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David looked around the Xavier grounds as they sat on the back veranda--or, well, he squatted on top of a low stone wall while wee-David who wasn't him at all propped his elbows up on the wall with his hands against his cheeks, and he said, "You're so wierd."
David looked down at wee-David, one brow lifted archly, and he said, "And yer world is so sodden friendly it gives me the creeps."
Their father...here, he was a good man. Back home, it was too bloody hard to tell it one way or another, if David loathed the old man or if he loved him so much it hurt--but here it was... easier, wierdly, to look at the man, and to know already what was important to know about him.
Charles Xavier was a good man, and no one here could help David Haller with the mess inside his head--something about the fabric of their universes being too different--but, ah hell, David had gotten so used to things going down the hard way, it would have sounded suspect to see it going otherwise.
When David looked at this other-universe version of himself, he didn't know if what he was feeling was horror or envy. This kid's head--his was organized, and it's other inhabitants were practically babes in the woods, all innocence. David's head was a prison-labyrinth full of chaos and violence--and it was all he could do to crawl in and out of its mental crannies and air-vents, hunting down the disturbed fragments that housed separate mutant abilities. Even right then, he was, in a way, in two places at once--outside, he was with this kid, but inside he was cooling his heels in a red room somewhere high and away, listening for the discontent murmerings of the other fragmented persons inside.
"You need help," the kid said, and David just rolled his eyes and, "Really, ya think--"
Wee-David gave him a flat-eyed look, and then tapped his temple. It looked like something their father--here--would do, and David couldn't help his lip curling a little at that, dryly amused. Wee-David said, "No, dummy, you need--you need an ally, in your head. You keep saying that there's only monsters in there with you--and some wierd octopus thing, I guess, that helps you with telepathy, but is still...creepy...You need someone who would really watch your back."
David just shook his head in wonder then. "Jus' listen to you. What a dream that would be--pipe dreams, is all that is. Full of hot air."
Wee-David looked at him, and then hunched over to rest his chin on his knuckles. "Everyone in here watches everyone's backs. It's...it's how we survive."
"Yeah," David said. "I know. I'm a telepath too, you know. I can tell when ya do yer old switcheroos."
They got sort of quiet after that, nobody really talking, and David sitting cross-legged on the stone next to wee-David. Not too far of a distance behind them, he could feel...hah, he could feel ole' Magento--well, young Magneto, watching like a bloody protective shark over the kid--kids--and their...their father was there too, but the sense of him was far less tense or suspicious of what was going on.
In this world, their father was too different--but their mother was more distant, not understanding--so maybe even here, not everyone got what they wanted. It seemed like a minor price though, in comparison.
Yeah. David wasn't sure if he was completely creeped out by this world, or completely envious of the obvious peace.
David put his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands, the fingertips lightly digging into the bush called his hair. If he could stay in another universe forever--but he was pretty sure he wouldn't, even if given that kind of clear choice. His universe was a mess, but it was his mess and.
And, well.
They all did the best with what they had, didn't they?
Aye, David thought, listening to wee-him say they should go inside now before Uncle Erik hurt himself glaring at them through the window, and inside his head was a dull sound like air moving through pipes and a low electric hum.
They did the best they could.
Always.