CHAPTER 153: THE RETURN
The Blackbird cut low through the clouds, wings slicing the night. Its engines roared like some caged beast desperate to touch dirt again. Inside, the team was quiet. Too quiet.
Colossus had his hands folded, staring at nothing. His knuckles flexed as though he wanted steel skin without calling it up.
Nightcrawler dangled from the ceiling straps, tail curling lazily, eyes glowing faint gold in the dark.
Thunderbird sat stiff, arms crossed, every muscle tight as if the plane had insulted him personally.
Storm looked serene, but her white eyes kept drifting to Scott at the front, like she was measuring his mood.
Logan leaned back, boots kicked out, cigar stub between his teeth. Smoke coiled up, caught in the vents. His nose twitched.
'Almost home. Smells like oak, polished wood… and—' He smirked. '—damn. Chuck's already here.'
The Blackbird touched down, hissing as the landing gear locked. The ramp lowered, and cool night air swept in. They filed out — boots crunching gravel, shoulders sagging with the weight of the trip that almost buried them.
There he was. Charles Xavier, in his chair, waiting at the mansion steps. Calm as ever, but his eyes… they lit up like a kid seeing the sun again.
"Welcome home, my X-Men."
Colossus broke first, a grin spreading as he strode forward. "Professor! I feared we may never—"
"—never see your smiling face again," Kurt finished with a theatrical bow, tail curling like punctuation.
Storm placed a hand over her heart. "It is good to see you, Charles. Truly."
Thunderbird grunted. "Hmph. About time somebody looks happy around here."
Logan hung back, arms folded. He'd already smelled him. No surprise for him. Still, seeing Chuck alive and smiling twisted something warm in his chest. He didn't let it show.
"You knew," Xavier said softly, catching Logan's eye.
"Sniffed you out halfway through landing," Logan muttered. "Didn't spoil it for the others."
Xavier's lips twitched. Not a smile, not quite. Just gratitude.
They went inside. The mansion smelled the same — books, dust, polished wood, faint detergent. Familiar. Safe. For now.
---
A week later, the safety cracked.
The war room hummed with the low, constant thrum of Cerebro. The helmet rested in Charles' lap as he turned his chair toward the team.
"I have located two new mutants," Xavier said, voice grave but carrying that undercurrent of excitement. "One in Chicago. One in New York."
"Then we move," Scott said immediately, sharp, decisive. "Split the team."
Jean leaned against the table, red hair falling across her shoulder. "I'll go with Scott."
Logan snorted smoke. "Of course you will."
Jean glanced at him. "Problem, Logan?"
"Not unless you're countin' déjà vu as a problem." He tapped ash into a nearby tray. "Slim leads, Red follows. Same ol' dance."
Scott bristled but bit down on it. "We don't have time for games. We need teams."
Storm's voice cut in, calm but firm. "Then let us not waste time. Who goes where?"
Xavier raised a hand. "Cyclops, Jean, Nightcrawler— you will head to New York. Colossus, Thunderbird, Logan, and Ororo, you will accompany me to Chicago."
Thunderbird smirked, finally uncrossing his arms. "Good. I'll take the Windy City any day over that rat nest they call New York."
"Better watch your words, John," Kurt said, upside down in his chair now, tail flicking. "New York has its charms."
"Like what?" Thunderbird shot back.
"Me," Kurt grinned, sharp teeth flashing.
Even Colossus chuckled at that, deep and warm.
Logan just muttered, "Keep it down, elf. Chuck's got that look — means we're in for somethin' nasty."
And he wasn't wrong. Because as Charles turned back toward Cerebro's readings, his face tightened.
"These mutants are… young. Vulnerable. And I fear we are not the only ones seeking them."
The room went silent.
Logan's claws itched in his knuckles. His nose twitched, remembering scents he didn't even know yet.
'Something's comin'. Smells like trouble.'