𝘚𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 -and lost just as many reasons to keep going.
Natalie Parker, once hidden in the shadows of history, is a mutant unlike any other. Bound to the earth by blood and power, her touch coaxes life from st...
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"You're not alone, Jean,"
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
1975. The year they found Jean Grey.
A terrified young girl, freshly orphaned from a tragic car crash, barely thirteen. Her powers were growing faster than she could understand—raw, volatile, unpredictable. She had no idea who she might hurt next. What might crack. Or shatter. Or burn.
And that was something Natalie Parker understood more than most.
That's why she and Charles Xavier had come together. Not just to find Jean—but to give her something she hadn't felt in a long time.
A home.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The hospital hallway was dim, quiet, and sterile. Charles' wheelchair glided softly across the linoleum floor as a nurse led them down the corridor. Natalie walked beside him, her steps steady, eyes calm—but her heart ached.
She knew that look. She had worn it once, too.
"She's just through here," the nurse said gently, pushing open the door.
The room was pale and still. Jean sat on the bed, her small frame curled up, staring at the floor. Her hair was a wild halo of auburn, her expression vacant. Like someone who'd drifted far from the shore and wasn't sure if she wanted to swim back.
"Hello," Charles said softly, offering a gentle smile.
Jean looked up with wide, guarded eyes. "Where are my parents?"
Charles glanced at Natalie, then back to Jean. "My name is Charles Xavier, and this is—"
"Natalie Parker," Jean interrupted quietly.
Natalie gave a soft nod. "Yes."
"They're dead, aren't they?" Jean asked, her voice as fragile as glass.
Charles hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, they are. And I'm very sorry to have to tell you that."
Jean didn't cry. She didn't flinch. She just looked away again. "So... what happens to me now?"
Charles leaned forward slightly in his chair. "That's actually why we're here." He tried to catch her eyes. "I run a school—for young people who are... different. Special."
Jean scoffed quietly, arms folding over her chest. "Special's just a nice word for freak."
"Or weird," Charles said gently. "Or broken. Yes, sometimes people use it that way."
Natalie stepped forward, her voice warm. "But sometimes, Jean, it means brilliant. Important. Or just... incredibly strong."
Charles reached into his coat and pulled out a pen, offering it to her.
"Here. This is just a pen. You can use it to write something beautiful. Or to hurt someone. That choice... is yours. But no matter what you do with it, it's still just a pen. A tool. A gift."
Jean blinked, uncertain, but took it slowly. Her fingers curled around it like it might vanish.
"What you do with your gift is entirely up to you," Charles said. "But if you want help... if you want a chance to use it for good, for something greater—we'd be honoured to help you."
Jean looked at him, then at Natalie. "You're not like the other doctors."
Natalie knelt in front of her, her voice soft. "And you're not like the other patients."
Jean tilted her head slightly, curious.
"Hold out your hand for me," Natalie said gently.
Jean hesitated, but then slowly extended her hand, palm up. Natalie placed her own over it, closing her eyes.
"What's your favourite flower?" she asked.
"Lilies," Jean whispered.
Natalie smiled and whispered a word under her breath. A soft green glow unfurled in her palm, and a tiny lily bloomed between their hands, its white petals glowing faintly.
Jean's lips parted in awe. For the first time in days, she smiled.
"You're not alone, Jean," Natalie said, placing the lily gently in Jean's hair. "You never will be."
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Jean stood on the front steps of the Xavier School, staring up at the mansion's grandeur. Her bag hung heavy at her side, but her heart weighed more.
"It's too nice," she said quietly.
Charles wheeled beside her, his hands folded. "What do you mean?"
"I don't belong here. I break things."
Charles smiled gently. "Well... if you break something, anything, I'll fix it."
Jean looked at him, uncertainty swirling behind her eyes. "Not everything can be fixed."
Natalie stepped beside her, reaching for her hand again. "You don't need fixing, Jean. You just need guidance. And love. And people who understand what it's like to feel too much all at once."
"You think you can teach me how to stop it?" Jean asked, voice wavering.
Natalie gave her a kind smile. "No. I think we can teach you how to carry it."
Jean blinked, and for the first time, she didn't look down. She looked up at the school.
