𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐓 (X-Men ~ Peter Maximoff)

Father Figure is a Sociopath Pt 2

 

Gunshots were one of those noises that you never wanted to hear. They filled your heart with dread and fear, told you that death was at your door and had every intention of knocking. And unfortunately, the horrific noise was usually accompanied with other terrible sounds, like, for example, the splintering of wood as bullets lodged in the legs of the chairs, and even worse, the piercing screams of people who should never have been caught in the crossfire in the first place.

It was nothing short of chaos, people running, crying in agony, pushing others in a desperate attempt to get as far away from the sentinel's as possible, away from the pain and suffering that they had inflicted with their machine gun arms. Long gone was the support to fund the murderous robots now that they were the ones being fired at. That's how it always was though, wasn't it? People didn't mind the act of murdering an entire population until they themselves were part of that population – then it became an act of terrorism and evil, against all that was good and holy in the world.

There was a small nag in the back of Jennifer's brain, telling her that this is what these people deserved, that they deserved to suffer the same fate they had been so eager to deliver to thousands of mutants without second thought. Why shouldn't they be punished for their cruelness, for their bigotry?

Jennifer paused for a moment. That was how Erik saw the world, an eye for an eye, and it was a truly terrible way to think. These people, the ones currently running for their lives, were, in the nicest way possible, cattle. If their president said aye, they said aye, because what use was there in arguing? They didn't understand anything about mutants – most of them probably hadn't even heard of them before today – but if their leader told them that they were dangerous and unnatural, then what else would they think. They didn't deserve to die any more than mutants did, and Jennifer was hell bent on making sure that no more lives would be lost in a war that didn't need to happen.

Thirty seconds in to the shooting Jennifer still stood behind Charles' wheelchair, remarkably unscathed despite the reign of fire all around. Chances were she wouldn't stay that way if she stayed there for much longer. She must've looked daft, having ducked her head ever so slightly in hopes that it would protect herself, and yet still standing apparently oblivious to the situation. She wasn't stupid, but she had clearly missed the lesson that taught her what to do when massive flying robots tried to kill everyone.

The only thing she knew what that her arm was no longer numb, Charles having let go of it as soon as everything fell apart, but it wasn't exactly great news – what good was it being able to move an arm when you didn't know what to do with the rest of your body?

Was she supposed to magically manoeuvre Charles' wheelchair over the countless chairs that had been upturned in people's haste to evacuate the grounds of the White House? It would probably be easier to carry him to whether Logan and Hank had disappeared to, but she doubted she had that kind of strength. She'd be better just leaving him there, saving herself, but if she was just going to run what was the point of her coming in the first place?

As it turned out, Charles wasn't the only person who couldn't walk. About twenty feet away, buried underneath another heap of chairs, laid a girl only a couple years older than Jennifer, blood seeping through her fingers clutched around her leg. No one else was around to help her out of the warzone, and with bullets still flying through the air ambulance crews wouldn't dare try and get her out until the sentinels were powered down. There was no guarantee that anyone outside the White House even knew what was going on yet.

"Go," Charles spoke. "Help her, I'll be fine."

Jennifer was caught off guard momentarily. How the hell did he know what she was thinking? After all his promises and apologises had he seriously went into her head again? She was about to accuse him of such, regardless of the bigger picture around them, when she realised how paranoid she was. Charles, in spite of his obvious flaws, was a decent man, and all he had done was look over his shoulder and follow Jennifer's gaze. She bit her tongue, immediately regretting her lack of distrust in a man trying to redeem himself.