Things Accomplished: OMG More Fic (this usually only happens once a year)
Title: “He Ain’t Heavy”
Author: dork_nerd
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Word Count: 560
Characters: Alex, Charles
Rating: PG
Since the movies have messed with the timelines/characters of the comics, I’ve decided that I'm allowed to make my own modifications (i.e., write fanfic!). This was based on this prompt
The bunker was on fire.
Again.
Charles sighed and handed Alex the extinguisher.
“Put them out and try again,” he said, gesturing towards the blazing mannequins.
A week ago he’d asked Hank to check the construction of Alex’s new chest plate. Hank assured him that the design was the same as the one that had been destroyed in Cuba. Charles had asked him to look again.
The diagnostic tests returned output well within the normal range. It wasn’t a technological malfunction.
“Dammit!” came the cry from the other side of the side of the room. The curse was nearly lost in the resounding boom of yet another explosion.
“Enough of this,” Alex exclaimed. He torn off his uniform jacket and threw it against the steel wall. The metal plate clanged loudly.
“King Kong must be sabotaging me.”
“Alex,” Charles reprimanded. “Be honest with yourself.”
“Then I give up!” he snapped. “I lost my ability to control it.”
“That’s not the answer either,” Charles replied.
“What is the answer then?” Alex retorted.
“What is the problem, Alex?” Charles countered. “What are you feeling?”
“Stay out of my head,” he commanded.
“I don’t need to use any telepathic abilities to see that you are upset.”
“I’m not upset!” Alex bellowed.
Charles raised an eyebrow as Alex’s voice reverberated off the metal walls.
When the echoes had died away, Charles continued.
“Are you angry at yourself or me?” he asked.
Alex scowled.
“The two do not have to be mutually exclusive.”
Another glare.
“Fine,” Charles sighed. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. You will, however, continue to practice until you are able to successfully hit your targets without incinerating everything else in the vicinity.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Alex said, “so, I think we’re done.” He stormed off.
“You won’t be going on any reconnaissance or retrieval missions if you are not following your training regime,” Charles told the retreating form.
Alex stopped. With a growl he turned back, stomping over to snatch his chest plate from the floor.
An unproductive hour later, Alex’s anger had intensified into full rage.
“What is the point of this?” Alex ranted. “It’s hopeless!” he fumed, gesturing at the smoldering remains of the mannequin targets. “This is all just a waste of time!” He turned back to face Charles. “I can’t do it and you can’t help me!"
"You’re useless!”
Charles flinched. He’d braced himself against the onslaught of Alex’s fury but the accusation still hurt.
Alex was silent now. His clenched fists trembled.
“Alright...” Charles' voice was soft. “I’ve disappointed you in some way. What’s happened, Alex? What have I done?”
“I can’t -” Alex began.
“Not you, Alex,” Charles interrupted. “I know how hard you are trying. I see your effort." He took a deep, centering breath. "I want you to tell me what I have done. What, perhaps, I’ve failed to do.”
“You can’t help,” Alex said through gritted teeth.
“Are you certain?”
“I don’t know!” he roared. “Every time you use that machine, every mission, every damn set of coordinates, I think that this could be it! That we’ve done it! That we’ve found him! But it’s not! It’s never him! I can’t find him!”
“Who are you looking for Alex?” Charles asked gently.
“Scott,” he said stiffly. “I lost Scott.”
He wouldn’t cry. Big brothers weren’t allowed to cry.
Author: dork_nerd
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Word Count: 560
Characters: Alex, Charles
Rating: PG
Since the movies have messed with the timelines/characters of the comics, I’ve decided that I'm allowed to make my own modifications (i.e., write fanfic!). This was based on this prompt
The bunker was on fire.
Again.
Charles sighed and handed Alex the extinguisher.
“Put them out and try again,” he said, gesturing towards the blazing mannequins.
A week ago he’d asked Hank to check the construction of Alex’s new chest plate. Hank assured him that the design was the same as the one that had been destroyed in Cuba. Charles had asked him to look again.
The diagnostic tests returned output well within the normal range. It wasn’t a technological malfunction.
“Dammit!” came the cry from the other side of the side of the room. The curse was nearly lost in the resounding boom of yet another explosion.
“Enough of this,” Alex exclaimed. He torn off his uniform jacket and threw it against the steel wall. The metal plate clanged loudly.
“King Kong must be sabotaging me.”
“Alex,” Charles reprimanded. “Be honest with yourself.”
“Then I give up!” he snapped. “I lost my ability to control it.”
“That’s not the answer either,” Charles replied.
“What is the answer then?” Alex retorted.
“What is the problem, Alex?” Charles countered. “What are you feeling?”
“Stay out of my head,” he commanded.
“I don’t need to use any telepathic abilities to see that you are upset.”
“I’m not upset!” Alex bellowed.
Charles raised an eyebrow as Alex’s voice reverberated off the metal walls.
When the echoes had died away, Charles continued.
“Are you angry at yourself or me?” he asked.
Alex scowled.
“The two do not have to be mutually exclusive.”
Another glare.
“Fine,” Charles sighed. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. You will, however, continue to practice until you are able to successfully hit your targets without incinerating everything else in the vicinity.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Alex said, “so, I think we’re done.” He stormed off.
“You won’t be going on any reconnaissance or retrieval missions if you are not following your training regime,” Charles told the retreating form.
Alex stopped. With a growl he turned back, stomping over to snatch his chest plate from the floor.
An unproductive hour later, Alex’s anger had intensified into full rage.
“What is the point of this?” Alex ranted. “It’s hopeless!” he fumed, gesturing at the smoldering remains of the mannequin targets. “This is all just a waste of time!” He turned back to face Charles. “I can’t do it and you can’t help me!"
"You’re useless!”
Charles flinched. He’d braced himself against the onslaught of Alex’s fury but the accusation still hurt.
Alex was silent now. His clenched fists trembled.
“Alright...” Charles' voice was soft. “I’ve disappointed you in some way. What’s happened, Alex? What have I done?”
“I can’t -” Alex began.
“Not you, Alex,” Charles interrupted. “I know how hard you are trying. I see your effort." He took a deep, centering breath. "I want you to tell me what I have done. What, perhaps, I’ve failed to do.”
“You can’t help,” Alex said through gritted teeth.
“Are you certain?”
“I don’t know!” he roared. “Every time you use that machine, every mission, every damn set of coordinates, I think that this could be it! That we’ve done it! That we’ve found him! But it’s not! It’s never him! I can’t find him!”
“Who are you looking for Alex?” Charles asked gently.
“Scott,” he said stiffly. “I lost Scott.”
He wouldn’t cry. Big brothers weren’t allowed to cry.