he was about to do settled in. Seeing Erik—speaking to him—was something he’d managed to avoid for so long. The last time they’d met had been... brutal. Charles felt a deep pang of uncertainty. But then, he looked at the children, their faces full of excitement and hope. They didn’t know the history between him and Erik. To them, this was just another step toward being reunited with their father. And that was what mattered.

The elevator doors opened, and the children rushed inside, chattering and bouncing with uncontainable energy.

“I can’t wait to see Daddy!” Lorna declared, her voice barely contained as she hopped up and down.

Pietro leaned over to Charles, his face alight with curiosity. “Will he be happy to see us, Charles?”

“I’m sure he will,” Charles replied softly, reaching out to gently ruffle his hair. “He’s your daddy. Of course he’ll be happy.”

In the confined space of the elevator, the children were nearly impossible to contain. Their excitement was palpable, and Charles found himself indulging in it, smiling as they twirled around him in circles, their little hands reaching for him, tugging at his sleeves, desperate for his attention.

Wanda leaned into his side, curling her small fingers around his arm. “Charles?” she asked, her voice soft and hesitant.

“Yes, darling?”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

Charles hesitated, his heart clenching as he looked down at her sweet, innocent face. It was a moment of pure vulnerability, one that he hadn’t expected. But he smiled, brushing his thumb over her tiny hand. “I’ll be okay, sweetheart. Don’t worry about me. I’m here for you.”

Wanda smiled up at him, clearly reassured, and clung to his side a little tighter.

“You’re nice, Charles,” she whispered, leaning into him further.

Charles’s chest tightened. He was so lost in the warmth of her embrace that he almost didn’t notice the elevator descending. The soft hum of the machinery and the small, innocent voices around him were a welcome distraction from the knot of anxiety twisting in his stomach.

As they continued their descent, the children continued their playful energy, bouncing around Charles, clearly thrilled. They didn’t seem to notice the weight of the situation at all. And perhaps that was for the best—this moment, for all its tension, was theirs, and theirs alone.

And Charles would hold on to that.

Chapter Text

The elevator came to a smooth stop with a faint ‘ding,’ the doors opening to reveal a sterile, almost hauntingly quiet hallway. Charles glanced down at the children, who were buzzing with excitement and curiosity. Though his own heart was heavy, he kept his face calm, masking his unease. They didn’t need to know how conflicted he was. Not now, not while this moment could still hold something beautiful for them.

“Alright, little ones,” Charles murmured as he steered his wheelchair forward. “We’re almost there. Just a little further.”

The children eagerly flanked him, their footsteps light and quick, the sound of their tiny shoes echoing in the cold corridor. The walls seemed to press in on them, the space feeling more confined with each turn. But the children didn’t seem to mind. They were too focused on the promise of what awaited them, too enthralled by the idea of seeing their father.

As they rounded the corner and came into view of the reinforced glass floor, Charles felt a knot in his stomach tighten. Erik’s cell was below, surrounded by solid walls and guarded by layers of security, but the glass that separated them made it feel more like a display—a separation that felt like a gaping wound, one that Charles didn’t know how to heal.

But it was the children who broke the silence, their innocence shattering the weight of the moment.

“Daddy!” Lorna cried out, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and desperation. She was the first to kneel down, her hands pressing eagerly against the glass.

Pietro and Wanda followed suit, clamouring to get closer, their small bodies pushing against the floor, their hands sliding against the cold surface as they threw themselves onto the glass, faces alight with hope.

“Daddy, it’s us!” Pietro exclaimed, his voice full of wonder and a desperate kind of joy.

Wanda, too, was calling out, her voice high-pitched with excitement, “Daddy, we’re here! We missed you!”

The sound of their collective voices rang through the empty space, the clattering of their small hands against the glass echoing in the room. The noise, their noise, carried down into the depths of the cell.

Below, Erik’s eyes—tired, hollow, and heavy with the weight of his captivity—shifted, his gaze initially dull as he sat on the edge of his cot, staring into the gloom of his small cell. But then, he heard it. The unmistakable sound of his children's voices.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Daddy, we miss you!” Lorna’s voice rang out once more, her small hands pressed against the glass, her face a picture of longing.

Erik blinked rapidly, his chest constricting as he strained to make sense of the situation. For a moment, he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. But then he saw them, through the clear glass, those faces—his children—climbing over each other, their eyes wide and full of joy, as if they hadn’t seen him in a lifetime.

Tears welled in his eyes almost immediately, and he couldn’t stop the sob that wracked his chest. He stood abruptly, his legs trembling as he gripped the edge of the cot to steady himself, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

“They’re here,” he gasped under his breath, his voice hoarse. “They’re really here.”

His mind spun, not knowing what to do. His babies—his precious, beautiful children—had come to see him. It was everything he had dreamed of, even in this cold, unfeeling place. He reached up to the glass above him, his hands shaking as he grasped the surface, his fingers pressed flat against the transparent barrier. His face was a mirror of disbelief and longing, his heart breaking in his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” Erik sobbed, his voice cracking as he pressed his face closer to the glass. “I’m so sorry, my loves. I—I never meant for you to be like this. I never wanted to hurt you.”

His words were rushed, desperate, as if he could make up for everything in that one, fragile moment. “I’ll get out, I swear I will. I’ll be there for you. Just hang on, please... just hang on.”

Lorna’s small voice cracked through the air, a pleading sob slipping from her lips. “Daddy, we’re okay! We just want to see you. Please come home.”

Erik’s throat tightened as he looked at them, his heart swelling with both love and guilt. His babies, so small, so full of life, had been robbed of the one thing every child deserved: their father.

“I love you,” Erik whispered, his words raw and broken. “I love you so much. I’ll never leave you again. I’ll fix this... I promise, I’ll fix everything.”

He pressed his palm flat against the glass, his fingers spread wide in a futile attempt to reach them. But the barrier between them was insurmountable.

The children continued to call out to him, their voices soft but full of hope, the simple words like a balm to his soul. And for a moment, nothing else in the world mattered.

“I’m here, Daddy,” Wanda said, her voice trembling but strong. “We’re here with you. We’re not leaving. We love you.”

Pietro echoed her words, his voice steady despite the tears that streaked his cheeks. “We love you, Daddy.”

Charles, sitting off to the side, felt the weight of the moment settle heavily on him. Seeing Erik like this—broken, desperate, and reaching out for his children—was something he never expected. Part of him was still angry, still hurt by everything that had happened between them, but at that moment, all he could feel was the profound ache of a father who had been separated from his children.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight. This was Erik’s reality now, and there was no easy fix. But in this moment, at least, he was still their father. And the children—his children—had brought light back into this dark place, filling it with their hope.

Erik stood there for what felt like an eternity, his heart pounding in his chest, his hands pressed against the glass as though trying to bridge the insurmountable distance between him and his children. The sounds of their voices, filled with warmth and love, echoed in his ears, grounding him in a reality that felt more like a dream. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t how he imagined he’d be reunited with them—not behind bars, not in a place where they couldn’t even touch him.

His tears fell freely, blurring his vision, but he quickly wiped them away with a rough hand, trying to regain some semblance of control. The children continued to speak to him, their faces pressed against the glass, smiling at him, their words tumbling over each other in an eager, affectionate blur. He tried to focus and steady his breathing, but the pain of not being able to hold them was overwhelming.

When he turned to Charles, he did so with a mixture of gratitude and deep, raw emotion. The man who had once been his lover, his closest ally, now stood at the edge of the glass, watching the reunion unfold in silence. Their eyes met, and for a moment, Erik could see the wariness in Charles's gaze. But then, something shifted—something softened. The lingering anger and hurt that had been festering between them seemed to ebb away, just for this moment.

"Thank you," Erik whispered, his voice trembling. He spoke the words slowly, almost reverently. “Thank you for bringing them to me. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this."

Charles, despite the distance between them, felt the sincerity of Erik’s words. The weight of the past, the betrayals, the decisions that had broken them, seemed to hover in the air, but Erik’s pain, his vulnerability, was undeniable. The tears in his eyes spoke volumes of the father he was and the love he had for his children.

“You don’t have to repay me,” Charles replied quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “But I can’t let them grow up without you. They deserve more than that.”

Erik’s shoulders shook with a sigh of relief, his expression one of sheer gratitude. But then his voice dropped into a softer tone, full of pain, full of honesty. “I didn’t kill the president, Charles.”

Charles flinched slightly, but Erik continued, his eyes never leaving the glass where the children still knelt, their faces filled with love and innocence.

“I tried to save him. I tried to protect him. He was one of us—a mutant,” Erik explained, his voice growing more intense with each word. “But I was too late. And now, here I am… stuck in this cage while my children are out there, living without their father. I didn’t want this.”

For a long moment, Charles said nothing. His mind was swirling with the weight of what Erik had just said. The truth of it settled in like a stone sinking in his gut. As much as he hated to admit it, as much as he wanted to believe that Erik had been behind JFK’s assassination, he knew—he felt —that Erik was telling the truth. His telepathy didn’t lie.

"I believe you," Charles said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can tell you’re telling the truth.”

Erik’s eyes flashed with a mixture of relief and something deeper—gratitude, yes, but also the faintest glimmer of hope.

Turning his attention back to the children, Erik’s face softened. “My little ones,” he murmured. “I wish I could be with you. I wish I could hold you. I wish I could be the father you deserve.”

The children stopped suddenly, their eyes widening as they saw the tears in Erik’s eyes. They could feel it—something in the air had shifted. Their expressions changed from joy to confusion, to concern, as they realized something wasn’t right.

“We miss you, Daddy,” Wanda said quietly, her voice barely audible but full of emotion. “When are you coming home?”

Pietro and Lorna nodded in agreement, their faces full of longing.

Erik’s heart broke again at the sight of his children, and he fought to steady his voice. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold it together.

“I miss you too,” he said, his voice thick. “But you have to be strong, alright? For me. Daddy will be home one day. I promise you.”

But as the minutes ticked on, Charles could see the sadness settling into the children’s faces, their joy quickly turning to sorrow as the realization that their time with Erik was coming to an end began to sink in.

“Daddy,” Lorna sniffled, her small hands pressed desperately against the glass, her voice trembling. “Please don’t go.”

Pietro and Wanda echoed her, their faces crumpling as the reality of the situation finally hit them. The tears began to fall, slow at first, then faster as they all started crying at once.

Charles’s heart clenched at the sight. He’d seen the children upset before, but this—this was something else. They had already been through so much. To see them torn apart once more, to watch them weep for their father, was unbearable.

For a moment, the world felt impossibly heavy. Charles sat frozen, unsure of what to do, his mind whirling. He couldn’t leave the children like this. They needed their father. He had promised them he would do his best, and now—now he couldn’t bear to see them like this.

In a moment of desperation, he glanced back at Erik, who was now looking at him with wide eyes, his own tears mixing with those of his children.

“I… I can’t leave them like this,” Charles whispered, the weight of his decision crashing down on him.

Erik’s expression shifted from sorrow to hope, and he stepped forward, pressing his hand against the glass. “You’ll bring them back? Please, Charles, they need me. I need them.”

Charles hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded. “I’ll bring them back, Erik. But you have to promise me, you’ll stay safe. You’ll take care of yourself.”

Erik’s face lit up with a look of pure relief, his tears still streaming but now mixing with a sense of joy. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The children, hearing the promise, seemed to brighten just a little, their tears slowing as Erik spoke to them, urging them to behave and be good for Charles.

“Be good for Charles, my loves,” Erik said softly, his voice full of both affection and finality. “Listen to him. He’s a good man. He’ll take care of you until I can.”

Lorna, her tear-streaked face still pressed against the glass, nodded solemnly. “We’ll be good, Daddy. We promise.”

Pietro and Wanda echoed her promise, their small hands wiping away the remnants of their tears.

Charles took a deep breath, steeling himself for the difficult task ahead. He would take them home. He would take care of them. And maybe—just maybe—there would be a way for Erik to be part of their lives again. But that was a thought for another time.

For now, he had three children who needed him more than ever, and he wouldn’t let them down.

“Goodbye for now,” Charles said, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “We’ll be back soon, I promise.”

The children waved goodbye to their father, their faces brightening slightly despite the lingering sadness.

And as Charles turned to leave, he felt the weight of Erik’s gratitude and the weight of his own promise pressing down on him. This wasn’t over. Not yet.

Chapter Text

Charles kept his word. Despite the long hours of driving, the logistical challenges, and the emotional toll it took on him, he made it a point to bring the children back to see Erik. He couldn’t ignore the visible impact it had on their well-being. With every visit, their smiles grew wider, their laughter more frequent, and the heaviness in their tiny hearts seemed to lift just a little more.

The trips became a ritual. Charles would wake the children early, bundling them into the car, their excitement palpable even through their grogginess. Their chatter filled the vehicle as they eagerly discussed what they would tell their father. Lorna’s green hair would bounce as she squirmed in her seat, Wanda’s giggles filled the air, and Pietro, true to his energetic nature, would ask every five minutes, “Are we there yet?”

Raven joined them on occasion, her presence a source of joy for the children and quiet tension for Charles. Their reunions were still tinged with the pain of old wounds, but the shared purpose of caring for Erik’s children created a tenuous but growing bridge between them. Raven, ever the protective aunt, often grilled Charles about the children’s routines, ensuring they were eating properly, staying active, and being emotionally cared for.

“You’re doing better than I expected,” she admitted one day, sitting in the passenger seat beside him. Her tone was teasing, but the sincerity in her eyes made Charles pause.

“High praise coming from you,” Charles replied dryly, though his lips quirked into a small smile.

When they reached the Pentagon, the children would practically explode with excitement, bouncing out of the car and clinging to Charles’s wheelchair as they made their way through the labyrinthine halls. Charles would freeze the guards and staff as usual, a display that never failed to awe the children.

“You’re so cool, Charles,” Wanda whispered once, her small hand resting on his arm.

The admiration in her voice warmed Charles’s heart. “Thank you, darling,” he replied softly, squeezing her hand.

Each visit to Erik’s cell was met with the same emotional intensity. The children would rush to press themselves against the glass, their voices a chorus of “Daddy!” that echoed through the cold, sterile space. Erik would light up at the sight of them, his expression transforming from the hard lines of a prisoner to the soft warmth of a father.

“Hello, my loves,” he would say, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you so much.”

The children would babble excitedly, taking turns recounting their adventures. Pietro would talk about how fast he could run now, Wanda would proudly show off her latest drawings, and Lorna would chatter about the flowers she was growing in the mansion’s garden.

Erik absorbed every word like a man starving, his love for them shining through the glass. Despite the barrier between them, he managed to make every interaction deeply personal, every word filled with encouragement and affection.

“You’re doing so well,” he would say, his voice full of pride. “I’m so proud of you, all of you.”

Watching Erik with the children stirred something deep in Charles. He saw the way Erik’s eyes softened, the way he listened intently, the way he reassured them with a steadiness that spoke to the depth of his love. It was impossible to ignore how good a father Erik was and how much he cared.

It was during these visits that Charles and Erik began to slip back into their old patterns. The shared love for the children seemed to ease the tension between them, allowing for moments of quiet conversation and mutual understanding.

“You’ve done well with them,” Erik said one day, his tone genuinely appreciative.

Charles hesitated, then nodded. “They’re remarkable children. They make it easy.”

Erik’s gaze lingered on Charles, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper shining in his eyes. “Thank you, Charles. For bringing them here. For everything you’ve done for them.”

Charles looked away, uncomfortable with the intensity of Erik’s gratitude. “They deserve to have their father in their lives,” he said simply.

Despite his reluctance to fully engage with Erik, Charles couldn’t deny the feelings that began to resurface. Seeing Erik in this vulnerable, loving state reminded him of the man he had once loved—the man he still cared for, despite everything.

For Erik, each visit deepened his appreciation and love for Charles. Watching Charles care for their children, seeing the effort he put into keeping their family connected, made Erik’s feelings grow stronger. The glass between them was a constant reminder of the distance, but the bond they shared was undeniable.

When it came time to leave, the children would cry, as they always did, but the tears were less frantic now. Erik had a way of soothing them, even from behind the glass, promising them that they would see him again soon.

“Be good for Charles,” he would say, his voice firm but gentle. “And remember, I love you. Always.”

The drive back to the mansion was often quieter, the children sleepy but content. Charles would glance at them in the rearview mirror, their small faces peaceful in the aftermath of their emotional reunions.

Despite the exhaustion these trips brought, Charles knew they were worth it. He could see the difference they made in the children’s emotional states. They laughed more, played more, and began to settle into their new life with him.

And though Charles wouldn’t admit it, these trips also brought him a sense of peace. They reminded him of what truly mattered—the bonds of family, the power of love, and the possibility of healing, even in the most unlikely circumstances.

Chapter Text

It began subtly. Pietro was always energetic—darting around the mansion, bounding up and down stairs, and constantly challenging his siblings to races he always won. But one morning, as Charles watched him zip through the hallways with an uncharacteristic blur of motion, he realized something was different. Pietro wasn’t just fast. He was inhumanly fast.

“Pietro, come here, darling,” Charles called, his tone calm but his heart racing.

The boy skidded to a halt in front of him, panting but grinning ear to ear. His silver hair was mussed, his cheeks flushed with excitement. “Did you see me, Charles? Did you see how fast I was?!”

Charles smiled gently, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on Pietro’s shoulder. “I did, my boy. You were remarkable.”

Pietro’s face lit up with pride. “I’m the fastest! No one can catch me, not even Lorna or Wanda!”

At the mention of her name, Lorna stormed into the room, her arms crossed and a scowl plastered across her face. “It’s not fair,” she declared, her green hair shimmering as she stomped her foot. “I’m the oldest. I should have a mutation first!”

Charles stifled a chuckle, sensing the beginnings of a sibling rivalry. “Mutations don’t always follow the rules we expect, Lorna,” he said gently. “Yours will come in its own time, and it will be just as special as Pietro’s.”

Lorna pouted, clearly unimpressed by his logic. Wanda, meanwhile, sat on the floor nearby, playing with her dolls and looking utterly unconcerned.

“I don’t care about mutations,” Wanda said with a shrug, her small voice steady. “I just want to play.”

Charles admired her calm indifference, but he knew this development was significant. Pietro’s mutation was a clear sign that the children were growing into their powers, and he suspected it wouldn’t be long before the others followed suit.

The next morning, Charles decided to take the children to visit Erik. They were ecstatic as always, but Pietro was especially eager. “I can’t wait to show Daddy how fast I am!” he exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement in the back seat.

Lorna, however, sat with her arms crossed, her frustration still evident. Wanda seemed unbothered, happily humming a tune as the car sped toward the Pentagon.

As they descended in the elevator, Pietro bounced on his toes, unable to contain his energy. “Do you think Daddy will be proud of me?” he asked, looking up at Charles with wide, hopeful eyes.

Charles smiled softly, reaching out to ruffle Pietro’s hair. “Of course, he will. He’s always proud of you.”

When they reached Erik’s cell, the children rushed to the glass floor as usual, pressing their faces and hands against it. Erik looked up, his face lighting up with joy as he saw his babies.

“Hello, my loves,” he said, his voice warm and filled with affection. “What brings you here today?”

Pietro couldn’t hold back. “Daddy, guess what! I have a mutation now!”

Erik froze for a moment, his expression shifting to one of astonishment. “You do?” he asked, stepping closer to the glass. “Tell me, Pietro. What is it?”

“I can run really, really fast!” Pietro declared, his excitement bubbling over. “Wanna see?”

Before anyone could respond, Pietro took off in a blur, zipping around the edges of the glass enclosure and returning to his spot in mere seconds. Erik’s jaw dropped.

“Incredible,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “Absolutely incredible.”

His gaze softened as he looked at Pietro, pride and love shining in his eyes. “You’re amazing, Pietro. I always knew you would be.”

Pietro beamed, soaking in his father’s praise. Lorna, however, let out an exaggerated huff, drawing Erik’s attention.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Erik asked, his tone gentle.

“It’s not fair,” Lorna muttered, her green eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I wanted to be first.”

Erik’s expression softened further. “Oh, my darling Lorna,” he said, standing on his cot so he could get closer to her. “Your mutation will come in time, and when it does, it will be just as extraordinary as you are. Trust me, you’ll be amazing.”

Lorna sniffled, her pout softening slightly. “You promise?”

“I promise,” Erik said firmly.

Charles watched the interaction quietly, his heart aching at how well Erik understood his children. Despite the distance and the barriers, he was a natural father, his love for them evident in every word and gesture.

Erik turned his attention back to Pietro, his pride unmistakable. “Charles,” he said, his voice tinged with gratitude, “thank you for bringing them here. I wish I could help him learn to control his powers, but I know you’ll take good care of him.”

Charles hesitated, surprised by Erik’s unwavering trust. “Of course,” he said finally. “I’ll do my best.”

Erik nodded, his expression softening as he looked back at his children. “You’re all growing up so fast,” he murmured. “But no matter how much you change, you’ll always be my babies.”

The visit ended as it always did—with tears and reluctant goodbyes. Erik encouraged the children to behave for Charles, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes.

As they drove back to the mansion, Pietro chattered nonstop about his mutation, Lorna sulked quietly, and Wanda remained blissfully indifferent. Charles, meanwhile, couldn’t stop thinking about Erik’s reaction.

Despite the chaos and complexity of their situation, one thing was clear: Erik’s love for his children was boundless, and Charles was beginning to realize just how much that love had changed him too.

Chapter Text

It was a sunny afternoon at the mansion, and the children were playing in the garden under Charles’s watchful eye. Pietro was running laps around the yard, a silver blur that left little gusts of wind in his wake. Lorna sat on the grass, arms crossed, her emerald hair shimmering in the sunlight as she scowled at her brother’s antics. Wanda, as usual, was content to sit a little apart, humming to herself and arranging flowers in a doll’s hair.

“Bet you can’t catch me, Lorna!” Pietro taunted, stopping just long enough to stick his tongue out at her before taking off again.

Lorna’s scowl deepened, her small fists clenching at her sides. “Stop showing off!” she shouted, her voice rising with frustration.

But Pietro, ever the mischievous sibling, continued his playful provocation, zigzagging around her and kicking up bits of grass as he went.

“Pietro Maximoff!” she yelled, standing up abruptly. “If you don’t stop—”

Before she could finish her sentence, her anger boiled over, and a strange, electric sensation surged through her. Without warning, the small metal toy car Wanda had abandoned nearby shot through the air with incredible speed, hurtling straight toward Pietro’s head.

“Watch out!” Charles called from his place on the veranda, his voice laced with alarm.

Pietro, quick as ever, dodged the flying car just in time, letting out a surprised yelp as it whizzed past him and embedded itself in a tree trunk.

Lorna stood frozen for a moment, her wide green eyes fixed on the car. Then, as realization dawned, a delighted grin spread across her face. “I did that!” she exclaimed, jumping up and down. “I have a mutation! I’m just like Daddy!”

Charles rolled forward in his wheelchair, his heart racing from the near-miss but softening at Lorna’s elation. “That was… very impressive, Lorna,” he said, doing his best to sound calm. “But perhaps next time, aim somewhere a little safer?”

“Who cares?” Lorna said, her voice bubbling with excitement as she spun around to face her siblings. “I have a mutation! I’m like Daddy!”

Pietro, now standing a safe distance away, looked more irritated than impressed. “Took you long enough,” he muttered, though he couldn’t hide the small, grudging smile tugging at his lips.

Wanda, meanwhile, looked up from her flowers, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. “Lorna’s like Daddy?” she asked softly, tilting her head.

“Yes!” Lorna declared, puffing out her chest with pride. “I have magnetism, just like him!”

Wanda’s small brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t want a mutation,” she said quietly, turning back to her dolls. “I like being me.”

Charles watched the exchange thoughtfully, marvelling at how different the children were despite their shared bond. Each was navigating the complexities of their heritage in their own way, and he knew there were more challenges ahead.

The next time they visited Erik, Lorna could hardly contain her excitement. As they descended in the elevator, she practically bounced in place, clutching Charles’s hand and chattering nonstop about her newfound powers.

“Do you think Daddy will be proud of me?” she asked, looking up at Charles with wide, eager eyes.

“I think he’ll be very proud,” Charles assured her, though he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of trepidation about the impending encounter.

When they reached Erik’s cell, the children rushed to the glass floor as usual, their excited voices echoing through the chamber.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Lorna called, pressing her small hands against the glass.

Erik looked up immediately, his face lighting up as he saw his children. “Hello, my loves,” he said warmly. “What’s all this excitement about?”

Lorna grinned, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I have a mutation now!” she announced proudly.

Erik’s expression shifted to one of astonished delight. “You do?” he asked, stepping closer to the glass. “Tell me everything, my little one.”

Instead of answering, Lorna turned to Charles with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Can I show him, Charles?”

Charles hesitated for a moment, then sighed and nodded. “Go ahead.”

With a triumphant grin, Lorna raised her small hands and focused intently. The screws and bolts of Charles’s wheelchair began to hum faintly, and then, slowly but surely, the chair rolled forward a few inches.

“See?” Lorna said, beaming as she turned back to her father. “I can move metal, just like you!”

Erik’s breath hitched, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Oh, Lorna,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re amazing. You’re my little mini-me.”

Lorna practically glowed under his praise, her green hair shimmering in the dim light. “I told you I’d be just like you!”

Erik reached up to place his hand against the glass, his expression a mix of pride and longing. “You are, my darling. You’re perfect.”

Charles watched the exchange in silence, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. He couldn’t deny the joy on Erik’s face or the way Lorna lit up under her father’s praise. Despite everything, Erik was an exceptional father, and it was moments like this that made it impossible to forget.

When it was time to leave, Lorna clung to the glass, reluctant to say goodbye. “I’ll show you more next time, Daddy!” she promised, her voice filled with determination.

“I can’t wait,” Erik said, his voice soft but steady. “Be good for Charles, my loves. I’ll see you soon.”

As they rode back to the mansion, Lorna couldn’t stop talking about her powers, her excitement infectious despite Pietro’s teasing and Wanda’s indifference. Charles, meanwhile, couldn’t shake the image of Erik’s face—his pride, his love, and the tears that had threatened to spill.

The children were growing up, and their father’s influence was undeniable.

Chapter Text

The weeks had been busy, with the children settling into their new routine under Charles’s care. Pietro and Lorna were thriving, their abilities developing with an impressive speed. The two of them often ran circles around the mansion’s grounds, challenging each other to races and showing off their newfound powers with the kind of joy only children could display. Lorna’s magnetism had become increasingly refined, and Pietro’s superhuman speed was a constant blur of silver.

But despite the bustling energy of her siblings, Wanda remained a quiet presence. Her eyes would follow Pietro and Lorna as they raced around, occasionally glancing over at Charles with her gentle, curious gaze. Wanda’s lack of a mutation, so far, wasn’t something that bothered her. She was perfectly content to sit in Charles’s lap, her small hands playing with the fabric of his clothes, her face soft with a kind of serene calmness that made her seem far older than her four years.

“Why run around when you can just sit?” she’d ask, a small smile playing at her lips as she nestled into Charles, her head resting on his chest.

Charles was more than happy to oblige, holding her close as they watched Pietro and Lorna, occasionally letting his fingers drift through her hair in an absent, comforting gesture.

On one particular visit to the Pentagon, however, Erik voiced a concern that had been weighing on his mind.

As usual, the children rushed ahead to the glass, calling out eagerly to their father. Erik’s face lit up as he saw them, his heart swelling with pride and love. His babies were thriving, and for that, he was grateful beyond measure. But when he saw Wanda standing a little apart from the group, quietly playing with a small flower she had found, his heart clenched with a concern that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

“Charles,” Erik said quietly, his voice low and urgent, pulling the other man aside as the children played. “I need to ask you something.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, concerned by the seriousness in Erik’s tone. “What is it?”

Erik’s gaze flicked over to Wanda, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, humming softly to herself. “It’s about Wanda,” he said, his voice filled with quiet anxiety. “She still hasn’t shown any sign of a mutation. I know you’ve told me it’s not something we should worry about, but... I’m her father, Charles. I can’t help but be concerned.”

Charles followed Erik’s gaze, his heart aching as he watched Wanda, content in her own quiet world. “I know you care about her,” Charles said gently. “But Wanda’s still young. Just because she doesn’t have a mutation now doesn’t mean she won’t develop one later.”

Erik nodded, though his expression remained troubled. “I know... but I want to make sure she’s not left behind. I don’t want her to feel like she’s not part of something—part of us. I don’t want her to feel small, like she’s not as important as Lorna and Pietro.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the vulnerability beneath his usually strong exterior. “She’s my baby, Charles. My littlest one. Even if she’s only twelve minutes younger, she’s still my baby.”

Charles could see the raw emotion in Erik’s eyes, the unspoken fear of a father who wanted so desperately for his children to be as strong and as capable as he was. It was clear that the idea of Wanda being left behind, of her growing up without the same sense of purpose or power as her siblings, weighed heavily on him.

“You’re not alone in this, Erik,” Charles said, his voice firm but soft. “I’ll keep an eye on her, and I’ll make sure she knows she’s just as loved and important as the other two. She doesn’t need a mutation to be special. But if she does develop one, we’ll handle it together.”

Erik’s gaze softened, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he reached out, placing a hand against the glass. “Thank you, Charles. I just—I need her to know that no matter what, she’s not lesser. She’s my everything, all of them are.”

Charles nodded, his heart swelling with sympathy for Erik. “I know. And she’ll never feel lesser, Erik. I promise.”

As they watched Wanda, still content in her quiet world, Erik seemed to relax a little, though the concern never fully left his face. Wanda, in her own way, had a sense of inner peace that her siblings lacked. Whether or not she developed a mutation, Charles was confident that she would grow up strong in her own unique way.

“She’s just different,” Charles said after a moment, his voice thoughtful. “And that’s okay. Every child grows in their own time.”

Erik met his gaze, a small, grateful smile forming on his lips. “You’re right. I just—sometimes I wish I could be there for her more. To make sure she knows she’s as precious as the others.”

“You’re here for her now,” Charles said, glancing over at Wanda, who had caught a glimpse of her father and waved excitedly, her face lighting up in a pure expression of love.

Erik’s smile widened at the sight of his daughter’s enthusiasm. “I guess that’s enough for now.”

For a moment, there was only silence between them, the noise of the children’s excitement filling the air. Then Erik’s voice broke through, softer now with a tender edge to it.

“She’s my baby, Charles. My baby girl.”

Charles’s expression softened, and he nodded. “I know, Erik. I know.”

As the children continued to play, Erik seemed more at ease, but the flicker of concern still lingered in his eyes. Charles, for his part, knew that the journey ahead for Wanda—like the journey for all of them—would have its bumps and challenges. But with love, and with time, everything would fall into place.

And as they left the Pentagon that day, with the children still chattering excitedly, Charles held the thought that no matter what, Wanda was just as loved, just as precious, and just as important as her siblings.

Chapter Text

It had been a few months since Charles first started bringing the children to see Erik, and with each visit, there was a subtle shift. A quiet understanding had begun to settle between the two men, despite the physical barrier that separated them. The glass between them had once seemed like an impenetrable wall, but now, it felt more like a space of unspoken connection.

The children’s visits had become routine, something that everyone looked forward to. But it wasn’t just the children who were growing accustomed to the rhythm of their interactions. Erik and Charles, too, were falling into a familiar pattern—one of shared glances, small smiles, and words that lingered in the air like a dance that neither one of them was quite ready to acknowledge, but both couldn’t help but engage in.

During their visits, the children would clamber onto the glass, pressing their small hands against it, their faces lighting up at the sight of their father. They had come to love these visits, where Erik would reassure them and talk to them as though there was no distance between them, as though they could touch and hold each other.

But as the children engaged with their father, Charles and Erik would sometimes drift into their own world, speaking softly across the divide. At first, it was just casual words, updates on how the children were doing, how the mansion was coming along, and how life had been. But gradually, those conversations began to take on a more personal tone.

Charles had never been one to shy away from a bit of banter, and Erik—despite the grim circumstances of his incarceration—had never lost his sharp wit.

One afternoon, after the children had finished their excited chatter and Erik had answered a few of their questions about his life in the prison, Charles couldn’t help but comment on Erik’s stoic demeanour.

“You know,” Charles said with a slight smirk, leaning closer to the glass, “for someone who's stuck behind bars, you still manage to look as if you’ve got the world at your feet.”

Erik’s lips twitched, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I could say the same about you, Charles. Always so composed, so well put together.” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto Charles’s with a hint of mischief. “I suppose we’re both quite good at playing the part of the man who has everything under control.”

Charles chuckled, the sound light and warm. “If only the children could hear that, they might start believing it. I’m sure they’d love to know their father still has a way with words, even from a cell.”

Erik’s gaze softened, but there was still that teasing glint in his eyes. “Ah, but I’m not in this cell because of words, Charles. I’m here because of actions.” He paused for a moment, and the mood shifted slightly. “But I would do anything to be with them. To be with you.”

The words lingered in the air for a heartbeat longer than Charles would have liked, but he didn’t look away. His pulse quickened, and the weight of Erik’s gaze was both familiar and unsettling. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus on the children who were still engrossed in their conversation with Erik.

“So modest,” Charles replied, his voice laced with an undercurrent of humour, trying to shift the tone back to something lighter. “You should know by now that you’re more than just words and actions. There’s a lot more to you than that, Erik.”

Erik raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly, his hand resting against the glass. “Is there?” He allowed a small, playful smile to tug at his lips, the tension in the air palpable. “You certainly seem to know me well, Charles. You always did.”

For a moment, there was silence between them, and even the children seemed to sense the change in the atmosphere. Wanda was the first to break the stillness, calling out to Erik in her soft, sing-song voice, pulling the attention back to the glass.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look! I have a pretty rock!”

Charles chuckled softly, grateful for the distraction. “You know, Erik,” he said, shifting the conversation, “I think she might have inherited your knack for finding the most unusual things to play with.”

Erik smiled at his daughter’s enthusiasm, watching her proudly present her rock through the glass. “She certainly has a good eye,” he said, his voice filled with affection.

But even as the children’s joyful noise filled the room, the unspoken tension between Charles and Erik lingered. It wasn’t anything overt—there were no grand gestures or declarations of anything—but the glances, the subtle comments, and the way they interacted across the glass made it clear that something was shifting. The walls they had built between each other were eroding, even if neither of them was ready to admit it.

The playful exchanges continued over the next few visits, each one carrying a little more weight than the last. Erik would tease Charles about his self-imposed distance, calling him too proper, too reserved, while Charles would smile and deflect, his wit sharp and quick as ever. But beneath it all, there was something more—something that neither one of them was quite ready to name.

One afternoon, as the children chatted happily, Erik caught Charles’s gaze with a look that sent a shiver down his spine. It was nothing explicit, but there was a certain softness in Erik’s eyes, a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before.

“You know,” Erik said, his voice low but warm, “I can’t help but wonder how different things would have been if things had gone differently. If we had taken different paths.”

Charles’s heart skipped a beat. The question hung in the air, unspoken but understood. “We can’t change the past,” Charles replied, his voice quiet but firm. “But maybe we can shape the future.”

Erik’s smile was slow but genuine, and for a moment, the world outside of their shared space seemed to fade away. It was just the two of them—two men who had once shared everything, now separated by time and circumstance but still bound by an undeniable connection.

The children didn’t notice the shift between them, too caught up in their own little world. But Charles and Erik were keenly aware of the distance between them—and the way it was slowly closing, one whispered word, one subtle glance at a time.

And as they continued to meet, the glances became longer, the words more meaningful. The children were oblivious to it all, their love for their father as pure as ever, their hearts unburdened by the complexities of the world.

But Charles and Erik both knew that something was happening. Something that neither of them had anticipated, and yet, both of them had silently hoped for.

Chapter Text

The visit to the prison was just like any other, or so Charles thought. The children were their usual excited selves, their eager little voices filling the air as they made their way into the facility. Charles wheeled himself down the long, sterile hallways, the familiar clatter of metal doors and the buzz of fluorescent lights accompanying them. The children’s innocent chatter and giggles always made the place feel a little less bleak, a little less like a place where lives were confined and hope was sometimes lost.

But as they reached the glass floor and Erik stepped into view, something was off.

At first, Charles couldn’t place it. Erik was standing in front of them, as he always did, but there was a visible bruise on his face. A large, angry black eye that was clearly fresh—still swollen and dark. The children noticed it right away, their small faces filled with concern.

“Daddy! What happened to your face?” Wanda asked, her voice high-pitched with worry as she pressed her hands against the glass.

Lorna and Pietro immediately mirrored her, their eyes wide and their little mouths forming worried frowns.

Erik smiled faintly, though there was something strained about it. His eyes flicked briefly toward Charles as if considering how to answer. The smile was still there, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, it’s nothing, my little ones,” Erik said, his voice warm and soothing, though his tone carried an undercurrent of something else—something Charles couldn't quite place. “Just a little... accident. Nothing to worry about.”

The children seemed to accept that explanation without question, their attention quickly diverted to something else—Pietro eagerly showing off a new trick with his speed, Lorna talking about the latest thing she had learned from Charles, and Wanda proudly holding up a drawing she had made of their family. The innocent joy of their little world was a comfort to Erik, but it did little to ease the rising concern in Charles’s chest.

Charles couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. He had never seen Erik with a bruise like that before. Not a mark like that—especially not on his face. And the way Erik had avoided looking directly at him when he first saw him… something was wrong.

As the children played, completely oblivious to the tension hanging between the two men, Erik finally spoke to Charles in a low voice.

“Don’t make a scene in front of them,” Erik murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion and something else—something that sounded like resignation. “It’s nothing. Just the guards… they don’t like me very much, not with everything that’s happened.”

Charles’s breath caught, and he felt a surge of anger rush through him. The guards? The guards had done this? He wanted to scream, to tear the walls down, to find the people responsible and make them understand how wrong this was. But instead, he only nodded, his voice tight with frustration.

“They did this to you?” Charles’s question was a soft growl, almost as if the words themselves carried the weight of the fury building inside of him.

Erik didn’t look at him as he answered, his gaze fixed on the children, who were now occupied with something else.

“They don’t care,” Erik said quietly, his voice edged with bitterness. “They think I’m guilty, that I killed the president. They treat me like I’m nothing. It’s… it’s not just this. There are worse things. But I can’t fight back, Charles. Not here.”

Charles felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. The anger that had been building inside of him now turned to a gnawing pain, a frustration so deep it felt like it would consume him. He wanted to break through the glass, to reach out and pull Erik from this place—this hellhole where he was being mistreated and held against his will.

But the weight of the situation pressed down on him. He was stuck in this wheelchair, stuck in this building, stuck with the painful reminder that there was nothing he could do. Not without risking everything.

“I’m sorry,” Erik continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to see it. I didn’t want the children to see it.”

Charles clenched his fists in his lap, trying to keep his emotions in check. He couldn’t show Erik how much this hurt him—not now, not in front of the children. But his heart was burning with anger, a new and uncomfortable emotion he hadn’t quite understood before.

“I’ll make sure they’re treated properly,” Charles finally said, his voice low and filled with determination. “I won’t stand by and let them do this to you.”

Erik shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “There’s nothing you can do, Charles. This is where I am now.”

Charles stared at Erik, his heart heavy with a mixture of anger and sadness. He wanted to deny Erik’s words, wanted to tell him that there had to be something they could do—something to make this right. But the reality of the situation was too stark.

“I won’t give up on you,” Charles said softly, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “I’ll keep coming back. I’ll keep making sure the children know their father is a good man, no matter what anyone says.”

Erik nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I don’t deserve your kindness,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “But I appreciate it. More than you know.”

Charles couldn’t look away from Erik’s face, the bruise on his eye a painful reminder of the injustices being done. His hands gripped the arms of his wheelchair, knuckles white with the effort of holding himself together. He was burning with anger, but it was an anger that was only partially directed at Erik’s treatment. It was more complicated than that. There was a mixture of rage at the system, at the way the world worked, and the part of him that still cared for Erik—despite everything.

Erik had always been complicated, always drawn him in with that magnetic pull of his. And now, seeing him broken, vulnerable, and hurt—it was tearing at something inside of Charles that he had thought was long gone.

The children, oblivious to the tension, were laughing and playing in front of the glass. But Charles couldn’t focus on that right now. His eyes were still on Erik, and his heart was heavy with the knowledge that there was so much more going on behind that black eye.

“I’ll be back soon,” Charles said, his voice rough as he finally looked away from Erik’s gaze. “We’ll figure something out.”

Erik gave a small, grateful smile, his eyes softening as he looked at Charles. But there was an undercurrent of something else—something dark that Charles couldn’t quite place.

As Charles wheeled himself away, the anger and frustration still bubbling under the surface, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the path forward was going to be more complicated than he had ever anticipated. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if they were heading toward something better—or if they were heading toward something much darker.

Chapter Text

The mansion was still and silent, the only sound the distant hum of the heating system as it worked its way through the sprawling hallways. Charles lay in his bed, his thoughts a swirling storm of anger and frustration, his mind replaying the image of Erik’s bruised face over and over again. The thought of Erik suffering in that cold, impersonal prison, with no way to fight back, gnawed at him. The guards’ cruel treatment, the harshness of his confinement—it was more than Charles could bear.

It wasn’t just the rage that kept him awake; it was the helplessness. Erik was in there, and no matter how much Charles wanted to change things, no matter how much he cared, he couldn’t get to him. Not without risking everything. The thought of seeing Erik every time the children visited—it was like reopening a wound that hadn’t quite healed, and now, every bruise, every tear was a reminder of how much had been lost between them.

And yet, despite all of that, something stirred within him. An old feeling he hadn’t dared acknowledge in a long time. The desire to protect Erik, to get him out of there, to undo the injustice that had been done to him. The thought seemed impossible, but the idea lingered in the back of his mind.

As he lay there, wrestling with his thoughts, the soft creak of the door to his room caught his attention. He turned his head to see Wanda, her small figure silhouetted by the soft light from the hallway, standing in the doorway. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, her little body swaying slightly as she toddled toward his bed.

Charles’s heart softened as she climbed up onto the bed beside him, her tiny hands tugging at his covers. She was still so little, still a baby in so many ways, but there was a sense of intuition in her that charmed him beyond words. She always seemed to know when something was wrong and when he needed comfort.

“Charles,” she mumbled sleepily, her voice soft and warm. “I want to hug Daddy. But I can’t. He’s not here.”

Charles blinked, his heart aching as he watched her struggle to stay awake, her small hands grasping for him in a way that was both vulnerable and endearing. He reached out and gently pulled her closer, cradling her against his chest. Her small body was warm and comforting, her soft breathing a balm to his troubled soul.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “I wish we could hug Daddy, too.” He kissed the top of her head, his heart tightening in his chest. “But for now, we’ll hug each other, won’t we?”

Wanda nodded, her eyelids fluttering as she drifted in and out of sleep, her voice barely more than a whisper as she mumbled incoherently. “I like hugs... hugs are nice... I love Daddy... love you...”

Her words were a soft jumble, and her little hands reached up to rest against Charles’s face as if offering him some form of comfort, her innocent affection a balm to his burning anger. The simplicity of it, the purity of her love, made everything else seem less complicated, for a moment at least.

As she snuggled against him, Charles’s mind began to wander. It was impossible to ignore the overwhelming need to do something. To take action. The children had been through so much already, and their hearts longed for their father, even if they didn’t fully understand why. Wanda’s sleepy words echoed in his mind. She just wanted to hug Erik. To have him home.

Charles felt a soft warmth spreading through him, a spark of an idea beginning to form. A dangerous, risky idea. But the children needed their father, and Erik deserved better than the hell he was being subjected to. He had been a part of their family once—Charles had loved him, and despite the distance between them, a part of that love still lingered. For the children, for Erik, for what they once had, maybe… maybe it was time to act.

He shifted slightly, holding Wanda a little tighter as he leaned back into his pillows, the weight of the decision pressing down on him.

“How would you like Daddy to be here with us?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, not expecting an answer, but almost as if speaking the words aloud made them more real.

Wanda’s sleepy little giggle bubbled up from her chest, and she squirmed slightly, nuzzling into his chest. “I like Daddy here... Daddy nice... I want Daddy home...”

Her innocent joy at the thought was like a balm to his soul. Charles closed his eyes, allowing her soft breathing and her gentle words to soothe the turmoil in his mind. The idea was starting to take root. A crazy idea. A dangerous idea. But as Wanda continued to snuggle against him, the thought of seeing the children’s faces light up when Erik was finally with them, in the mansion, in their lives—maybe it was worth it. Maybe it was something he could do, despite the risks.

He had the power to make it happen, after all. With his telepathy, he could break into the most secure places. He could find a way to get Erik out of there, to bring him home where he belonged, where his children needed him.

As Wanda drifted deeper into sleep, her breathing steady and even, Charles’s mind whirled with the possibilities. She was so young, so innocent, but she had a way of inspiring him to be braver than he thought he could be. At that moment, it wasn’t about the past. It wasn’t about their broken relationship or the things that had been lost. It was about the future. About giving these children a chance to grow up with both of their parents.

Charles pressed a soft kiss to Wanda’s forehead, feeling a renewed sense of determination settle in his chest.

“I’ll find a way, little one,” he murmured. “I’ll find a way to bring Daddy home.”

And with that thought, as Wanda continued to sleep peacefully in his arms, Charles allowed himself a moment of calm, knowing that whatever it took, he would do it for the children—for Erik—and for the family they still could be.

Chapter Text

The mansion was alive with quiet activity as the afternoon sun filtered through the grand windows. Charles, Hank, and Raven were gathered in the library, deep in conversation, surrounded by stacks of papers and maps of the Pentagon’s layout. The children were blissfully unaware, playing in the nearby living room, their laughter echoing through the halls as they built elaborate forts with pillows. The weight of their happiness was a sharp contrast to the tension brewing in the library.

Charles’s thoughts were focused solely on one thing: breaking Erik out of the Pentagon. The idea had solidified overnight, fed by Wanda’s innocent request to bring Daddy home, and now it was time to put everything into motion. The children deserved to have their father, and he would do whatever it took to make it happen.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” Charles said, his voice quiet but firm. He sat at the head of the table, hands folded in front of him, his mind working through the possibilities. “I can freeze everyone in place, keep the guards, the cameras, everything still. That will give us enough time to get in and out without anyone noticing.”

Hank, sitting across from him, nodded thoughtfully. He was already several steps ahead, scribbling equations and layouts on a pad of paper. “And I can hack into the security system, jam the cameras and alarms. That should clear the path, at least on the tech side. But we’ll need someone on the inside to get Erik out.”

Charles’s gaze shifted to the door, where the sound of the children’s innocent chatter drifted in. They had no idea what was coming, and he didn’t want to burden them with the details. “We’ll need to get to him quickly, and that’s where the kids come in.”

Raven leaned back in her chair, watching Charles with a mixture of scepticism and curiosity. “Are you sure about this, Charles? It’s risky. If we’re caught—”

“We won’t be caught,” Charles replied firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Hank, ever the pragmatist, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We need to make sure we have a way out once we have Erik. If we’re in the clear for too long, someone’s bound to notice.”

“I’ve got that covered,” Charles assured him. “Once we’re out, I’ll freeze the entire area again—keep it still until we’re clear. But we need to be fast.”

The adults fell into a thoughtful silence, each considering the risks. But it was clear that they were all on the same page. This had to happen. For Erik. For the children.

“Now, we need a little extra help,” Charles said, turning his attention to the youngest member of their group. “Pietro,” he called, smiling as the little boy bounded into the room, full of energy and excitement.

Pietro skidded to a stop, his wide silver eyes full of curiosity. “What’s going on, Charles?”

Charles crouched down to his level, his smile warm and reassuring. “I have a special job for you, Pietro. Something very important, but you have to listen closely, okay?”

The boy nodded eagerly, his tiny hands clasped together in excitement. “What do I get to do?”

Charles’s smile widened as he gestured to the window on the opposite side of the room. “I need you to break that window.”

Pietro’s eyes went wide with excitement, and his hands immediately started fidgeting, as if testing the limits of his own abilities. “Break a window? Really? Can I—can I make it explode?”

Charles chuckled softly, amused by the little boy’s enthusiasm. “Not exactly an explosion, but I need you to use your powers to vibrate your hands really fast until the glass shatters.”

Pietro’s face lit up at the thought of breaking something. “I can do that! I can do it!”

With a flourish, Pietro dashed over to the window, his tiny hands already beginning to vibrate in a blur. Charles, Hank, and Raven watched in fascination as the air around him seemed to hum with the intensity of his mutation. The glass in front of them began to vibrate, and with a sudden sharp crack, the window shattered into a thousand glittering pieces, falling harmlessly to the floor in a pile of broken glass.

“Woohoo! I did it!” Pietro cheered, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of his success. “I broke it!”

Charles chuckled, giving the boy an affectionate pat on the head. “Well done, Pietro. That’s exactly what we need.”

Raven raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed as she observed the scene. “You think he can do that to the glass floor at the Pentagon?”

Charles smiled, his confidence unwavering. “If he can break a window, he can definitely shatter the floor. I’m certain of it.”

Hank nodded, clearly impressed with Pietro’s potential. “This kid’s got power.”

As the adults finished discussing the finer details of the plan, the children, who had been blissfully unaware of the secret mission unfolding around them, were finally called into the room. Charles motioned for them to come over, his heart swelling with affection for the little ones.

“Alright, my little ones,” he said. “I need to tell you something very important.”

Pietro and Lorna were sitting on the floor, their eyes wide with curiosity, while Wanda stood next to Charles, clutching his arm as she looked up at him with a sweet, trusting smile.

“We’re going to do something very special for your Daddy,” Charles began, his voice soft and reassuring. “We’re going to bring him home. We’re going to break him out of the prison where he’s being kept.”

Lorna’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Daddy? You’re gonna bring him here?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Charles said, smiling at her enthusiasm. “We’re going to bring him home so you can see him whenever you want.”

Pietro’s excitement bubbled over, and he jumped up with a wide grin. “Really? We’re going to get Daddy? Yay!”

Wanda looked up at Charles with a confused expression. “But... how? How we get him?”

Charles chuckled softly, running a hand through Wanda’s hair. “We have a plan, and we need your help, too. But don’t worry, you won’t have to do anything dangerous. You just have to be good and wait for us, okay?”

The children nodded eagerly, their faces lighting up with the possibility of seeing their father again. They didn’t understand the danger, the risks, or the complexity of the situation, but they trusted Charles. They believed in him.

“We’re going to do this together,” Charles said, his voice filled with a quiet determination. “We’ll get your Daddy home, and everything will be better.”

With the plan set, the group spent the rest of the evening making final preparations. The children, oblivious to the weight of the mission, played and laughed as if the world was still a safe and simple place. But in Charles’s heart, he knew that the moment of truth was coming, and everything depended on their success.

Chapter Text

The halls of the Pentagon were eerily silent as Charles guided the children down the maze of corridors. His telepathy swept ahead of them, freezing guards in their tracks and clearing a path. The children clung closely, their wide eyes darting around the sterile, imposing surroundings. Lorna gripped Charles’s wheelchair handle, her green hair swishing with each step, while Wanda held tightly to his hand. Pietro, his boundless energy barely contained, bounced beside them, his silver hair catching the dim light.

“Stay close, my darlings,” Charles murmured, his voice calm despite the tension in his chest. “We’re almost there.”

When they reached the elevator, Charles pressed the button, his fingers trembling slightly. As the doors opened, the group stepped inside. Charles exhaled deeply, the children’s nervous chatter filling the small space as they descended.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the familiar sight of Erik’s glass prison below. The children gasped, their excitement spilling over as they rushed to the edge of the floor. Charles quickly stopped them, his gentle hands pulling Lorna and Wanda back.

“Careful, my loves,” he said softly, nodding to Pietro. “It’s your turn, Pietro. Just like we practiced.”

Pietro’s face lit up with pride and determination. He dropped to his knees, placing his small hands on the glass floor. With a deep breath, he began to vibrate them, the glass beneath him humming with the force of his mutation.

“Hello, my babies!” Erik’s voice echoed from below. He looked up, expecting a normal visit, his face softening at the sight of his children. “How are you—”

His words trailed off as the glass around him began to quiver. His sharp gaze darted from the trembling floor to Pietro’s tiny, determined figure above. Realization dawned on his face.

“Charles... what are you—” Erik began, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Crack.

The sound of splintering glass echoed through the chamber, and Erik’s eyes widened. He watched as the cracks spread like lightning bolts, and in a sudden, final shatter, the glass floor gave way, the pieces raining down around him.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of Erik’s ragged breath. He looked up, stunned, to see Charles, calm and steady, watching him with an intensity Erik hadn’t seen in years.

“You’re breaking me out,” Erik said softly, his voice laced with awe.

Charles’s expression was unreadable, but there was a glint in his eyes. “We are.”

Erik didn’t waste a moment. He pulled himself up through the opening, his movements swift despite his confinement. As soon as he emerged, his children launched themselves at him.

“Daddy!” they cried in unison, their small bodies colliding with his. Erik caught them effortlessly, lifting all three into his arms. He cradled them close, his hands trembling as he pressed kisses to their hair and cheeks, his tears falling freely.

“My babies,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Lorna clung to his neck, her green hair blending with his dark locks. Pietro squirmed in his grip, giggling as Erik kissed the top of his head. Wanda, the smallest, wrapped her arms around his chest, burying her face against him.

“I love you,” Erik said, his voice fierce and tender all at once. “I love you so much.”

The moment stretched on, the world falling away as Erik held his children for the first time in what felt like an eternity. But eventually, he set them down gently, his gaze lifting to Charles.

For a moment, Erik simply stared, a wide grin spreading across his face. “You really did it,” he said, his voice full of wonder. “You brought me back.”

Before Charles could respond, Erik strode forward, closing the distance between them in a few long steps. Charles looked up, startled, but before he could speak, Erik leaned down and kissed him, his hands cradling Charles’s face with a tenderness that took the telepath’s breath away.

Charles froze, his mind scrambling to catch up, but the warmth of Erik’s lips and the unspoken emotion behind the kiss broke through his hesitation. He melted into the moment, his hands coming up to rest on Erik’s wrists.

“Ew!” Lorna’s voice broke the spell, her tone dripping with disgust. “Daddy, that’s gross!”

“Yuck,” Pietro chimed in, sticking out his tongue. “Why are you kissing Charles?”

Wanda, her tiny arms crossed, scrunched up her nose. “Daddy, stop being weird!”

Erik pulled back, laughing as he looked at his children. “Oh, come on, now. One day, you’ll understand.”

Charles’s cheeks flushed, but he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose that’s one way to show your gratitude.”

Erik grinned, his hand lingering on Charles’s cheek. “Thank you, Charles. For everything.”

The moment was interrupted by Raven’s voice from the elevator. “Not to ruin your reunion, but we should probably go before someone notices the shattered glass.”

Erik nodded, his demeanour shifting into something more serious. He crouched down to his children’s level, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “Listen to Auntie Mystique. Stay close to Charles and do exactly as he says, alright?”

They nodded obediently, their wide eyes full of trust.

Charles cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “Let’s move quickly. We’re not out of this yet.”

As they made their way back to the elevator, Erik kept close to his children, his hands never far from their small frames. And as Charles led them through the frozen halls of the Pentagon, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope—hope that, against all odds, they could make this work. Together.

Chapter Text

The mansion was alive with the sound of children. Their laughter echoed down the halls, interspersed with the occasional crash or shriek of surprise, followed by Erik’s concerned voice calling out, “Are you alright? Be careful, my darlings!”

Charles watched from his study window as Erik guided Pietro and Lorna through their morning exercises on the lawn. Pietro zipped around in a blur, giggling wildly as Erik tried—and failed—to catch him, while Lorna stood to the side, practising her magnetism by levitating small objects. Erik’s face lit up every time she succeeded, his applause loud and enthusiastic.

Wanda sat in Charles’s lap, watching the scene unfold with a serene expression. She had no interest in running or levitating. Instead, she leaned back against Charles’s chest, clutching her favourite stuffed animal.

“Why doesn’t Daddy chase Lorna like he does Pietro?” Wanda asked, her voice soft and curious.

Charles chuckled, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Because Daddy knows Lorna doesn’t like being chased. He’s very good at understanding what each of you needs.”

Wanda tilted her head, considering this, before nodding solemnly. “He’s the best.”

Charles’s heart swelled. “He is.”

Inside the mansion, the chaos truly began. Erik had taken to carrying the children with him wherever he went, his arms often full of giggling little bodies. He would scoop up Pietro when he darted into a room too quickly, lift Lorna onto his hip when she got frustrated with her powers, and always had Wanda perched on his shoulder or clinging to his back.

“Erik, you know they can walk,” Charles teased one afternoon, watching as Erik entered the kitchen with all three children hanging off him like ornaments on a tree.

“I don’t care,” Erik replied, his voice warm and full of love. “They were apart from me for too long. If I want to hold them every second of every day, I will.”

Charles smiled, shaking his head. He couldn’t argue with that. Erik’s need to be close to the children was undeniable, and honestly, Charles found it endearing.

The day Wanda’s mutation manifested was one Charles and Erik would never forget. It began innocently enough, with Pietro and Lorna bickering over whose mutation was better. Wanda, uninterested, played quietly in the corner of the room. But when Pietro zipped past her too quickly, knocking over her stack of blocks, her little face crumpled in frustration.

“No!” Wanda cried, throwing her hands up.

To everyone’s surprise, the blocks floated into the air, spinning around Wanda before arranging themselves back into a neat tower. Silence fell over the room as Wanda stared at her hands, wide-eyed.

“Daddy! Charles! Look!” she exclaimed, pointing at the blocks.

Erik was the first to react, dropping to his knees and pulling her into a tight hug. “My baby girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re amazing.”

Wanda beamed, basking in her father’s praise, while Pietro and Lorna stared in awe.

“Great,” Charles muttered under his breath, a wry smile on his face. “Three tiny mutants. What could possibly go wrong?”

The days became a whirlwind of chaos and love. Pietro’s speed often resulted in broken vases and overturned furniture. Lorna’s magnetism occasionally caused all the silverware in the kitchen to fly across the room. Wanda’s burgeoning powers created strange and unpredictable effects, from floating objects to brief flickers of reality-warping magic.

Through it all, Erik and Charles worked as a team. Erik’s patience and Charles’s calm demeanour balanced each other perfectly. The children adored having both of them around, often scrambling into their bed at night, claiming they couldn’t sleep.

One particular evening, Charles woke to find himself surrounded. Pietro had curled up at the foot of the bed, Lorna was tucked against Erik’s side, and Wanda was sprawled across Charles’s chest, her tiny hand clutching his pyjama shirt.

Erik stirred beside him, his eyes soft as he looked at the children. “I suppose we’ll never have the bed to ourselves again,” he whispered, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Charles smiled, his hand gently brushing Wanda’s hair. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Erik leaned over, pressing a kiss to Charles’s temple. “Thank you, Charles. For giving me this. For giving me them.”

Charles turned his head, their foreheads touching. “We did this together, Erik. They’re ours.”

Life at the mansion was far from quiet, but it was full of love. Erik and Charles’s relationship deepened with each passing day, their bond growing stronger as they navigated the chaos of parenthood together. The children thrived under their care, their laughter and joy filling the once-empty halls.

And though their journey had been anything but easy, Charles knew one thing for certain: they were a family, and nothing would ever change that.