a short piece i wrote around the lyrics to “meet me inside” from hamilton because i couldn’t stop thinking about scott summers. this is really rough and Not That Great. please be gentle
this isn’t an au or crossover, i just kind of ran with the idea that hey maybe the x-men have duels too for some reason. why not?
this is mostly about scott and prof x’s relationship but there is a little romantic scottwarren on the side >;^)
warnings: (lightly) implied past abuse, one instance of slight suicidal ideation, gun violence, and slightly manipulative emotional tactics.
Two gunshots rang out, and Logan swore loudly, his stocky body falling onto his knees as his grizzled hands moved to clutch the spreading red stain soaking the side of his shirt.
“Do you yield?” Scott called from his place to the side, glaring him down. From across the grass he saw Kitty rush forward with a medic.
“You shot him in the side! Yes, he yields!” She cried, already pulling Logan into a more comfortable position, the medic cutting open his shirt.
Warren swallowed and lowered his smoking gun. It shook in his hands, and his face was pale. “I’m satisfied,” he croaked, and Scott immediately felt crushing guilt for putting his winged friend in the middle of that fight. Warren did not like guns.
“We’ve got to clear the field,” Kitty shouted, waving away the crowd that had gathered around the edges of the grass. She shot him a dirty look.
Scott nodded, and moved to shoo away the onlookers. First, though, he put an apologetic hand on Warren’s shoulder, brushing away a stray feather. “Go. We won.” His tongue ached with what he didn’t say: the I’m sorry-s, the Please forgive me-s, the Will I still see you later?-s. Warren did not look at him, merely shivered, and pulled away, walking back to the mansion.
“Here comes the Professor!” Someone cried, and that scattered the crowd faster than Scott’s eye beams could have.
“This should be fun,” Kitty remarked, raising a disapproving brow at Scott. He steeled his face in reply, turning towards Charles Xavier, furiously wheeling towards him.
“What is the meaning of this?” Came his booming voice both vocally and mentally, and Scott winced. Without the crushing mental accompaniment, he added, “Ms. Pryde, get a healer for Logan.”
“Yes, sir.”
Xavier turned towards the fallen man then, and spoke more quietly. “Logan, you may never agree with me, but these young men do not speak for me. Thank you for your service.”
“Let’s ride,” Kitty said, throwing the injured man over her shoulder and phasing through the fence to carry him into the house.
“Scott,” Xavier barked, face red with anger.
“Sir--”
“Meet me inside.” He wheeled away, back to the ramp into the back of the mansion, headed for where Scott could hear the extent of his rage in private.
Meet him inside. Meet him inside, Scott’s mind echoed back to itself, over and over, with each step he took towards the professor’s study.
The mahogany door clicked shut behind him, and Scott was for once glad he had his shades, to keep his face less readable. The bald man was seated with a glass of scotch in his hand, like he was trying to be calm.
“Son,” Xavier began, glaring down at Scott patronizingly.
“I’m not your son,” he cut in, furrowing his brow. The professor looked surprised for a split second, but quickly masked it.
Xavier tried again, a vein in his forehead showing. “This war is hard enough without infighting.”
“Logan called you out. We called his bluff.”
The professor slammed his glass on the desk in a momentary loss of control, making the wounded child that still lived in Scott flinch. “You do nothing! You aggravate our bill’s allies in Congress!”
“That’s absolutely right,” Scott snarled, attacking his mentor as much as he was defending himself. “Warren should have shot him in the mouth. That would have shut him up!”
“Son--”
“I’m not your son,” Scott shot back, before the professor could get another word in edgeways. Xavier looked angrier about the interjection this time.
“Watch your tone. I am not a maiden in need of defending! I am--”
Scott pointed an accusatory finger. “Logan Howlett! Senator Kelly! These men take your name and they rake it through the mud!”
Xavier shook his head, looking at Scott again with that disgustingly patronizing expression, so smug it was nearly a smile. “My name’s been through a lot. I can take it.”
Scott threw up his hands in exasperation, trying to keep himself from putting them to his shades, or who knew what he would do. “Well I don’t have your name! I don’t have your titles, I don’t have your land, but if you…”
Xavier stopped smiling, and shook his head, firm and cold. “No.”
“If you gave me command of the team, a group of mutants to lead, I could fly above my station after the war--”
The professor jutted in, exasperated. His voice sounded more serious now, no longer a teacher chastising his pupil. “Or you could die, and we need you alive.”
Scott put his face in his hands for a moment, and the weight of the cause hit him very quickly. “I am more than willing to die,” he said quietly, meaning it completely.
Xavier looked desperate now. “Your wife needs you alive, son, I need you alive--”
“CALL ME SON ONE MORE TIME,” Scott bellowed, one hand slamming down on the professor’s desk, sending papers flying. The other rested on the knob of his shades, trembling over the ridges that allowed him to turn it with ease, to loose his uncontrollable powers on the man who was supposed to make them controlled.
Scott felt his body freeze up against his will. Immobile everywhere except for his eyes, he saw the two fingers that Xavier rested on his temple.
“Go home, Scott,” the professor said, voice suddenly weary. He released Scott and turned his chair around to face the tall windows behind his desk, looking over the rolling hills of Westchester. “That’s an order from your commander.”
“Sir…” Scott mumbles, his hands falling to his sides in shame, guilt suddenly overwhelming him for his thoughtless actions a few moments prior. He wants to apologize, knows that he needs to or he’s going to suffer, but he doesn’t have the faintest clue how to find the words for it.
Xavier turns back around and gives him one last withering, devastating look. “Go home.”
