A Guarded Prognosis
Posted on Wed Sep 3rd, 2025 @ 10:33am by Jean Grey-Summers & Kennedy Kelly & Rahne Sinclair & Cecilia Reyes M.D. & Hayden Davis & Maeve MacKenna & Jennifer Bryant & Desmond Greene & Alaric Thane & Josiah Martin
9,526 words; about a 48 minute read
Mission:
Episode 7: Pathogens and Contagions
Location: X-Mansion
Timeline: March 3, 1992
Jean walked through the dimly lit room that held the stasis chambers of all the X-Men who had fallen victim to the Legacy Virus. Caught early enough to preserve them but too late for them to recover, their bodies were placed in sleek life support pods that stopped the advancement of the disease while they remained in a state that could best be described as a deep dreamless sleep. They would find a cure someday, Dr. Reyes had turned that task into her obsession, but until that day arrived those who were too sick to survive were preserved, held in place until they could return.
She lingered at one specific pod, the ruby lens visor on the inhabitant’s face made it clear who was held inside. Jean pressed a kiss into her fingers before placing them on the glass over Scott’s lips, her wedding ring catching some of the light as she moved. “Come back to me one day. You promised me forever.”
* “You are sad.” * A strangely hollow voice replied from above as a falcon-sized bird made of cosmic fire circle above Jean before landing on her shoulder.
“Yes, I am.” Jean replied to the phoenix, it had been trying to better identify human emotions and she confirmed that it had in fact selected the correct reaction.
The day that Xavier and the First Class were all placed into the stasis pods the fire bird had appeared by her side. Whether the creature was an indicator of a psychotic break or was a guardian sent from the stars remained unclear.
“I am sad a lot these days.” Jean admitted even though her mood was obvious to everyone at the mansion.
* “Yes.” * The bird agreed with a raptor’s cock of the head. * “I have always been drawn to you, summoned by moments of pain and death. But I did not know that a broken heart would cause so much… distress. Your emotions are still strange to me, but I will stay with you while the hurt remains.” *
“I love you too.” Jean said with a sarcastic chuckle as she attempted to stifle the pang in her heart that seeing Scott always managed to create. She finished her checks on each pod, a task she performed at least twice a day. “Shall we go see how the rest of the team is doing?”
* “Yes.” * Phoenix replied with as much assurance as its hollow tone could provide. * “They have been busy lately.” * The bird took to the air with her but soon vanished from sight as Jean left the sub-basement.
Making her way upstairs, Jean exited the mansion and walked towards the industrial grade tent that had been set up on the back stretch of the grounds. Hidden from the public eye thanks to Maeve’s terraforming, the temporary building had been erected as a makeshift hospital and housing unit for mutants suffering from the Legacy Virus. Thanks to the assistance of the Fallen Angels and the Morlocks, they had developed an underground railroad of sorts to bring ill mutants to Greymalkin Lane for treatment.
“Good Morning, Cecilia.” Jean said as she entered the hospital ward. While she hadn’t been living at the mansion when Dr. Reyes had arrived, the woman had become her greatest asset and friend. Despite being curmudgeonly, often grumpy, and an occasionally hot-headed individual, she was a brilliant doctor who had done a lot to help save mutants.
“Three more arrived last night.” Cecilia replied but didn’t look up from her charts. “Two have the usual symptoms, fever, cough but no rash at this point…thank god. But one is different… he’s cold and clammy.”
“I guess we’ll keep a close eye on him.” Jean looked out at the rows of beds, most were occupied these days. When the Legacy Virus mutated and allowed humans to get sick that was when the fear-mongering prejudice really started to occur. No longer a pandemic that was to be neglected, mutants were treated even more like pariahs. Most hospitals would not treat them, care was refused and they were left to die, death to mutants was the desired outcome after all.
Xavier’s continued to harbor and care for the outcasts, just like it always had. So far, they had mixed results for recovery among the sick. It really was a toss of the coin if a person would live or die from the Legacy Virus. When the rash appeared on a sick person's torso, that was when everyone knew the virus would be lethal.
“How is everyone else?” Jean asked, inquiring about the Alternate Class and not just the patients.
“Huh?” Cecilia replied as if it was the most alien question one could ask. “How should I know… go ask them yourself.”
"Of course." Jean said with a chuckle as she left Dr. Reyes to her work. Cecilia's limited bedside compassion was reserved for the sick. Making her way through the tent, she found the first of the X-Men already at work. "Good Morning."
Hayden was refilling cups, glasses, and thermoses with water from the air. Carrying ice from the Mansion in the large coolers had become a chore. And while she could not make ice, she had learned to slow the molecules of the water enough to make it cold. It created a refreshing drink and allowed those tending to the fevers to have something to keep their washcloths cold and wet.
"Good morning," she replied, turning around from one of the beds. "Oh, uh, hi Mrs. Summers." Hayden had learned months ago not to ask anyone how they were doing. Because they were all pretty much in some degree of dealing with it. "Anything new about what's going on out there?" she asked, gesturing towards the front gate.
“You can call me Jean.” She said to Hayden for what was probably the 400th time but the name and title still managed to make her smile. “No news out there, same as it was yesterday and the day before.” She said with a defeated sigh. Despite the great strides they had taken to help mutants, the global response remained indifferent. “But we do have three new patients that arrived last night. I haven’t met them yet, maybe we should check on them?”
"Yes, ma'am," she said, still finding it difficult after all this time. Maybe she'd try it next time, call her Jean, and see how it felt. "Oh, that's a great idea." She grabbed a couple canteens from a Beat Street box that had been delivered that morning. "You know, just in case they're thirsty or something to break the ice a little. Um, the new patients... over there?" she gestured. It was more of a question than a statement as patients seemed to be constantly moved based on how bad they were. Or had gotten.
"Yes." Jean nodded her head and followed Hayden but her brow furrowed ever so slightly thanks to whatever telepathic reading she was picking up from one of the new arrivals. "Let's just go slow with them, okay?"
It had been a rocky, yet informative, year for Alaric. He'd learned more about Jean and Scott and all the X-Men from Lorna's stories. Then came the virus that disrupted life even more. That had not quite settled into a new normal, at least not for him. Having his Father gone so soon after meeting him...it was not an easy thing to deal with. The increased opposition of his kind by the humans did nothing to ease that pain.
Alaric had taken opportunities to visit Kamar-Taj and Lorna, though not as often as he would have liked due to the virus. He'd checked in on Limbo a few times to see how it was progressing. And to reassert his dominion as needed. But other than that, Alaric had pretty much stayed around the Mansion.
He spent his free time practicing his magic, which was still weak on Earth. While the Soulsword increased it some, it would never be full strength like in Limbo. He became more skilled at using the Shadow Gate teleportation portals. Alaric found himself making pizza runs to the city for the younger students and opening portals for the immediate transport of medical supplies.
Now, he was standing guard at the medical tent. Most times outside, but occasionally just inside the doorway. The fact that they didn't need a guard was a clearly explained to him several times. Which is why he spent most of his time outside the tent.
Tag Any
Maeve crouched at the tree line, the early March wind tugging at the edges of her rust-red utility jacket. A thick woollen scarf was wrapped loosely at her neck, tucked into the collar, and her trousers were heavy-duty canvas—torn at the cuffs and dusted with mud. She wore proper gloves this time, black and insulated, though the right had been peeled off so she could lay her fingers to the earth.
The patch of ground just outside the tent had been churned to muck from the weight of too many feet, too many supply carts, too much bad weather. With a quiet breath, Maeve closed her eyes and pushed downward—not hard, just enough. The soil responded, firming subtly beneath the surface, the worst of the water drawn aside to form natural runnels down toward the treeline. She couldn’t stop the cold, couldn’t fight the virus, but she could keep the next patient from slipping in slush on their way inside.
She leaned back on her heels and stood, brushing off her knees. A row of crude stone stepping paths had risen just enough to hold the shape of dry footing—simple, useful. That was what she’d become lately. Useful. She didn’t sing or joke like she used to. There wasn’t time for it, and even if there was, her voice had felt too tight in her throat these days.
The breeze carried the faint sounds of movement from within the tent—coughs, footsteps, hushed conversation. She didn’t go in unless she had to. Not because she was afraid, but because it was easier to stay outside and do something, anything. Raising her hand, she coaxed a small swell of earth to the side of the trail where one of the younger Morlocks was hauling medical crates. A little ramp formed under the wheels as they passed, easing the strain. The boy gave her a tired thumbs-up, and Maeve responded with a nod, not trusting herself to smile.
She lingered a moment longer at the edge of the wood, arms crossed, watching the sky for signs of more weather. The next storm would come—of that she was sure. And when it did, she'd be ready again.
A snap of a twig from behind Maeve announced the presence of Rahne. The wolf-girl had calmed down some in the time she had spent at Xavier’s but she still remained a wild child of the woods more than a proper pre-teen. “Ah don’t like it in there either,” Rahne said to Maeve as she approached, her own eyes fixed on the medical tent. “It smells right boggin inside."
Maeve glanced over her shoulder and gave Rahne a nod, not surprised to see her there. “Yeah,” she said simply, brushing her muddy glove against her thigh. “It reeks. All that sickness and bleach… just clings to you.” She tilted her head slightly toward the tent. “I go in when I have to, but out here’s easier. You can actually do something.”
She looked down the path she’d shaped, then back to Rahne. “You don’t have to go in either. But if you’re up for it, you could help me out here. Keep the trail clear, make it less crap for the ones dragging carts. Doesn’t fix anything, but it’s better than standing still.”
Rahne nodded her head in agreement, while she didn’t volunteer to help with much of anything she was happy to participate whenever she was asked. Slipping behind a cluster of bushes the girl vanished and a large wolf appeared in her place. Stepping out onto the path, her ruddy brown fur looked sleek and smooth in the warm spring sunlight, today was the first day that reminded them that the seasons were about to change.
The wolf examined the path for a moment before she noticed a few snapped branches and tree litter that had fallen during the movement of large equipment. Her large paws left prints in the mud as she pulled on a large branch that was much bigger than anything that would be classified as a stick. With a bit of struggling and a firm tug she freed the tree branch, an action made her tail wag in delight. Placing the branch in her teeth, the wolf lifted its head and began to prance around Maeve in what could best be described as a victory dance.
Maeve’s brows lifted as the ruddy‑furred wolf stepped out from the bushes, sunlight catching on her sleek coat. “Bloody hell, Rahne…” she breathed, a flicker of awe slipping through her usual guarded tone. “You’re a sight, so you are.” For all the strangeness she’d seen since coming to the mansion, there was still something wild and magic about seeing Rahne in her full glory—power and freedom wrapped up in fur and muscle.
She couldn’t help but grin as the wolf wrestled the branch free and pranced in a little victory circle. “Show‑off,” Maeve said, shaking her head but not hiding the warmth in her voice. Taking the branch, she set it to the side of the path. “That’ll keep the next cart from catching a wheel. Keep going like that and we might even make this trail respectable.”
Her eyes wandered briefly to the tent, the smell and sound of sickness tugging at the edge of her thoughts, but she pushed it away. “Come on,” she said softly, jerking her chin toward the treeline. “Let’s see what else we can clear before the next lot comes through.”
The wolf's golden eyes seemed sad at the suggestion of no longer playing with the branch but with a drooping tail she dragged the small log off into the woods before returning the Maeve's side. While Rahne was still unruly she managed to at least listen to requests and commands, especially since they were no longer enforced with fists.
She sat for a moment before the wolf noticed a large rock sticking out of the path. With a return to elation, she pranced over and began to dig at the mud surrounding the rock.
Maeve watched her go, the corners of her mouth twitching at the sight of that drooping tail. “Alright, alright, don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, though her tone was fond. When Rahne padded back to her side, Maeve’s gaze lingered—there was something about seeing her like this, all strength and wild grace, that made the heavy air around the tent feel just a bit lighter.
When the wolf bounded off again toward the rock, Maeve crouched nearby, resting an elbow on her knee as she watched those powerful paws tear at the mud. “You’re wasted in the classroom, y’know that?” she said with a half‑smile. “We’ll have this path looking better than the main road if you keep it up.”
Rahne nodded her large shaggy head in agreement as she continued to cover herself in mud. It was only when she finished digging that she shook off and coated Maeve and a layer of wet, cold mud.
Near the entrance, Desmond sidestepped besides the Headmistress and Hayden while ducking out of the tent. His hands were filled with large bags of waste of all kinds.
In the past months he had tried being useful in many ways. He had helped in the kitchen. Cooking was something he enjoyed, and was reasonably capable at. But his big stature and massive hands made most of the finer prep-work impractical. The same was true when he was helping Doctor Reyes out in the clinic. The fact his biology was so far removed from both baseline human and most mutants meant he didn't really suffer any effects from the Legacy Virus.
He had looked around everywhere, pitched in where he could. But in the end he hadn't really found his spot. So instead he did odd jobs. He helped clean out the various trash bins in the medical tents, moved heavy equipment, and carried those patients that weren't viably moved on a normal gurney. And he dug graves, he knew Maeve could've done that through her powers, but wanted to spare her that at least.
Desmond had to truly duck to exit the tent. With his height and strength he could knock the whole tent over if he didn't pay attention. So while paying attention to that, he nearly knocked the person entering the tent over too.
“Dessy!” Kennedy gasped as her notebook, loose leaf paper, and envelopes were knocked from her hands and sent scattered across the muddy grounds outside the tent. Her morning routine consisted of collecting contact information for sick mutants, delivering them mail that may have arrived the day before, and writing letters for those who were too ill to do anything other than lay in bed. All of her supplies went flying as she ran right into the giant with a thud that was better described as a knock on wood.
“That was my good stationary too.” Kennedy moaned as she rubbed the shoulder that had made impact with Desmond and she surveyed the mess that had been made. She glanced over at Alaric who always stood outside the tent as guard even though his doing so made everyone inside uncomfortable. “Well don’t just stand there! Help me.”
Desmond's chest rumbled with the deep sigh he let out. He put the five large bags of trash on the grass, next to the path. "Why are you not using the clipboard and folders?" His fingers dug into the mud to lift up the various pieces of paper. This hadn't been the first time someone had bumped into him coming out of the tents. It hadn't even been the first time it had been Kennedy, so he had experience.
"I left it in the tent..." Kennedy half hissed and half muttered as if offended that Desmond would even question her actions.
"Here, pull 'm out before they get soaked too bad." He proffered the hands full of writing to Kennedy. The last time they had tried picking up the paper, he had torn most of the ones he handled into shreds of paper. He knew how important the letters were to the patients, so he didn't want to damage them worse.
Alaric watched the scene unfold in silence at first; the collision, the fall, the scattered paper. His posture was still with no trace of annoyance in him, only a quiet understanding. He stepped forward, crouching beside the fallen paper, his fingers hovering just above the mess. "Hold on," he said softly, not to Kennedy and not to Desmond.
The air cooled for a breath, and Alaric’s palm lifted slightly. Wisps of shadow curled outward from his fingers, delicate and precise. A faint glow shimmered beneath the paper, a thin film of violet light that lifted the envelopes and pages just slightly above Desmond's hands, halting the seep of water. They hovered, weightless, like leaves caught in a still breeze. He whispered a short phrase in Latin, and the moisture that had begun to soak into the parchment began to retreat. Ink stopped running. Water beaded and slipped off as if the pages had never touched the earth.
Alaric stood, and with a slow, almost reverent motion, gestured the letters back toward Kennedy. They drifted into a neat stack in front of her hands. “Your good stationery survives,” he said, tone soft. A faint smile tugged at his mouth, "They need this. Maybe we all do." The thought struck him that maybe they, the X-Men, needed to write letters to family. Who knew what it might do for them.
He looked back over to Desmond, "Accidents happen, my friend."
"Magic is so unfair." Desmond grumbled. He was in awe of what Alaric could do. Not just pulling water out of paper and recovering what was ruined. That was really useful. But just in general, Alaric's powers were just so versatile, and, well, really cool. It looked cool, he did cool stuff, and he made it even cooler by being so casual about it. "Any chance you can magic up some dry weather too?"
Alaric smiled, this time lighting up his face. "Unfortunately, no. That is not within my abilities. The mutant that is able to do that is currently residing in Kamar-Taj and is an Elder for Clan Askani. As far as the magic, I'm limited more on Earth. Besides, anything too big exacts a similar cost."
"Thanks Alaric," Kennedy replied as she collected the floating paper. Even though he had been at the school for some time now, the Limbo raised mutant still had a strangeness to him. It was a reminder that he was still not of this world.
"You know, you don't have to stand there like some sort of watchdog. Nothing crazy is going to happen." Kennedy said in an attempt to remind Alaric that this world wasn't like the one he knew. She looked up as Desmond "Maybe you could use your magic to help him so he doesn't crash into people...again."
"You're welcome, Kennedy. And I know nothing crazy is going to happen. Because I'm standing here," he added with a smirk. He looked over to Desmond. "I don't think magic is going to fix that."
The only real solution for Desmond to stop running into people was to find some way for his mutation to be reversed. And that thought hurt Desmond. For all the changes he had experienced, he had grown to embrace his mutation and powers. He knew his friends wouldn't consider reversing his mutation as any kind of solution, but the implication Desmond saw in those words did hurt. He masked the sting by twisting his face into an over-the-top scowl. "Maybe some people just shouldn't walk into tents when I'm walking out. You're talking about blaming the tree for you walking into it."
Kennedy’s blue eyes narrowed as she scowled at Desmond’s less than subtle accusation. She did have a reputation for not paying attention and bumping into people but she was rarely called out about it. “Maybe we should put some safety lights and alarms on you for when you’re backing up.” Her look of outrage and comeback was more comical than threatening, like when a cat demands to go outside when it's clearly raining only for them to be upset with you for opening the door and getting them wet. “At least then we would know what direction you’re going in.”
"Hang on now," said Alaric. "I think we're going to need to continue this discussion another time. That scream was one of terror," he said, gesturing inside the tent. "Come on." Without waiting for the other two, he ran inside and quickly looked around.
"Once upon a time, there was a great famine (which means there wasn't enough food to go around). The people in one small village didn't have enough to eat, and definitely not enough to store away for the winter. People were afraid their families would go hungry, so they hid the small amounts of food they did have. They even hid their food from their friends and neighbors. One day a wandering soldier came into the village. He asked the different people he met about finding a place to eat and sleep for the night," Jennifer read to the young mutant lying in the bed. Too young. Most mutants didn't even know what they were at that age but this one was already sick. Jennifer wanted to cry but she made herself smile. Her power was not especially useful for any of this. She had done lots of cooking and carrying and cleaning. There was always more to be done. But she had found a lot of the sick just wanted someone to spend a little time with them. She had tried to talk to them as much as she could. And to be as cheerful and hopeful as she could. It was emotionally taxing, but she thought it helped.
She turned the page. "'There's not a bite to eat in the whole county,' they told him. 'You better keep moving on.'"
"But that's a lie!" the girl exclaimed.
Jennifer smiled. "It is. But wait and see what happens."
“Oi! Keep it down over there.” Grumbled a rather pale and cranky man from the bed next to Jennifer as he pulled his blanket up over his head. He had removed his studded leather jacket but his messy liberty spikes and over sized Dr. Martens told them he openly advertised his punk status. “Some of us is tryin’ ta sleep.” He looked over at his empty water glass and growled about that next “And can I get some more bloody watuh?! I’m thirsty as fuck.”
A small gaggle of younger children say on the ground supervised, for the moment, by a teenager who somehow managed to be in control of them all while looking like he was running an exercise in mass chaos as he rummaged in a backpack. None of these kids were sick, but had, nevertheless, been taken in by Xavier's either for one reason or another, not least some because their caregiver was lying in a sick bed. Smiling at them, he fished out several chocolate bars, marshmallows, and graham crackers. Joey waited for them to be paying attention again before he addressed them, keeping the goodies slightly out of reach. "Hold your horses, you little heathens," he said. "To make S'mores we need more'n just this now don't we? Who knows what we're missin?"
He couldn't resist laughing a little as the kids called out various ideas. "Some of those are good guesses, especially sticks which we do need, but I think y'all are forgettin' the most important bit. Jimmy, what'd you carry down here for us?"
"The wood? So, we need a fire?"
"Exactly. We gotta make a fire. Now, fire can be dangerous if we're not careful. See how the spot we have here has a little area with no grass and two circles of rocks? That's where we're gonna make our fire, inside the small circle. The big circle outside that is so we don't accidentally get any sparks in the grass. So, can everyone scoot back just a bit so you're outside the circle? Thanks. I saw Mrs. Summers earlier and if anyone has to go to the medical bay with burns I'll end up in detention, which means you end up in the dumpster after I get out. And no more than 2 a piece or it'll be the same for giving you tummy aches. Got it?"
The last pronouncement prompted a few giggles from the kids more familiar with Joey who knew it to be an empty threat.
While Rahne had been willing to help Maeve, the promise of treats was far too tempting for the always food motivated preteen. Taking Maeve’s sleeve in her teeth, she dragged them both away from their work and over to Joey who was promising to provide s’mores in the middle of the day.
Ignoring his words of caution, the large wolf marched right into the safety circle that had been established and began to snarf around looking for any component of the promised treats.
Maeve staggered slightly as Rahne tugged at her sleeve, boots slipping in the muck she’d been working so hard to tame. “Oi—steady on!” she hissed, though there was no real bite to it. The wolf had already decided they were taking a break, and arguing seemed pointless once food was involved.
“Bribery now, is it?” Maeve muttered as she allowed herself to be led, eyes narrowing at Joey with mock suspicion. “You’ve created a monster, y’know.” Her voice was dry, but there was a faint softness to it as she watched Rahne nosing around like a bloodhound possessed.
She folded her arms and leaned against the nearest post, mud still streaked across one sleeve from earlier. “S’mores in daylight,” she said under her breath, shaking her head. “Ms Summers'll have a fit.” But she didn’t move to stop it—if anything, there was a sliver of warmth behind her tired eyes as she watched the wolf dig and snuffle. Maybe Rahne needed this as much as the rest of them did. Maybe they all did.
Joey looked at Maeve, "Not my fault someone," he said non-chalantly reaching over and bopping the wolf on the nose gently. "Is impatient. No s'mores until we learn our survival skills, and that includes you Miss Werewolf." He turned back to the kids, "And before anyone asks, Mrs. Summers will not blame me if she sets herself on fire, so she can come in the circle. Now, who wants to learn how to make fire the old fashion way? Or I suppose you pet the doggie if you want."
Rahne glared at Joey when he called her a dog and the slight rise of her hackles told all the children standing around them that touching the wolf was a very bad idea. Apparently they already had some survival skills. Her eyes lingered on the back of marshmallows and the bars of chocolate that Joey had. Rather than march off or bulldoze him over for them, she laid down in the mud next to Maeve. With as much patience as she could muster, Rahne waited for her treat.
Before Joey could begin, Rahne suddenly sat up straight with alert ears and a look of intense focus on her canine face. Turning her attention towards the direction of the medical tent she emitted a soft low growl.
Maeve’s gaze followed Rahne’s sudden shift, the easy humour from moments before slipping away. She’d learned enough to trust that look—the wolf didn’t spook without reason. Pushing off the post, she gave the top of Rahne’s head a quick, grounding touch.
“Aye, alright, girl,” she murmured, already angling toward the tent. “If you’re hearin’ somethin’, we’d best have a look.”
Without waiting for Joey’s commentary or the kids’ questions, she started across the mud, Rahne close at her side.
Watching the girl and wolf leave, Joey knew something had to be wrong, although without ratting out, his senses were not enhanced to hear anything off. However, he also trusted the girls enough to know they would not have been so abrupt without a reason, even if if he had annoyed the wolf. He considered a moment and decided on safety, "OK. I need everyone to go back inside. It's probably nothing, but just in case stay there until someone you know comes to get you," he said standing up to follow the girls. "Whatever it is, I promise we'll get around to fire and chocolate even if we have to convince Mrs. Summers to do it after dinner instead. Now go."
He waited just long enough to make sure he was obeyed before he took off himself.
“I said, can I get some damn watuh!” The wild eyed punk rocker seemed to be enraged now as he sat up in his bed and shouted his demands at the top of his lungs. His angry voice could be heard outside the tent as everyone inside was immediately put on edge. “I am so fucking thirsty, how hard is it to get a drink?!”
The little girl Jennifer had been reading to began to cry as the man's hostile and almost desperate energy filled the close quarters of the medical tent.
"Sure," Jennifer said, looking over to the cranky man. She smiled softly to the kid again. 'Excuse me a moment," she said. She reached out and squeezed the girl's hand. "It's ok. I'll be back in a minute." Then she rose and took the man's glass. A few moments later, she returned with fresh water. "Here you go."
The man’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared as Jennifer’s extended hand reached out towards him. His gaze immediately left the glass and locked onto her exposed wrist. He opened his mouth and hissed, exposing a pair of fangs as he did so. Moving with preternatural speed, the man lunged at Jennifer and bit her. His teeth breaking her skin until she bled before his lips clamped down on her flesh and he began to suck.
Hayden gasped and dropped everything she was carrying, then screamed. "Noooo! This is a place of healing and safety! Not attacking each other!" She whipped up a water boa to constrict around his chest. "Get off her!"
Alaric didn't need to look around as much as he thought. His eyes fell immediately on Hayden and the mutant that she was trying to stop from attacking Jennifer. Violet circles and diamonds formed around his hands and twisted together with ancient runes as he placed magical wards around the medical tent. If the blood sucker was any degree of mystical, that should help. Should. "We need to get him off without harming Jennifer."
Jennifer's eyes went wide with terror. Less because of the pain or even the drinking of her blood, but because she wasn't sure if this was a vector for the disease. So little was known about it and, most of what was known, she didn't really understand. Her power reacted to this direct attack almost instinctively. The lights flickered as she drew more power into herself and focused it on the affected wrist. At this moment, biting into her wrist became a little like biting into a live wire. The voltage started out low, as much because it took time to power up as because she was exerting restraint. Restraint was hard to find when attacked. But it was rising the longer he held on.
Long legs meant quick strides as Desmond covered the several feet from the entrance to Jennifer, and her foe. Cold fury filled him as he saw his teammate getting attacked by someone that they were trying to help. This was unacceptable. The schoolgrounds were sacred, and everybody was supposed to be safe here! Proverbial ice sank into Desmond's nerves, stilling any potential nerves.
Desmond's arm wrapped around the patient's throat, squeezing both trachea and esophagus closed tightly. His right arm locked around the patient's chest like a vice. Even in his anger, Desmond was careful to control his strength as best he could. He felt Jennifer's electricity dance across his arm, and smelled the burnt patches of skin-bark. For once, Desmond was grateful his sense of touch was so dulled.
The man twitched as squirmed from their attacks but did not let go as he appeared to defy the laws of nature. Seemingly immune to pain and no longer needing to breathe, Desmond’s hold on his throat merely slowed his feeding upon Jennifer. The ashen skinned man continued to suck on her wrist but now with a choking gasp that made the action sound so much worse.
Total panic erupted inside of the medical tent and any patient that was well enough to flee stood up and exited the facility while those who were bed ridden began to fail and cower. A case of oxygen tanks threatened to fall over in the chaos and Kennedy rushed over to hold them up in order to prevent a secondary disaster from occurring.
“Get him out of here!” Jean shouted to the X-Men as she and Dr. Reyes began to move people away from the blood sucking maniac.
The electricity seeming to do more damage to Desmond than her attacker, Jennifer let the charge fade. She gripped the man's jaw and tried to pry him off of her.
Maeve ducked through the tent flap, the wave of noise and tension hitting her all at once—shouts, the scrape of furniture, the panicked shuffle of those who could still move. Her eyes swept the chaos until she saw it: Jennifer, locked in the grip of a gaunt, grey-skinned man, Desmond straining behind him in a chokehold.
She was moving before she’d fully thought it through, circling wide to come up on Jennifer’s free side. “Easy, I’ve got you,” she murmured, her hand light on the younger woman’s shoulder, a steadying touch to counter the wild pulse of fear in the air.
Maeve’s gaze darted past Jennifer to Desmond, catching the blackened streaks along his arm, the faint smell of char lingering. Her chest tightened. He was holding, but the set of his jaw told her it was costing him.
The ground under her boots felt solid enough—if she shaped it right, she could send a ridge or pillar up beneath the attacker, drive him off-balance without shaking the whole tent. But one wrong move while his fangs were still sunk in and she could rip Jennifer’s arm worse than it already was.
Her voice was calm when she spoke, though her mind was racing. “If someone can break his grip without hurting her, I can take him off his feet in one go.” She looked across the fray toward Jean, meeting her eye. “You give me the word, I’ll move the ground under him.”
Joey skidded into the tent just after Maeve, and tried to process quickly, even as he heard Maeve asking for someone to break the creature's grip. He was not entirely sure how to go about that, but he had an idea for at least distracting the creature as heavy fur broke out over his body as he assumed his bipedal rat form, hissing in a bit of pain considering the clothing he was in was very much not designed from that anatomy or his tail. He leaned forward and hissed out. "Sorry about this, it might hurt a bit but we need to overload the jaws," he said as the claws that replaced his nails were rather sharp, but also very good for gripping the man's jaw as he attempted the dig them in while pushing the jaw forward, putting more of the poor woman's arm in the bloodsucker's mouth in an effort to force it to let go.
Alaric watched as his teammates tried to free Jennifer. Then he looked over to see Kennedy trying to prevent an even bigger disaster. Violet energy swirled around his arms as he extended the wards to include an area outside the tent. He used his mutant power to open a Shadow Gate, a demonically corrupted version of a teleportation portal, directly behind the group. Through it, could be seen the mansion grounds several yards away from the tent.
Nodding toward his stepmother, Alaric calmly called out, "Desmond, Josiah, see if you can lift him enough to carry him without harming Jennifer. Hayden, Maeve, you do the same with Jennifer. Get them through the portal and outside. It should be easier to remove him without the constraints in here."
Hayden moved over to Jennifer's side, unsure of just how much blood she'd lost and how it would affect her. "Stay with us, girl. We'll get you free."
With a cooperative shuffle and a unified push the team managed to move Jennifer and her attacker through the portal that Alaric had provided. Dropping them all off on a patch of brown-green grass near the hedge maze. The change in scenery and leaving the panic of the medical tent provided a brief moment of reprieve that cleared all of their heads, until the sunlight hit the attacker’s pale skin.
He smoked at first and an acrid smell filled their nostrils before a hiss and sizzle of flesh became louder than any guttural sucking sound he had been making. Blisters and legions began to appear on his naked flesh and as the first area on his shoulder ignited he finally let go of his deathgrip on Jennifer. Recoiling and now screaming from the pain, the man was engulfed in flames that burned hot and fast. He rolled and shrieked on the lawn as he succumbed to the fire until he was nothing more than ash.
As Jennifer regained her freedom, Desmond felt the flames starting to lick at him. With a mighty grunt he threw his captive off of him, sending him flying a dozen feet. As he found his feet, he looked at the burning vampire. Desmond's face was caught somewhere between disgust and confusion at the human pyre. "Did... did we just kill Dracula?" He finally uttered in astonishment. His face then whipped to Jennifer, "Fuck." He half-shouted as he grabbed his wounded friend and lifted her through the portal back into the tent, and out of the sun.
"Smthnlkththet," Jennifer said incoherently. Perhaps she was trying to answer Desmond, but she had lost an awful lot of blood. She was practically falling as Desmond grabbed her and carried her back into the tent and out of the sun.
Hayden sprayed water that was reminiscent of a fire hose at the small fires that had been started by their vampire. She then adjusted and sprayed a gentle, massaging rain onto any others who happened to catch fire. She briefly thought about Bobby and how he would have reacted to seeing a real vampire, and then she grinned.
Maeve stumbled through the portal after them, the stench of scorched flesh clinging to her lungs. Her eyes fixed on the blackened ash scattered across the grass, and for the first time since the Virus began, a different kind of chill gripped her spine. The smell, the sound of the man’s screaming—it was too real, too close to the stories whispered back home by firelight. She’d always dismissed them as warnings to keep children in line. Dearg-due… the blood drinkers. But here it was, not in myth or shadow, but burning under the morning sun.
Her hands shook as she dropped to her knees beside Jennifer, pressing cloth against the wound to stem the bleeding. “Come on, Jenn, stay with us,” she murmured, her voice low and rough. Her eyes darted up to Jean, pleading. “She’s fading—Jean, please, do something.”
For just a heartbeat, she looked toward Desmond. His frame filled her vision—his shirt scorched, his skin singed from where the flames had kissed him. She almost reached for him, almost gave in to that raw pull in her chest, but fear shoved it back down. Instead she tore her gaze away, her jaw tight.
Her voice rose, sharper now, laced with a tremor she couldn’t quite hide. “That thing wasn’t sick. It wasn’t human. Christ above, it was like something out of the bloody stories.” She shook her head hard, forcing herself back into motion, back to Jennifer. “If there’s one, there could be more. And I don’t fancy finding out the hard way.”
“Bring her here.” Dr. Reyes said to Desmond as he stepped back through the portal and to the awaiting doctor. With cool and collected speed, she began to examine Jennifer as she was placed on an empty bed. “Bring me my trauma kit and turn the overhead light on.” Cecilia barked out to no one in particular.
Three steps and Desmond placed Jennifer on the empty bed. Another step back moved her out of Dr. Reyes' way, but close enough to intervene if anything else might happen.
Kennedy had remained behind when they all moved through the portal, now she sprung into action and began to help Dr. Reyes with her requests. They worked together to stabilize Jennifer and make her comfortable.
“Is everyone else alright?” Jean asked the rest of the team as she surveyed them. Her voice was calm but firm as a wave of comfort was emitted from the telepath. The patients already benefited from her empathetic touch as they were returned to their beds in an organized and peaceful manner. “His thoughts were present and then they were suddenly gone… like a candle being snuffed out. I couldn’t hear him anymore when he attacked… and he moved so incredibly fast.” Jean shook her head in disbelief as she recalled how quickly everything had happened. “Is anyone else bit?”
Alaric waited until the last person was back through the portal before closing it. He looked over to Jean and said, "I'm not, thankfully. I have no idea what my blood would do to a creature like that. And I don't want to find out."
"I'm okay, too," said Hayden. She shivered as she imagined what could possibly happen if that thing had gotten a hold of Alaric. Then she quickly dismissed the idea as she saw the other patients getting into bed. Kennedy helped with Jennifer, she went over to the others and began offering cool water to drink.
Maeve shook her head at Jean’s question. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, though her voice was thinner than she meant it to be. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ignore the lingering stench of smoke and burned flesh.
Her eyes darted to the empty space where the thing had been. “Whatever the hell that was…” She let the words trail, her throat tightening. “I don’t ever want to see it again.”
"I got a little scorched. Guy ruined my shirt." Desmond reported from near the bed too. "I don't have blood anymore, so I'm pretty sure a bite wouldn't hurt me either." Only the deepest burn marks were still visible, but even those had turned into faint marks as his healing ability patched it all up again.
Joey walked back into the tent, only catching the tail end of Desmond's remarks, having stayed outside to do a little damage control first. "I have a bit of singed fur from him going up," he said, his rat form giving his speech a stilted clicking tone. "We have a few traumatized people outside. Something about watching a man go up in flames while screaming in agony. I sent all the younger students back in side and told them someone would explain later. Hopefully they all listen this time."
“Who was he?” Jean asked as she made her way over to the bed that had once been occupied by the man. She picked up the chart that hung from the foot of the bed and read the name out loud “Wayne Kerr…” Jean rolled her eyes at the fake name and the lack of information that had been provided, he had only just arrived and had lied about everything.”
“We need to get better about checking people’s credibility.” Jean said to Cecilia as she continued to clean and dress Jennifer’s wrist.
“I can’t take in everyone requesting sanctuary and filter out anyone that gives me a stupid name or a fake I.D.” Dr Reyes said with her typical tone of irritation, “I’m a doctor not a hotel concierge. Besides, can’t you just read everyone’s mind to tell us when they’re lying?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Jean huffed. “I can’t monitor people’s thoughts on a constant basis, I’d go crazy. And if they lie with conviction it sounds the same to me… at least on a superficial level.” She frowned and examined the bed further, all that was left was a spike-studded leather jacket that was still hanging on a chair next to where he had been sleeping. “I’d feel better if we knew something about this man. His behavior and demise were unsettling and while I’d like to believe that he was just a bad apple acting alone, what if he wasn’t?”
"Maybe we want to check the rest of the patients for this vampire-stuff? Maybe just roll them outside for a quick 30 second sunbath?" Desmond suggested, eyeing all the beds around them. "And is there anyone else that came in at the same time as this guy? If he came together they might know each other."
"Two others came in last night but they all arrived separately. One is an old lady who's now on oxygen in a private room because she's fading fast and the other is that little girl right there." Cecilia gestured to the still crying little girl that Jennifer had been reading to, her brown eyes went wide at the accusation of being supernatural. "But you're not dragging every person in this medical facility outside for some sort of witch hunt... you better think of a better way to figure this out other then terrorizing the sick."
Dr. Reyes finished up her work on Jennifer, whose wrist had been cleaned and dressed. Cecilia offered her a weak smile and a few sweet, soft words. "Have a glass of juice and a few cookies and you'll feel better with a long rest. We'll start you on antibiotics and I'll re-wrap that arm everyday, okay?"
Jennifer's eyes opened and she shifted a little. She sat up, reaching for a glass. Her hand was shaking. "Are you sure I won't...you know...?" She was very nervous now. She had heard stories.
“Do I look like I study the occult?” Cecilia said with a less than reassuring frown. “I’ve never seen a Dracula in real life.”
"What about his stuff?" Kennedy asked while standing up straight. "I know he ignited into flames but did he leave anything in the tent?"
Hayden had already finished with the water and was back in the conversation. "Only this," she said, taking the jacket off the chair next to his bed. "A leather jacket with studs. It looks like something you'd wear at a concert." She began slowly searching the pockets so as not to stab herself with anything that might be in there or get bitten by some weird little creature. "Here, what's this?"
Hayden found a handful of items in the deep pocket of the jacket. A disposable lighter with a naked woman on the side of it that had never been used, a mustard stained raffle ticket from a scam of a carnival game, and a folded up and wrinkled sheet of paper. Opening up and smoothing out the sheet of paper on the foot of the bed it exposed a ‘Missing Person’ flyer with the face of the punk rocker that they had all watched ignite in flames.
Peter Barrie has been missing since Friday, January 10th. He was last seen at Luna Park in Coney Island and has not been heard from since.
Maeve leaned over the bed, eyes fixed on the flyer Hayden had smoothed out. The crude print stared back at her, the same face she’d just seen screaming in fire. Her stomach knotted, and she rubbed her thumb along the edge of her scarf as if that would ground her.
“Peter Barrie…” she muttered, tasting the name like it might explain something. “So he was someone. Christ.” Her gaze flicked to Jennifer, then back to the paper. “Means he had a mam and dad lookin’ for him, maybe mates too. Wonder if they’d even believe us if we told them where he ended up.”
She straightened, arms folding tight across her chest. “Missing since January. That’s near two months. Whatever turned him… it wasn’t quick.” Her voice was lower now, thoughtful but grim. “So either there’s more of ‘em out there, or someone’s makin’ more.”
Her eyes found Jean, searching for steadiness in the headmistress’s face. “We need to know if this was one off, or the start of somethin’ worse. ‘Cause if the stories are true—if they burn in the sun and all the rest—then we’re not dealin’ with fairy tales anymore. We’re dealin’ with predators.”
She looked back down at the flyer, jaw tight. “And if there’s more kids like that missin’, I don’t fancy waitin’ for the next one to show up on our bloody doorstep.”
“You’re right Maeve, I worry about all of the things you mentioned,” Jean said with a slight furrow to her brow. “If there are more like Peter and they pose a threat to the public, we should investigate and do something about it… I don’t think the police are going to believe us even if we tried to report it.”
The headmistress looked around the hospital, while most had settled back into their beds there was still a feeling of uncertainty about the place. More individuals like Peter could harm a lot of people, especially the children inside the school. “X-Men, I want you to head out to Coney Island this evening. Explore the amusement park and see what you can find. It was the last place Peter was seen and it’s the closest thing to a lead we have. Just be careful, if there are more like him… a pack of them could easily ambush you.”
"Should I come?" Jennifer asked tentatively. She wanted more than anyone to get all of this cleared up. However, she wasn't really sure what her condition was. She also didn't know if there were any special liabilities to these beings she might have as a result of being attacked.
“If you’re feeling well enough to go, I don’t see why not.” Jean glanced over at Cecilia for the final word.
“Oh sure.” Dr. Reyes said with a lackadaisical shrug, her attention was already returning to her previous focus before the chaos erupted. “If it hurts, don’t do it.”
Hayden shook her head. She wouldn't have believed it herself had she not seen it with her own eyes. "This evening? Couldn't we go during the day and just put crucifixes and bowls of holy water on top of their coffins?" She had no idea if anything from the 1897 novel would work, but she was willing to try it out.
"I don't think that gives the 'We're here to help' vibe Jean wants us to have?" Desmond said in a deadpan tone, matching his deadpan expression. "Worst come to worst, I'm a walking stake-maker."
Joey's laughter came out as more a higher-pitched syllibant giggle, but it was clear he was amused. "Maybe let's try that next time instead of immolation," he said. "But I doubt going during the day would help. This one was clearly capable of being awake and acting during daylight, and no coffins in sight. Although I suppose it could be hiding with the cure for cancer Dr. Reyes has locked away."
"Who knows if crucifixes and wooden stakes even work. We can't take movies and folklore for granted, especially when it contradicts itself." Kennedy replied as they all began to consider what they were going to do this evening. "Vampires are from Slavic folklore, they didn't understand how dead bodies decomposed and Bram Stoker wrote about them as a euphemism for sex. For all we know this is just a strange coincidence, maybe he was a mutant who was sick? We've all heard stories about what the Morlocks have done."
A Scottish sound of disapproval was heard from the doorway as Rahne appeared in her human form. "They’re real, ah’m tellin ye — ma uncle saw a Baobhan Sith oot on the moors. That’s why his neck wis covered in red marks after bein' gone all night. They’re bonnie, aye — they dance wi’ ye, put ye in a trance...then they eat ye!" She snapped her hands together in a dramatic display to make her point. "When done, they turn intae crows tae fly away. Ye need iron... an' sunlight... tae stop 'em."
Jean raised a single hand to still the speculative conversation, "I think its safe to say that we're facing an unknown which can be incredibly dangerous. Spend the day preparing for the unexpected and approach the situation with a cautious but open mind. I'll meet you all in Danger Room this evening, come dressed in civilian clothes but be prepared to fight if needed. Alaric will teleport you directly to Coney Island once its dark out. X-Men, disassemble until tonight."
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