The Worst Kind of Alive

Posted on Sun Apr 13th, 2025 @ 8:53pm by Charles Xavier & Drew Williams & Angela Williams

0 words; about a 1 minute read

Mission: Episode 6: X-Fernus Agenda
Location: X-Mansion | Professor Xavier's Office
Timeline: December 20th, 1990

It had been over a week since the X-Men returned from Genosha, but time had done little to soften the weight of what had happened there. The horrors they had witnessed, the scars—both visible and unseen—lingered like shadows in the corners of everyone's minds, refusing to fade. Even now, in the warmth and glow of the holiday season, there was an uneasy stillness beneath the surface, a quiet tension that no amount of festive cheer could fully erase.

For some, the mansion had become a sanctuary, a place to breathe and process, to mend what could be mended. For others, it was a cage of expectation, where moving forward was less of a choice and more of a demand. The halls, usually filled with laughter and friendly banter, at times felt heavier in ways that had nothing to do with the cold winter air creeping in through the windows.

It was in one of those gloomy moments that Professor Xavier had summoned Angela and Drew to his office. The request had come without explanation, and though nothing in his tone had been urgent, the silence that followed had left plenty of room for unease to creep in. There was always a reason when the Professor called someone in. Sometimes it was guidance, sometimes it was reassurance—but other times, it was something far more difficult to hear.

Now, as they made their way through the mansion’s winding corridors, the quiet pressed in around them, every step bringing them closer to the open office doors and a revelation they weren't sure they wanted.

Drew had been doing a lot of thinking since waking from his coma following the mission to Genosha. He wasn't sure if he was cut out to be an X-Man. He had fought, just like the others, but he'd not crossed a line like some of the others. He'd not killed his opponents. Some of the others had and it seemed like they didn't have a problem with it.

Angela had been doing a lot of thinking too. Kennedy was a kind and welcoming roommate, but she'd been missing her family and friends from back home. She was looking forward to returning home and spending Christmas with everyone.

The siblings looked at one another then to the door. Drew raised his hand to knock, but didn't have to.

As they stepped into the office, the atmosphere felt heavier than the quiet halls they had just passed through. The air was still, thick with something unspoken, something ominous. Professor Xavier sat behind his desk, hands folded neatly in front of him, his usual warmth tempered by an undeniable solemnity. He inclined his head toward them, his expression unreadable yet not unkind.

"Please, take a seat," he said gently, his voice even, steady.

The man seated next to him adjusted his wireframe glasses and opened the polished leather briefcase resting on his lap. His movements were methodical, professional, yet laced with an unspoken gravity.

Drew and Angela hesitated for only a second before lowering themselves into the chairs opposite Xavier's desk. The old wood creaked slightly under their weight, the sound almost deafening in the silence that followed.

Xavier exhaled softly, his gaze measured, sympathetic. "I want you both to know that whatever is said here today, you will have my full support in any way I can offer it."

The man beside him gave a short nod at that, then turned his attention to the siblings. "I understand this is difficult, and I’ll be as direct as I can while sparing you unnecessary distress." He cleared his throat. "My name is Amos Crawley. I serve as the legal representative for your family's estate."

Crawley continued, his tone professional but not unfeeling. "There is no easy way to say this, so I will be frank. It is my duty to inform you that your parents have been declared deceased."

Several seconds passed before any reaction was forthcoming.

Drew registered the news first. He may have been speechless, but his mind raced to the obvious questions. What happened? When did it occur? Where there witnesses? When was the funeral? Those questions and more ran through his mind.

Angela stared at the attorney. Her mind going blank as she listened to him. This was a mistake. They would have been notified already.

Crawley allowed them a moment before continuing, his voice careful. "As per the terms of their final will and testament, the estate will be placed into a trust for the surviving minors. This trust is structured to provide for your needs and will be distributed as scholastic stipends as you pursue medical school or an equivalent terminal academic program, at which point the sum total may be released to you. Until then, all expense accounts and assets have been closed and clawed back by the estate and placed within the trust for future disbursement according to the terms stipulated in the final will and testament on file."

He reached into his briefcase and produced a set of legal documents, sliding them forward across the desk. "I need you both to review these and sign where indicated. Signing as beneficiaries ensures the estate remains in your name. If you decline, the estate will fall into probate, where extended relatives may attempt to claim it through the court system."

The paperwork lay between them like a chasm.

"Think carefully," Crawley said, "but as your legal representative I advise you to sign."

Drew reached for the document, his hands trembling. He could feel his throat tightening as he looked from the attorney to the document papers. He glanced at Angela, her expression blank. "Uh, wh....what happened? When did this happen?"

Crawley watched them both carefully, giving Drew a measured glance before answering. His hands folded neatly on the polished surface of Xavier’s desk, a picture of composed professionalism, though even he couldn't entirely mask the weight of what he was about to say.

"I'm afraid," Crawley began, his voice low but clear, "that the details are still... limited. The investigation is ongoing, and not all records have been released to me or to the public."

Taking a breath, Crawley accessed what little humanity remained within the soul of a career attorney and imitated a passing facsimile of compassion. "What I can tell you is this," he continued. "Your family was gathered at the family manor near Boston when it—" he paused, his throat tightening just slightly before he pressed on, "—when it burned to the ground. The fire destroyed the entire estate."

A wave of calm emanated from Professor Xavier, not overriding anybody's emotional response but offering a steadying buoyancy in the sea of turmoil that had begun to rage.

Crawley pressed forward, gently but firmly. "The coroner's office has confirmed the remains of your parents and grandparents among those recovered, along with those of several staff members. I'm told it was fast... though I don't know if that brings any comfort." His mouth tightened, his fingers lacing and unlacing briefly before resting again. "At this time, the authorities are declining to speculate on the cause. No one's officially declared foul play—" his voice grew sharper, more precise, as though reading between lines he wasn't allowed to say outright, "—but they are being rather... tight-lipped, which suggests to me there may be more to the story than they're releasing."

That wasn't news to Xavier. There had been significant churning among New England's Upper Crust with the recent upheaval of the Hellfire Club and the Department of Justice's crusade to push them out of North America altogether. But he kept his suspicions quiet for the moment.

"I understand," Crawley said, and there was a quiet sympathy in his tone now, "how the situation seems so irregular, and I wish I had better answers to give you. But that's all I've been given to work with so far."

Xavier, who had remained silent throughout, watching them with that calm, inscrutable gaze, finally spoke—his voice soft, yet weighted with an unmistakable promise. "If the official investigation proves lacking, I will put all of my considerable resources toward a private one," he said, his eyes meeting both Drew's and Angela's. "You will not be left to wonder in the dark."

Crawley gave a respectful nod toward Xavier, before returning his attention to the siblings. "Regardless of how this all came to pass," he said carefully, "the legal process for the estate must move forward. If you do not sign these documents, the estate will fall into probate. I must warn you—should that happen, the federal estate and inheritance taxes will take a hefty portion right off the top. And then, extended relatives, business partners, and other interested parties may stake claims through the court. Your family's legacy will be fractured and parceled out one piece at a time, and there may be very little left once all the vultures are done."

Crawley pushed the papers gently closer, his voice softening but still firm. "If you sign, the estate will go into trust. It will remain whole and protected, held for both your futures. You'll have stipends for school, and when you complete a terminal degree—be it medical school, law, or something equivalent—the full inheritance will revert to you."

A felt pen was placed atop the stack of papers.

"But," Crawley added, giving them a steady look, "until then, there will be no access to the family accounts. No credit cards, no spending money, no separate trust funds, no family assets like vacation properties, vehicles, and so on. Everything will be frozen and consolidated into that single trust, in both your names. I'm sorry." He leaned back slightly, giving them another chance to think. "You have my condolences. But this is my strongest advice—sign."

Drew picked up the pen and held it in his hand as he reviewed the pages of the document. His slow, methodical turning of the pages gave him time to speed read through the document. He finally sighed and signed the document before handing the pen to Angela.

Angela was still in a daze, but signed the document as well. She placed the pen down on the desk and sat in her chair. Everything seemed surreal to her. She looked at Crawley and then to Professor Xavier. "I am going to my room." She jerked up from the chair and walked to the door. She opened the door and marched out.

Drew glanced at the adults and then rose from his chair as well. "Excuse us." He looked at the doorway. "I...." He had no words for the adults. His thoughts were to just be with his sister at the moment. He turned and followed Angela out.

As Angela reached for the door handle and Drew rose from his seat, both lost in the fog of shock, Xavier’s voice cut through the room—not spoken aloud, but inside their minds, powerful and impossible to ignore.

~Wait~

The single word resonated like a bell, a quiet command wrapped in a telepathic force neither of them could quite resist. Their steps faltered—Angela's hand froze on the door, Drew pausing mid-turn as if held back by an invisible weight. Only when they had fully stopped did Xavier release the gentle pressure from their minds. His gaze, calm but insistent, turned toward them, his hands steepled thoughtfully on the desk before him.

"Please," Xavier said aloud now, his voice softening but still firm. "I shan't keep you long, but there are things that must be said."

He leaned forward slightly, folding his hands together, his eyes warm with sympathy. "First and foremost, I want you both to know that you are not alone in this. I cannot pretend to replace what you've lost—no one could—but this place, and everyone in it, is now your home, if you choose to accept it."

He glanced briefly at Crawley, who sat in patient silence as he slowly returned the documents to his briefcase. Xavier returned his full attention to Drew and Angela.

"There are details we can go over later, when you're ready—the terms of the trust, the practical matters of your care and well-being," Xavier continued gently. "As co-executor of the estate's trust, I will ensure your needs are met, and you will have access to the stipend outlined once your schooling is underway."

His gaze softened even further as he leaned back, giving them space.

"But beyond finances, I want you both to know that my door is always open. Always. Whether for guidance, support, or simply to listen. No judgment. No expectations."

He paused, and a faint smile touched his lips as he added, "And if you would rather speak to someone closer to your age, someone who understands what it means to live with loss—Jean Grey has graciously agreed to be available to you both, should you prefer a more personal connection."

Xavier let the offer linger in the air, watching the grief flicker behind their eyes.

"You are not alone," he repeated gently, his voice carrying the subtle strength of someone who had spoken those words many times to many students in pain. "... and grief counseling may help you see that in due time. You may go for now," he finally said, with a nod. "But please… think about what I’ve said."

The siblings stood there quietly for a moment. Neither one knew what they were going to do at the moment. Drew finally nodded as he put an arm around his sister's shoulder. "We will Professor...and thank you." He led Angela away. Their lives had changed in an instant and they were going to need time to figure out what they were going to do about these changes.

Drew walked Angela back to her dorm room. General rules called for a door to be open any time a boy was in a girls room and vice verse. Under the current circumstances neither and considering that Drew and Angela were siblings, neither one was particularly interested in following the rules. Drew sat on Angela’s bed, one arm draped across her shoulder and holding one of her hands in his own free hand. He fought hard not to cry. He had to stay strong for his sister as she cried.

Angela’s tears fell without restraint. What was going to happen now? What could they do, what should they do...and what would they do? These questions and more loomed and there was no answer for any of them. Not at the moment.

As the door clicked shut behind Drew and Angela, a heavy silence settled over Xavier's study, the kind that seemed to press against the walls of the grand old room, as if the mansion itself was absorbing the weight of what had just transpired.

Amos Crawley watched the door for a lingering moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. With a quiet exhale, he reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a finely embossed business card, placing it neatly atop Xavier’s desk. "In case they need anything... beyond what you can offer."

"Thank you, Mr. Crawley. I expect they may have need of your services again, before long." His hands folded gently atop the desk, the subtle crease in his brow betraying the concern he felt.

Crawley hesitated only a second longer, studying the Professor as if debating whether to say something further. Then, with a nod that was both courteous and final, he turned on his heel and walked to the door. "Good day, Professor Xavier."

"Good day, Mr. Crawley," Xavier returned, his voice soft but steady.

When the door closed behind the attorney, Xavier sat alone, the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner suddenly much louder in the emptiness. His eyes drifted toward the window, where the faintest dusting of snow was beginning to fall, catching in the corners of the glass like fragile ash.

For a long moment, he said nothing, only watching the snow.

A flicker of regret crossed his face as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepling thoughtfully under his chin. He had built this place to protect them—to give them hope. And yet, no matter how many walls he erected, no matter how many students he saved, the pain of this world seemed always to find a way inside. From the Williams' twins to the rest of the Alternate Class and even the First Class who preceded them, everyone's story seemed defined by profound loss. Were they victims of his own tale in losing his family and all he held dear? Was calamity the legacy of the Graymalkin family manor? Would disaster always be the toll paid to walk the high road?

Xavier closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling deeply. "We are supposed to be building a future," he whispered to no one, "not standing in the ashes of the past. How many more children must walk through these doors, broken by a world that fears them? How many more young lives torn apart by loss before they ever get a chance to live?"

But even as he said it, he knew: if there was a future to be built, it would be forged by those very children—Angela, Drew, and all the others—who carried their scars and still found a way to keep going.

"Fac fortia et patere," Xavier said to himself. Before the day was through, he would say it again. And again.

END

 

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