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“What’s your name?” Diana asked, and her voice was like a warm embrace. Gentle, soothing, kind. It only seemed to spook the man more.
“Where am I?” he demanded. “Who are you?”
“My name is Diana,” she said quietly. “You have nothing to fear from us. You are safe now. Rest and heal. No one will harm you here.”
And it didn’t matter whether or not he believed her, whether or not he trusted her – he was too drained to do anything but lie back down and obey.
Clark watched him. Even in sleep, his forehead was creased with a worried frown, eyes darting restlessly beneath the closed lids.
Diana brushed the man’s hair away from his forehead, then crossed the room to join Clark. “Who do you think he is?”
Clark shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t think he’s from around here.”
“Another Earth?” Diana asked. Clark shrugged again, pulling his gaze away from the man and looking at her. “Then what is he doing here?”
“Maybe he just needs help getting home.”
Bruce and J’onn were whispering in the doorway. Clark listened, but didn’t get up to join them.
“I sedated him,” J’onn said. “He needs sleep.”
“Who is he?” Bruce asked, darting a wary glance over to the stranger. “What does he want?”
“I can’t answer that,” J’onn said. “He’s resistant to my telepathy. I could push past the barriers, but I don’t want to force my way into his mind while he’s healing. Our answers must wait until he wakes. But I can guarantee that he means us no harm.”
Bruce frowned and nodded. Clark returned his attention to the stranger. He slept quietly and neatly, with his mouth closed and his breathing nearly silent. He didn’t toss or turn. Occasionally, he stirred and mumbled a name, so softly that any human would have missed it, before falling back asleep. Jean. Emma. Alex. Jamie.
Clark didn't know who any of those people were. But the quiet desperation in the man's voice when he voiced their names made his heart ache.
"You're safe," he whispered. "Don't worry."
And perhaps the man's subconscious heard him, because he settled back into a deeper sleep.
Scott took stock of himself. He ached all over, and a few ribs felt like they might be broken, but he’d been hurt far worse. The bed was warm and comfortable. He wasn’t restrained. His visor was still on his face. He could feel his glasses in his pocket, where he’d left them. What was this place?
This was a trap, a trick of some kind. It had to be.
He didn’t get up. Better to wait, try to gather some information before making an escape. Whoever was holding him must be confident if they hadn’t even bothered to tie him up.
Stay with me, darling!
He took a shaky breath. I’m so sorry, Emma.
Their rebuilt trust may have still been new, still been fragile, but when he had laid dying in her arms, he had felt her love as intense as it had ever been. I won’t leave you.
Don’t let it end, Emma!
She was fighting, planning, thinking about how to carry on their work, he knew it. She was a pragmatist at heart, focused and determined. Emma Frost would do anything to protect their people.
He should be there by her side.
He was somehow still alive, so where the hell was he?
Or maybe he wasn’t, and this was death. Funny, he’d always imagined death as having less pain and more Jean.
He was so tired.
How long would it be before he could just rest?
He’d fought as Cyclops since he was sixteen. How many times since he’d first picked up the visor had he thought he was going to die? When he was young, before tragedy after tragedy had taken away the last vestiges of his hope and optimism, before happiness had become little more than a memory, he’d fought all the harder at those times, because he’d still had any human’s thirst for life.
As the years went by, he’d continued to fight no matter how bad it got, not because of an undying belief in a better world but because someone had to fight for them to ensure that their people would survive.
After all, Charles Xavier had had a dream, but he was not Charles Xavier.
He was tired of fighting.
Despite his best efforts to remain alert, he found himself drifting back to sleep.
“May I?” J’onn asked, and Scott hesitated briefly before jerking his head in a nod.
“Why not?”
Why not.
They wanted to know, and Scott couldn’t think of a single damn reason why not to let them. He had never been good at talking, at sharing, but this wasn’t talking. There was a reason why so many of his closest relationships had been with telepaths.
This wasn’t his world. It didn’t matter if they knew his secrets, so better to let them than risk a fight. Safer to just let them into his memories, because he was too exhausted for secrets, for embarrassment, for shame.
Telepaths.
The Professor. Emma. Jean.
He missed home. He missed being a teenager again, in the early days of the X-Men, before the years of loss, filled with hope for the future. Missed the days of being those optimistic, idealistic kids that had signed up to save the world.
Scott pushed those thoughts aside and forced his mind to go blank.
J’onn touched Scott’s mind and was immediately struck by the force of his grief. For a brief moment, their minds melded as if they were one, and then J’onn stumbled back. There were tears in his eyes.
“I – I’m sorry,” he stammered, steadying himself. He focused his gaze on Scott. Fervently – “I am so sorry.”
“What –” Dinah started to ask, then closed her mouth.
“May I?” J’onn asked Scott. “Or do you–”
“Go ahead,” Scott said evenly, unflinchingly, nodding his assent. J’onn turned to the rest of the League.
“You may want to sit down,” he warned. “This…this is something you should see for yourselves.”
He waited for them to heed his warning, then projected bits and pieces of Scott’s memories into their minds, not everything he’d seen, but enough so that they could be strung together into something resembling a coherent story.
Being taken in and raised by the professor. The X-Men. Becoming a teacher at the school. Fighting to keep mutants safe from abuse and experimentation. The Registration Act, the Sentinels, Genosha. Years of loving and losing friends, family. Utopia and the Phoenix. The Avengers. The Inhumans and the Terrigen Mist. He showed them all this and more.
Two decades of memories and experiences, compressed into what felt like a single instant.
When J’onn broke the mental link, Hal couldn’t hold back his gasp. Every eye in the room was fixed on Scott. It was Barry that broke the silence, looking horrified. “Sixteen million?”
A shadow passed across Scott’s face. He clenched his jaw and nodded. The ghost of an old pain, long buried but never forgotten, flashed across his face.
“It was a massacre. Innocent civilians. Children. Mutants that had never done anything to harm anyone.”
He spoke quietly, almost mildly, but some combination of the words and the way he spoke was as riveting as only a good teacher could be. The Leaguers were silent, hanging on his every word.
“There is no greater crime,” Diana said slowly, “than the harm of the innocent.”
Oliver’s face darkened. “Sixteen million people in one day, and they still did nothing?”
“Not a damn thing,” Scott said, and his gaze was fixed somewhere off in the distance. “When it’s mutants, no one gives a damn. We’re guilty until proven innocent. And sometimes even after that.”
Oliver’s frown deepened with every word from Scott’s mouth.
“What was this about X-Force?” Bruce asked. “Assassinations?”
He said the word as if it was taking immense self control to not say something else.
“Self defence. I’m not a vigilante, Batman,” Scott said, and now his voice was colder. Still calm, still polite, but the studied neutrality had been replaced by conviction. “Genosha burned because people decided my people didn’t deserve to live. I don’t want to hurt anyone. But if I’m forced to choose between killing in self defence and letting countless mutant children be murdered because baseline humans hate them for being born, I’ll make the same choice every time. Is that going to be a problem for you?”
It was Oliver who answered, eyes intent on Scott. “Absolutely not.”
Bruce didn’t agree, but nor did he object. He too had his eyes fixed on Scott, an unreadable expression on his face.
“If you want me to go over there and punch an Avenger in the face, I will,” Oliver said, and though his tone was light, it felt like a sincere offer. Scott laughed.
“I think I have bigger concerns right now than the Avengers,” he deflected, but even so…It was astonishing how much just those few words – of compassion, of decency – touched him. So few people cared what happened to them.
Over the past few weeks – months, years – his life had spiralled out of control, and despite his lifetime of restraint and self discipline, of practicing and training, he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to stop it. The Terrigen cloud was going to destroy everything he’d fought to protect. So many of his old allies, friends, family were furious with him now. Hated him. He was on a different world with costumed heroes he’d never met.
And despite all of that, somehow, he felt safe here, with these people, these strangers. He shouldn’t. He needed to stay alert, be ready for everything. Suspicion was what kept him alive.
But it had been so long since he’d felt safe anywhere.
“I’m a refugee, too,” Clark said, and there was a strange note in his voice. Scott kept his face blank. “If you want to stay…”
Scott barked out a surprised laugh. “Stay? Here?”
“Why not?” Barry asked. “It’s not like you’d be the first visitor from another world to stick around.”
All Scott could do was deflect. "People have stayed here from other worlds? All we get on my Earth is time travellers that never go back home."
Diana sat down next to him – not so close that he’d feel crowded, but not far away.
She looked at him, taking in his features. He was very good looking, she noted absently. His glasses hid so much less of his face than the visor had. He sat with perfect posture, straight-backed and elegant, still and just a hair short of tense.
It was agonizing to look at him, then, knowing what she did about his past – he felt the pain of every single death, and yet he’d managed to keep fighting.
“They’re my responsibility,” he said at last. “And no matter what I do, it’s not – it’s not enough.”
What’s left, scaring the people that’ll never accept us until they stay away from us and just let us be?
“Scott,” Diana said, and her voice was almost painfully gentle, so quiet and soothing, it almost felt like he was a stray cat or a frightened child she was trying to calm. Not going to hurt you. “You can’t be responsible for every mutant in the world.”
“But I am,” he said, and she didn’t get it. What was the analogue, in this world? There had to be something, right? “I can’t…I can’t stop bad things happening to everyone. I understand that. I get it. I had to accept that a long time ago. But someone has to advocate for all the mutant kids in the world that can’t fight protect themselves, and that’s me. But no matter what I do, we’re still getting killed.”
“Scott,” she repeated. “There is only so much that one person can do.”
She moved in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “We start saving the world by saving one person at a time. And you’ve been saving people for years.”
She was wrong, she was so wrong, but before he could find words, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close. It was a little awkward at first – he wasn’t good at being touched, especially not by strangers. But Diana’s embrace was warm and strong, and her arms felt safe. He closed his eyes and let her hold him, giving in to the craven desires he thought he’d buried long ago and accepting the tenderness he didn’t deserve.
The heroes of this world seemed kinder than the ones he knew.
J’onn stared at the cookie he held and found his mind wandering to what he’d seen in Scott’s memories. So much loss. So much grief. He was made of scar tissue and unhealed wounds, pain and hard-won experience. When would he get a chance to just rest?
He’d learned far more from Scott’s mind than he’d shared with the rest of the League, much that he wished he could forget. It would be a gross violation of Scott’s privacy to divulge it to anyone. But the human’s memories kept flashing across J’onn’s mind.
Years of abuse and terrified desperation.
Taken in by Charles Xavier, who had become a surrogate father and taught him everything, moulded him into more than the sum of his traumas. Whom he’d killed while possessed by cosmic fire.
Striving to control his powers, terrified, always, of losing focus for an instant and getting people killed.
So many of the people he’d called friends and family telling him he’d crossed a moral event horizon from which there was no returning, not seeming to realize their found hatred for him couldn’t hold a candle to his own self loathing.
Jean Grey, the telekinetic telepath he had loved so much, with vast amounts of raw power and potential, who understood his struggle for control because she, too, had spent so much time and effort fighting for that same thing.
That was familiar.
J’onn thought of M’gann, so young and strong and vibrant, and felt a surge of protectiveness. This couldn’t be her fate. He wouldn’t let it be.
He ate his cookie and tried to calm his mind.
“Did you practice for that or something?”
“Got to be prepared for anything, right?” Scott said. Hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not to say more, then – “I spent three hours the night before my wedding training for what to do if Sentinels interrupted the ceremony.”
Hal looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, shifted his gaze over to Bruce for a moment, then looked back at Scott.
“Oh, god,” he pronounced. “There are two of them.”
Bruce suppressed a smile. Scott forced one of his own.
A plane on fire and his mother rushing to strap the parachute to him. Holding tight to Alex and falling, falling, falling.
Lying in Emma’s arms and pleading with her to keep on fighting.
No matter how much he strategized, how many contingency plans he made, there was no way to be ready for everything.
Got to do more, train harder, be better, smarter, faster.
The X had once been a uniting force, an emblem for all mutantkind, a banner under which they could all stand. They were fractured now. Petty grudges and arguments over everything imaginable and hypocritical disagreements had pulled them apart when they had needed more than anything to be unified.
Once upon a time, he’d been their protector and their commander, the triumphant leader that had won them their Utopia. Now…who knew? Most mutants still saw him that way. As the only one honest enough to see the world as it was, both the good and the bad, the only one that had ever brought them safety. But those that had been closest to him just saw how far he’d fallen, how far removed he was now from the straight-laced, idealistic young man he’d been when they’d first met him.
He couldn’t bring himself to regret any of it, to think he’d been wrong. He hadn’t been. He just had to go home. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to fix anything, but he had to try. He couldn’t let any more of his people die. He had to be better. They needed him.
“You don’t need to go easy on me,” Scott said, face carefully neutral. “I’m not going to break.”
It was more than stubbornness, Bruce realized, more than just a refusal to show any weakness or let his still injured ribs hinder him – this was strategy. This was someone that wanted to know what the strangers around him were capable of and that wouldn’t be comfortable or safe without knowing he could fight his way out if this did turn out to be an elaborate trap.
He wasn’t lying to them.
He wasn’t afraid of them, either. He was outnumbered and in a completely unfamiliar environment, surrounded by strangers with superpowers, but he didn’t so much as flinch.
So Bruce acquiesced.
He went on the offensive. Scott moved efficiently – no wasted effort, no unnecessary flamboyance. He dodged around Bruce’s blows with vicious speed and deadly grace, landing several of his own, then darting out of range.
It took Bruce a few minutes to get a hold of the younger man’s movements, but when he did, he learned Scott could take just as well as he could give. He was leanly muscular, not overtly bulky, and it almost reminded Bruce of Dick. They both relied on speed and precision, not brute force, but they could take hits.
Bruce was reluctantly impressed.
He called a halt not long after, gesturing for Scott to go sit down. Scott was hiding it well, but Bruce had worked through cracked ribs too many times to not recognize the signs of someone who should really stop moving.
Bruce tossed Scott a bottle of water. Scott uncapped it with a nod of thanks. Bruce sat down next to him with his own water, and they sat together in silence.
Bruce scrutinized the younger man for a moment. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses, but Bruce would have pegged him at only a few years older than Dick at the oldest, somewhere in his early thirties.
Stranger in a strange land.
“Come with me,” Bruce said, making his decision in an instant. “Let me show you the people I’m willing to sacrifice anything for.”
Bruce took him to Gotham.
It was filthy, ugly as only a large city could be. Every surface was covered with a layer of grime. Buildings that had clearly once been beautiful architectural works were in disrepair.
Even so, when they stood on the rooftops and looked down on the streets below, Scott could see glittering lights and parents walking hand in hand with children, hear street musicians playing violins.
The city was thrumming with life, downtrodden and vibrant all at once.
“It’s home,” Bruce said. “People look at it and see crime rates, see a cesspool where no one should live. But it’s full of good people. People backed into a corner that need help.”
Scott stared down at it and mused to himself, "Still alive."
Bruce nodded as if he understood exactly what Scott was saying. "Yes. And as long as they are, this city is worth fighting for."
“My oldest and two of his teammates will drop by later,” Bruce said, sitting down in front of a monitor, yanking off his cowl and tossing it down next to him. “One of them is J’onn’s niece.”
Scott understood the implication immediately. A Martian. Telepathic, telekinetic. It was a warning. Not a threat – a genuine word of caution. He nodded and took a seat himself, in the corner of the cave where he could see everything. “Anyone else?”
“Probably. This cave gets a lot of visitors. I should really do something to stop that.”
As if on cue, a woman with long hair swept into the cave. Half of her face was covered with a black mask. “Batman, we need –”
The woman stopped upon seeing Scott, tensing for a fight.
“Batman?” she asked carefully, not taking her eyes off Scott. “Who is this?”
“A friend,” Bruce said. “This is Scott.”
She looked warily from Scott to Bruce, then back again, clearly putting the pieces together and trying to decide what to do, whether to share her name. Bruce didn’t seem particularly inclined to help her make that decision.
“Kate,” she said finally.
Kate. Common enough name. Possibly not even real. No last name. Probably not a sign of trust, especially when she didn’t remove her mask.
She sat down in the chair next to Bruce. “What about –”
“Go without me,” Bruce said, cutting her off. “I can meet you in a few hours.”
She frowned and nodded, but didn’t get up to leave. Jerked a thumb at Scott. “You’re trying to get him back to wherever he comes from?”
Bruce finally turned to face her fully. Somehow, despite the mask, it was clear that she was rolling her eyes at him.
“I’m not stupid, Bruce,” she said pointedly. “Why else would he be here?”
“Hmm.” Bruce turned back to his computer and returned to work.
They sat together in silence for a while. Scott got up and started pacing.
“We’re all trying, Scott,” Bruce said. “We will get you back home. I promise.”
“Sorry,” Scott muttered. He took a deep breath and sat back down. “I hate not knowing what’s happening.”
“I understand that,” Bruce said. “I do. But this isn’t helping.”
“For all I know, it’s too late, anyway.”
Kate hissed in a breath. Scott turned to look at her. Her face was frozen in horror. She looked like she was trying to swallow but not quite managing it. “They…they’re willing to gas you to death? Your lives are worth less to them than having powers?”
Scott nodded wearily. Kate straightened up, a blaze of righteous fury. “And you’re still getting told to rise above it?!”
There was something satisfying – gratifying, even – about seeing her rage when he was too exhausted to feel his own. He didn’t say anything, and apparently, that was answer enough for Kate. She got up abruptly.
“I have to go,” she said to Bruce, voice tight with controlled anger. “I need air. Catch up with me when you’re done here.”
“I will.”
Dick looked at Bruce and raised a questioning eyebrow. Bruce nodded almost imperceptibly. Dick paused for a fraction of a second. Something passed wordlessly between the two of them, and Dick’s face softened into a smile.
He offered Scott a friendly handshake. “Hi. I’m Dick. This is Artemis and M’gann.”
Scott shook the outstretched hand. “Scott.”
He shook Artemis’s hand as well before turning to shake M’gann’s. Instead, he froze, hand still hanging in midair, at the sight of the Martian’s full face for the first time, the wave of her – not red, not really red, probably not really – hair, that familiar kind of beauty and obvious power.
He stared at M’gann, entranced, unable to pull his gaze away, grateful in the back of his mind that his sunglasses hid his eyes from view. But M’gann was staring back, mouth partially open in shock. A tear traced its way down her cheek.
“I –” she stammered. “I’m so sorry.”
Artemis reached to touch M’gann’s back, as if preparing to steady her, concerned. She glanced quickly at Scott, then back at her friend. “M’gann?”
M’gann didn’t look away from Scott.
I’m sorry.
He lowered his hand. Blinked hard. Cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he echoed. “I – I didn’t realize my shields were down. I didn’t mean for you to see that.”
She composed herself. “No. No, it wasn’t you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – I mean, I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s all right,” he said evenly. “I can understand curiosity.”
He saw Dick and Artemis exchange a quick glance, clearly wondering what their teammate had seen. Scott wished he knew the answer to that.
Part of him wondered if he shouldn’t be angry. If his defences hadn’t been down and he hadn’t been projecting, she’d intentionally probed into his mind, past both conscious and subconscious barriers. She was an adult – she should know better than to do it on purpose, and have more control than to do it accidentally.
The rest of him…
Well, he’d spent years loving telepaths, training scared mutants, and struggling for control himself. Perhaps M’gann was past the point of being unable to control her powers, powers she’d had her entire life, but he could understand.
What did she see?
Which one of his memories had put that look on her face, that shock and dismay and flat out disbelief? Or had it not been a specific memory at all, but horror at what he was, what he’d done?
He had given up everything he’d ever believed in, from his morality to his relationship with his friends, all to keep his people from extinction. And for what? He’d failed. Why wouldn’t a telepath look at him like that?
“No.” M’gann shook her head vigorously, eyes suspiciously bright, gaze intensifying. “No, you didn’t.”
Her expression was harshly blank now – jaw set; eyes, still shiny with tears, hard. “They never would have lasted this long without you. You did what you had to do. Don’t feel guilty about that.”
He didn’t respond. Wistfulness rushed through him.
It was nice to know that someone thought he’d been right, but if he hadn’t been the only one from his world there…if M’gann had been able to read Logan’s mind…no doubt she would think Scott was a monster, too.
Maybe he was. How many people’s younger selves would rather kill themselves than become them?
“I got the Presidential Medal of Freedom once,” Scott said abruptly, needing to change the subject, to think about anything else. If that meant sharing more, so be it, even if letting so many strangers see so much of him felt like a flaying, made him painfully, achingly vulnerable and exposed. “I was naïve enough to think that meant things were going to get better for us.”
M’gann blinked away the tears, seemingly speechless. Dick may not have known what she'd seen, but he looked at Scott consideringly regardless. "It's never too late."
Scott's smile was mirthless. "I hope you're right. But if I don't get home soon, it might be."
“I have to patrol,” Bruce said. “Scott, are you coming or staying?”
That threw him – Bruce had shown him trust, yes, but trust enough to leave Scott in his home while he was gone? That was…unbelievable. Scott didn’t know what to say.
“Stay,” Dick said, smiling warmly. “We have training to do, if you’d like to join us?”
Scott darted a quick look at Artemis and M’gann, unseen to everyone in the room, his eyes safely hidden behind ruby quartz. M’gann was smiling, too. Artemis wasn’t, but her hard gaze had softened.
“I’m always up for sparring with someone new,” she added.
“Then I guess I’ll have to stay,” Scott found himself saying. He shouldn’t. He knew what Bruce could do. Knew he’d win if it came down to a fight. Staying here…with a group containing a Martian with all the powers that went along with that…that was a riskier situation than Scott liked to put himself in.
Bruce offered him an actual smile at that. “Good. I’ll see you in a few hours, then.”
They ran partner drills. Dick and Artemis. Scott and M’gann. M’gann psychically linked them, and no matter how used to having telepaths in his head Scott was, it took all his willpower to not block her out.
M’gann didn’t delve far into his mind, stayed carefully on the surface. The sensation of her mind against his, of her telekinesis whispering over his skin, wasn’t exactly like it had felt with Jean, who’d always been with him, but it was still close enough to make the old wounds ache.
M’gann probably felt it, but she didn’t comment, and if she was pitying him, that didn’t come to him through the link.
He was pathetically grateful.
M’gann wasn’t Jean. Wasn’t Emma, either, nor Maddie. Wasn’t any of the telepaths he’d loved and lost.
She wasn’t the woman he’d known and loved since he’d been an awkward teenager, alongside whom he’d struggled and succeeded and failed again and again, whom he missed every damn day. Not the former enemy who he’d grown to love, that he’d fought with to protect mutantkind from those that would do them harm, that had stood by his side when the people he’d been closest to had lost faith in him. Wasn’t his first wife and the mother of his child that had given him a taste of normality and life away from the constant struggle to protect keep mutants and baseline humans alike safe.
None of that changed the fact that glancing at her reminded him a little of all of them.
“You don’t trust them to try and fix it?” Dick asked. Not judging – curious, genuinely trying to understand what Scott’s world was. All Scott could do was shake his head.
Scott had grown into himself in Westchester. It was there he had learned to become a person. Charles Xavier had given him a home and a purpose and shared with him a dream of a better world. He had long since given up that home, and so many of the ones that had come after, but there was a line, and this had to be it.
“It’s our home,” he said. “We’re not giving it up. If we agree to go off world so that they can make it safe for us to breathe, we know damn well we’re never going to be able to go back. They don’t want us there, but we don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Once upon a time, I had a dream of a world where all of Earth’s children, both mutant and baseline human, might live together in peace.
Once upon a time, Scott Summers hadn’t known who he was without Jean Grey, who’d entered his life and brought him light and laughter and colour. She’d been so much more than just his girlfriend, fiancée, wife – she’d been his best friend, his most trusted ally, the protective barrier between him and crushing loneliness. Losing her had been devastating. It had left him torn and bloody and lost.
He’d found himself when he’d rediscovered his purpose. Mutants had needed more than just an advocate, they’d needed a soldier and a leader, and so that’s what he’d become.
He’d fought on. It’s what he’d had to do. The aching grief and sense of loss never quite went away, but he’d had friends and teammates, students under his care and people that needed him, and they had helped him heal.
He’d built something over the years, regardless of his doubts and his regrets and his former friends’ hatred. Through blood, he’d clawed his people back from the brink of destruction and had taken a place for them from the world, carved it out because no one was going to give it to them.
That was something he could be at peace with. Something he could live with.
But none of it would mean anything if they gave it up.
Once upon a time, I had a dream. But this isn’t it. This is today’s reality.
“I need to go,” Clark said. He flashed a wry grin. “Giant robots terrorizing civilians in National City and my cousin is off world, you know how it is. Barry and Dinah are on their way already.”
“Do you need help?” Scott offered. “Fighting murderous robots is kind of my specialty.”
Clark smiled at him, warm and bright. “Then welcome to the team, Cyclops.”
“If you can get them out of the city and away from civilians, I can handle the rest,” Scott found himself saying. It was true. He’d done it before. He’d just always preferred to keep the destruction to an absolute minimum.
What was the point anymore?
He replaced his glasses with his visor. Get it away from everyone and everything, then destroy it. That’s what he had to do. After all, he didn’t have to worry about scaring anyone. Not here.
“Is it okay if I carry you?” Clark asked. “It’ll be fastest.”
“Then do it,” Scott nodded. No hesitation. No fear.
Scott trusted him, Clark realized with a jolt. Somehow, this suspicious, emotionally fragile, broken man, that had lived a life of pain and chaos, tragedy and betrayal, trusted him.
It was a humbling thought.
He scooped Scott into his arms, gathering him safely to his chest, and took to the sky.
Scott could open his eyes and blow a hole in a mountain, level buildings, atomize anyone in front of him. He was well trained in combat. But he was also used to being around people stronger than him. People that could – and had – picked him up and started to fly. This felt familiar. It felt safe.
And maybe flying with Clark wasn’t exactly like flying with Warren, but if he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that his old friend was the one carrying him. Clark didn’t make quips about him being too heavy. He didn’t have wings keeping them in the air. But his arms were strong and protective, and it brought Scott back to times long gone.
They got there fast. Clark landed lightly next to Dinah and set Scott down. Barry appeared on Scott’s other side.
“Anyone got a plan?” he asked, and Scott nodded.
“You and Superman get everyone clear. Canary, we need to herd the robots out of the city.”
No one questioned him. Clark and Barry immediately ran off to follow through. Dinah and Scott started pushing the robots in the direction Clark and Barry had taken off into.
Diana landed lightly on the ground and snared the robots with her lasso, holding them in place. She turned to flash Scott a dazzling smile and tossed back her hair. “Am I late?”
“Right on time.”
Barry and Clark reappeared, Clark hovering in the air and Barry next to Dinah.
“Everyone’s out of the way?” Scott demanded immediately, and Barry confirmed it with a nod. “All of you, back up.”
Scott turned to face the robots and took off his visor. The world turned red.
No more strategy. Just pure, destructive violence.
No more robots.
He slid the visor back on and sneaked a glance at the Leaguers. They looked…surprised, impressed, even, but not afraid. Not horrified.
He let out a relieved breath. They weren’t angry with him. They weren’t disgusted.
Barry was at his side in an instant. He clapped Scott’s shoulder enthusiastically. “That was so cool.”
To Clark’s astonishment, Scott actually smiled at that – it was small and a little rueful, but it was a genuine smile. He glanced over at Diana. She had a smile of her own on her face, wider and warmer than Scott’s. She had seen it, too.
Somehow, they’d all already become protective of Scott Summers, of this strange, sad, lonely man from another world. Fond of him. The life they had chosen to live wasn’t one of safety, but at least they could say it was safer than Scott’s. He had never had a choice.
Scott darted a quick look at all of them, and he must have seen something in their faces, because his smile widened. That full smile was electrically brilliant. It crossed his face slowly, as if he’d forgotten how to make the expression, had almost forgotten what it felt like to be happy.
Clark didn’t know how much longer Scott would be with them, but he made a silent vow to himself to do whatever it took to draw that smile out again for as long as he was.
“In your world, would I be considered a mutant?” Barry asked. Scott studied him for a long moment.
“I don’t know,” he answered eventually. “Maybe. Or maybe just a mutated human. Where did your powers come from?”
Barry explained. Scott listened, then shook his head.
“No, I don’t think so. Had it just been the lightning acting as a catalyst, probably, but the chemicals altered your DNA. In my world, that’s considered something else entirely.”
“And that’s enough of a difference? For societal treatment?”
Scott thought about it carefully.
“I’m not saying that mutated humans don’t face scrutiny,” he said slowly. “Oftentimes they do. But their mutation is seen as something that happened to them, rather than something they are. They might be considered freaks, but not like we are. We were born mutants. They weren’t.”
“Metahumans aren’t discriminated against here,” Barry said quietly. “At least, not…not institutionally. Not like your Earth. You would be safe here.”
Scott didn’t answer him. He couldn’t.
So long ago, Jean had told him to live. He’d tried for so long. Part of him wondered if this was him getting another chance – a world that wasn’t his own, a world protected by someone else, a world where he didn’t have to crusade on behalf of his people. A world where he could just…live.
The rest of him felt a deeply familiar self loathing at the thought. What was wrong with him? How could he possibly think about giving up? He had vulnerable people depending on him. He needed to get back to them.
He’d go home. He’d go home because he had to. Because his loved ones were still there, still in danger, still needed him. Because his people were dying.
“I don’t matter,” he said at last. “There are too many other people I need to protect.”
“You can stay here, you know,” Clark said. “We’ll always stand by your side.”
And he might not have been able to see Scott’s eyes through those red glasses, but the longing on his face was still palpable enough that he didn’t need to.
“I appreciate that, Clark,” Scott said. “But I can’t. They still need me.”
“Okay.”
Clark pulled him into a fast hug and felt Scott shudder a breath and relax against him for the briefest of moments. “It was good to meet you.”
“And you,” Scott said. “Thank you.”
Scott turned to the rest of the League. Dinah didn’t hug him, and he was grateful for that. Instead, she grasped his shoulder firmly, giving it a brief squeeze. She quirked the corner of her mouth up in a small smile.
“Good luck.”
Her voice was pleasant, nothing like the scream that shattered glass and ruptured eardrums. Unlike that scream, it didn’t remind him of why he needed to go. It made him want to stay.
Banshee. Siryn. He repeated their names to himself, and ignored the temptation.
One by one, the Leaguers bid him farewell. Finally, he found himself standing in front of J’onn. J’onn gestured to his temple and looked at Scott inquisitively. “May I?”
Scott shrugged. “Go for it.”
J’onn linked their minds and wordlessly shared. It was a familiar sensation. J’onn enveloped him in a safe cocoon of warmth, of kindness, filling him with strength.
Diana’s steady love, Barry’s gentle optimism, Clark’s hopeful sincerity. Bruce’s solid presence, Oliver’s righteous determination, Dinah’s quiet competence.
The essences of the Leaguers washed over him in gentle waves, fortifying him. It could have so easily been overwhelming, but J’onn was careful, and instead, it felt grounding. Perhaps this was what certainty felt like.
J’onn slipped out of his mind.
The tension drained out of Scott’s shoulders, as if along with passing on strength and support, J’onn had somehow given him the tangible ability to go back, to walk unflinchingly back into fire, into hell, into the only world he’d ever called home.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“You’re welcome.”
“Goodbye,” he added, and squared his shoulders. He was going back.
Courage, my friends, ’tis not too late to build a better world.
He let out a long, slow breath, glanced at all the Leaguers one more time to commit their faces to memory, and stepped through the portal to return home.