THE BLAME GAME.
The musty scent of ancient tomes mingled with the sterile aroma of antiseptic, creating an atmosphere of heavy anticipation. The soft glow of a single lamp cast long shadows across the professor's cluttered desk, the remnants of days of research and countless nights of pondering mysteries both mundane and profound.
"Professor." The clearing of a throat, a familiar formality, sliced through the dense quiet, pulling Xavier from the labyrinth of his thoughts. He turned, book in hand, to meet the blue-eyed gaze of Hank, the resident doctor and genius whose eyes met his own. The stiffness in the man's demeanor quite palpable as he slowly made his way into the room, each step measured, as though he were treading on thin ice.
"Hank." Xavier's voice was a calm sea amidst a brewing storm. He gestured towards the chair opposite his desk. "Please...sit."
With a nod, Hank complied, settling into the seat, his eyes locking with Xavier's before he carefully placed a stack of documents onto the polished wood. Xavier blinked, realizing he hadn't noticed Hank carrying anything.
"I wager these have to do with—"
"They do." Hank's interruption was abrupt, his voice strained. He offered a sheepish smile, clearing his throat as he pushed the papers towards Xavier. "I conducted some tests and... They've honestly left me with more answers than questions."
Xavier remained silent, his gaze steady as he reached for the papers. His eyes traced the lines of text, each word sinking into his mind like a stone in water. "But you do have answers?"
"I do." Hank's nod was hesitant, his brow furrowed. "It would seem…" He faltered, struggling to find the right words. The gravity of what he was about to reveal hung heavy in the air, an unseen weight pressing down on them both.
Taking a deep breath, Hank tried again. "He knew the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, the Quantum Hall Effect, Feynman Diagrams, Spin and Pauli Matrices. He knew about the discovery of the bottom quark, which was made in 1977, well after he had gone into his coma. He—"
"Hank." Xavier's voice was gentle but firm, a hand raised to calm the torrent of information. "Please, slow down. What do you mean?"
Hank shifted in his seat, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Professor, he knew things that, by all logic, he should not. Things that give validity to his claims."
Xavier's brows knit together, confusion and curiosity warring within him.
"He holds the knowledge of a seasoned professional in multiple scientific fields—not just physics, but genetics, chemistry, mechanics, you name it. He boasts knowledge that, by all conventions of sense, he should not have. From the looks of it..." Hank adjusted his glasses, the familiar gesture a small comfort amidst the chaos. "Isaiah Grey did live out his life, he did go to college, and he did learn all of these things. Somehow, in his mind, he created an entire world that mirrors our own, save for anything one might consider out of the ordinary."
"Out of the ordinary?" Xavier echoed, his curiosity deepening.
"I questioned him about Captain America, Hydra, and he did not know what they were. I asked him who assassinated John F. Kennedy, and he stated that it was Lee Harvey Oswald, not..." Hank cleared his throat, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Not Eri—Magneto."
Xavier's lips thinned, a deep frown etching itself across his face. "Anything out of the ordinary, anything supernatural, his world took that away, for what reason I do not know... I was never one to study psychology..." Hank shrugged, a helpless gesture in the face of the inexplicable.
"Other than that, everything else in his world follows ours?"
"From the knowledge he holds... Yes." Hank bit his lip, his disbelief evident. "It's all so very... It's hard to believe. The power he would have to hold to download every bit of information, knowledge that the world holds, to fill the textbooks alone in his dreams is astronomical. Now, that followed by making the events in his dreamscape a near-perfect mirror of those in the real world—it shouldn't be possible."
Xavier fell silent, his gaze meeting Hank's with a newfound intensity. "I don't think this was a dreamscape, Hank," he muttered, the weight of his words sinking into the room like lead.
"Not a... What do you mean, Professor?"
"You saw what he was able to do. Perhaps—"
"Professor, that is impossible. The mutant gene can't possibly, it would go against every..." Hank shook his head, denial and fear battling for supremacy.
"The mutant gene is the bright spark of evolution, Hank. It acts in any way it deems necessary. Some of us may be granted power over the mind, or the elements, and others over..."
"Reality itself..." Hank's laugh was hollow, tinged with panic. "Evolve past human and just wake up a god."
"We will need to test the theory, of course, but from the looks of it... It's leaning more towards that."
The two men allowed a heavy silence to fall between them, the enormity of their discovery hanging in the air like a storm cloud.
---------------------------------------------------
The sterile scent of the hospital room mingled with the faint, almost imperceptible aroma of lingering antiseptic. Harsh fluorescent lights cast an artificial glow, emphasizing the stark white walls and the cold metal of the gurney. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the machines monitoring Isaiah's vitals.
Jean stood at the threshold, her heart pounding in her chest. "I asked the professor to let me be the one to give you a tour. I wanted to..." Her voice faltered as she awkwardly turned to her brother, who sat silently in his bed.
Isaiah's hospital gown seemed to swallow him, making him look smaller and more fragile. His gaze was fixed on his hands, where he clutched a golden pendant he was convinced held a real memory.
Jean moved towards him, her lips pressing tightly together as their eyes met. His were slightly wet, filled with a mixture of confusion and pain that tore at her heart. She wrung her hands and shifted her feet from side to side before taking a deep breath. "Scott said he'd be happy to lend you his clothes until we can get you some of your own."
Isaiah stared at the pile of clothes in her hands before looking back down at his own. "Finally letting me out?" he questioned, his voice flat and clipped.
Jean's lips curled down for a moment before she shook off the emotion. "You're not a prisoner here, Isaiah. We're just trying to help you."
He remained silent.
Setting the clothes onto the gurney, Jean began, her eyes welling with tears. "I'm sorry." Her brother's head swiftly turned to her, his brows furrowing. "That it wasn't..." She looked at his pendant, prompting him to do the same. "I'm sorry I'm not her." She whispered. "That I couldn't be her."
Isaiah frowned at that. "You're Jean Grey. You're my sister."
She laughed dryly. "I'm a coward and I abandoned you... I bet she wouldn't do that."
The boy's frown deepened. "Jean."
"I was just so... I felt so useless." She began. "Like a failure. I mean, the professor kept telling me how powerful I am, how he hasn't seen a telepath like me before, how I had so much potential, but no matter what, I just couldn't reach out to you. I couldn't help you. You were trapped in your mind, and I couldn't do jack shit to get you out of it—me, Jean Grey, telepath extraordinaire. I tried and tried and failed and failed, and I guess that's when the shame kicked in. That's when I stopped visiting. I tried to convince myself it was because I only deserved to see you when I was confident that I could pull you out, that I could save you. But, if we're being honest..." She whispered, "I was selfish. You were my failure, and I couldn't bear to look at you. I'm sorry."
Isaiah stared at her before shaking his head. Slowly, he rose from the gurney, pushing away the blankets and inching towards her. She remained in place, tipping her head low to avoid his gaze.
"I ran away... I abandoned you," he whispered, standing a few feet from her causing her eyes to instantly snap towards him.
"I should have been here with you. I should have been by your side. But instead, I made some fake world where everything was rainbows and sunshine, where everything was good because I don't know... I was afraid of facing the bad stuff, or I didn't want to deal with my pain, I... I'm the one that failed you."
"No..." Jean began. "I..."
"You shouldn't have to feel like it's your job to save me, Jean. You shouldn't even have been in that situation. I should have faced my pain, and I should have been here with you. You don't deserve this guilt. You don't deserve to make yourself hurt like this."
Jean chuckled dryly at her brother's words. "Isaiah, don't be stupid," she muttered as tears began to stream down her cheeks. "You can't seriously be blaming yourself for going into a coma. That's just... so dumb!"
"And you can't be blaming yourself for not being able to get me out of a coma. That's even more dumb."
The two stared into each other's eyes, both jade, tears streaming down their cheeks before they erupted into fits of laughter.
"And I'm your sister." Jean whispered, "It will always be my job to save you."
"Only If I can save you too."
Smiles stretched onto their lips, a moment later Isaiah pulled his twin close, and as they embraced, he shut his eyes, basking in the warmth.
As they finally pulled apart, he held out the golden pendant he had not once let go of and had taken to fiddling with since waking, biting his lip he looked at his sister, the jade hue of her gaze reflected onto his own. "Guess I won't be needing this, huh? It's not real."
Smiling, Jean took hold of the pendant and opened it. She pulled out the picture inside, staring at their happy faces, slushies set on a table in front of them, foam beards around their mouths.
"Maybe it can be." She began a hopeful glint making it's way into her eye. "How about we go out for slushies." She held out her hand and tentatively Isaiah reached out and took it, smiling and nodding, as he watched her crumple the paper in her hands, soon he turned his sights to his hospital gown, feeling the weight welled in his navel begin to swirl and flow outwards, it ebbed into the air, brushing against his clothing which as if sensing his desire
began to shift and ripple. The bottom hem tearing with a gentle, almost imperceptible sound, rebelling against its former shape and slithering down, now animate with a life of its own, it coiled around his bare feet. The fabric tightening around his ankles, its touch cool and deliberate, like the caress of a silk serpent.
The material melted and expanded, morphing seamlessly into the snug embrace of socks and the firm support of sneakers. The process to Jean both unsettling and mesmerizing causing her eyes to widen in awe.
The metamorphosis was quite fluid and organic, as if the fabric itself possessed an innate understanding of its new purpose.
She watched as above, the gown seemed to writhe and divide at her brother's waist, each thread unraveling with meticulous precision. The once-monolithic garment split into two distinct pieces, the upper portion contracting and reshaping itself into the soft, pliable form of a white t-shirt. It clung to his torso, a second skin that breathed with him, as though it had always been meant to cover him in this way.
The lower portion of the gown gathered itself, the fabric flowing and coiling, a river of cloth that cascaded down his legs, thickening and solidifying, weaving itself into the sturdy, familiar texture of blue jeans. The material hugged his form and he stretched out his hands as if to present his work, a chuckle falling from her lips, Jean shook her head.
"Looks like you won't be needing those clothes." A smile stretching on his own lips, Isaiah turned to glance at the pile on his gurney before shrugging.
"Germaphobe," he muttered.
"Since when?" Jean questioned, laughing. "I still remember when you would pick gum out from under tables and put it in your—"
"Ahhh, don't remind me!"
"Mom would always get so mad, and-"
"Seriously Jean stop it!"