ᴇʀɪᴋ (metalize) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-01-04 11:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: erik lehnsherr |
WHO: Erik & Peter
WHAT: Meeting his son and being like so I know you're my son, that's a thing
WHERE: Erik & Rogue's apartment
WHEN: Backdated to the first night of Winter Solstice stuff
WARNINGS: Just a lot of feels
STATUS: Complete
Pierogi was what most people thought of when you asked anyone to name a Polish food, and don’t get him wrong, Erik could whip up some fantastic pierogi. But there were other staples to choose from and other recipes he knew - he liked cooking for the family, and it was a way to sort of divide up the more domestic duties between him and Rogue so one of them wasn’t stuck doing everything. It depended on their schedules too, and his hours at the smithy could vary depending on the projects he had for that week. With Rogue having taken Anka Irene to the Solstice celebrations (Vallo as a whole didn’t seem to tip heavily into the side of Christmas like many nations back home, something Erik was intrigued by and grateful for), that left him to heat up the rosół he’d made for them all - it was essentially chicken soup chock-full of noodles and vegetables, but all made from scratch. Fresh ingredients, nothing from a can. It was hearty and filling and could cure everything from a runny nose to a hangover - hopefully it could also cure skittishness, or the desire to run away. He knew Peter was scared. Why else would he not have ever told Erik that he was his father before? Granted, it wasn’t like there was a good opportunity for it. The debacle with Apocalypse had been when he was at his lowest, having just lost Nina and Magda. And then years later when trouble found them again, after Jean nearly killed Peter (and managed to actually kill Raven), he was caught in a tornado of violence that culminated with the deaths of his two right-hand mutants who helped him establish Genosha, and a forlorn Charles who jetted off to Europe. Here, he wanted to be done with that. He wanted to live quietly, he wanted to be with his family - all of them. Here, it was hearty soup and fresh-baked bread, the smell of which permeated the whole apartment. He waited for Peter to show up, fidgeting with a sponge and deciding he needed to mop up a crumb or two, out of nerves, even if everything was spic and span. Sports were just another of many things Peter never could really participate or experience because he had something of an unfair advantage. Playing with the other fab-folks in Vallo on equal grounds was a great way to occupy time. Even if he had to hold back, the sport itself was cool to learn, and it gave his busy mind something to do. It had been a handful of years since he didn’t have something to do. Training, a class, some tests for Hank, maybe saving the world was usually a back to back schedule--perfect for someone who’d been stuck in a basement for half their life. Now with a new world, his security blanket of friends gone, and other mutants who couldn’t mind-their-goddamn-business, Peter had begun to get anxious. Someone like him needed something to do, keep his mind steady instead of having a brain like a shaken coke liter full of mentos that wouldn’t explode. The food outside Erik’s apartment smelled really good. He could even pinpoint it after going about each and every level of the apartment complex. Very cookie cutter, yet wasn’t the school? How many times would he stare at the door and then take a ‘stroll’ down the complex? Peter stopped counting things a long time ago. Numbers and time didn’t really have a place in his life. While he had flitted between being annoyed at Rogue and just experiencing these very new and uncomfortable feelings, he wasn’t mad. The uncertainty was usually ok considering Peter could literally see everything coming. Eventually the pang in his stomach beat out the anxiety in his chest and he knocked, maybe too slowly than what was normal, but ugh, whatever. Didn’t want to break the door. “Hey, it’s Peter.” The younger mutant clicked his glasses closed and tucked them into his jacket. They would have been great to hide behind. But what did he have to hide from? He’d seen Erik before. Erik went to answer the door, wearing a sweater (not a turtleneck, though he didn’t see anything wrong with those - perhaps that was his true age speaking) and pressed slacks. Nothing fancy, and the food wasn’t overly fancy either - hopefully comforting though. He’d been curious about the Solstice celebrations and thought he might attend tomorrow; tonight it seemed more prudent to have a talk with Peter, rather than putting it off. “Come on in,” he greeted, showing his Plates and bowls and spoons and napkins, all of it neatly placed and on the table - there was a ladle in the soup pot (which was ginormous), good for doling out portions for growing speedsters. Or, well, he supposed Peter was full grown but still. His abilities had to make for a superhuman metabolism. “How was hockey practice?” Nothing overly fancy versus Peter’s usual band shirt and a metallic jacket would serve as pretty prestige to the younger mutant. Like Mr. Rogers had the big bucks or went to a private school. Peter tried not to stare or check out the inside like a creep. The food was calling his name and he excitedly went to help himself as Mr. Rogers went to a private school and cooking institution. “It was cool. Fighting over a puck with sticks skating over glass on knives. I’m not the only noobie there so it makes just starting more tolerable.” Extra care with the bowl as he filled it to the brim, claimed a spoon, forgot about the napkin, came back to get it and sat at the table. He was about to inhale the soup but then remembered something about manners and watched Erik to wait. He brushed his metallic bangs out of his face and shrugged. “I’ve got the basics down. The real challenge is all that shit they make you wear and then they want you to move in it. I think my real problem will be trying not to kick the puck and just use the flat side of the stick.” Old habits and all. Peter had a feeling he’d probably break rules and instinctively move faster to make a block or hit the puck. But he could try not to. “How was work? Make any cool weapons?” Not to worry, Erik brought napkins to the table. And the bread, the floating knife cutting it into slices and leaving him with hands free to carry his own bowl and any extras they might need. It was nice to be able to use his powers for work and other mundane things around the house, as opposed to dealing with destruction and a simmering need for vengeance - by now, he’d sort of distanced himself from that idea; if anything ever needed to be avenged here in Vallo, please, don’t call on him. Call the actual Avengers, or whatever their name was. “Mostly just knives, a few axe blades today,” he chuckled, spoon taking a turn through the bowl. He took a sip to test the taste and temperature and it was good - perfect for winter, and an especially cold night. Though he was fond of dipping bread right into the soup bowl, which was what he did, breaking off a chunk. “Brigitte is working on a prosthetic limb for someone which has been interesting to see and help with. Do you want anything to drink, by the way?” He’d get to the ‘so you’re the fruit of my loins’ part eventually - it just seemed awkward to blurt out at random. Small talk first. Peter was also about to dip the bread into his soup but noticed Erik was about to do the same thing so he just put it in his mouth. Awkward, right? But the kickback from the soup was really good. Like a real home cooked meal, all warm and cozy, another thing he wasn’t used to. “Water is fine, thanks.” He resisted the urge to get up and get it himself. Not used to be waited upon. But he did get up so he could fill his bowl once more with the soup which he had destroyed while listening to Erik’s work day. “Axe blades and a prosthetic limb? That sounds awesome.” It really made Peter want to come and actually see, maybe he’d get the chance. Magne--his...dad, made everything look so easy. So matter of fact. Peter knew the older mutant was tired and had more than a fair share of excitement. Especially since he’d now tried to sit down and start a family twice. He was glad he gave up the whole Brotherhood vs Humans crap, and wasn’t angry, or charged with much conflict the other times Peter had seen him on the news or in person. “Seems like you’re living the dream, man. And you make it look so easy…” Maybe when he was even older and seen much more, Peter would have that figured out too. He was just really late to the game and always searching for what he didn’t really know he needed. Water it was, and he got them both glasses - Peter was free to fill up his bowl too, there was plenty to go around. Erik made enough soup to last for awhile, enough to freeze if he had to. But maybe he wouldn’t have to. He broke off another piece of bread, letting it soak up some of the soup. Maybe now was a good time to segue into the important part of the conversation. “I suppose it wasn’t easy at first, settling in. It was 1992 when I ended up years into the future, here, and there was quite a bit to catch up on. Plus, many people seemed to know me and I didn’t know them.” Other mutants, from other universes - apparently he was well-known either way, pushing for mutant rights and not giving up or giving in. He could see that about himself - he’d gone through a whole gamut related to that back home, being cast out as a terrorist when Raven rose up as a hero. Then he’d tried to lay low after years of solitary confinement only to have that blow up in his face too. In Vallo, the third time at settling was hopefully the charm. “But no matter what, I’m glad you’re here and...Anka Irene said something. That you’re her brother?” Erik glanced up. “She knew from before, in another world. I just - want you to know I consider that good news. Surprising, but good.” “1992? What...year is it now--nevermind, it doesn’t matter.” It didn’t. Peter didn’t age like one normally did, but found that was common amongst mutants and felt less weird about it once he was surrounded by them. Time, age, numbers, blah blah blah. Thankfully he was able to get down the water in his glass before it could geyser back up his throat. Oh sure, we’re going to use the baby, very slick. Peter’s face dropped, his pronounced brows persing together, arms folding neatly over the table. “Yeah, Ms. Power Borrower apparently has met me four times and your other kid knows who I am and I don’t know her. Pretty weird. But I’m used to being late to the party trying to catch up to where you are on the next family venture.” He didn’t say that maliciously, Peter just wished...he wasn’t always too late, and he could have had a different start. He envied his siblings, even if one of them was dead--he could have been there to help her. Helped his step mom, something… “Good news, how? Aren’t you trying to start over and move on from the past? You’ve got a nice job, you’re...I think, happy, and not terrorizing anyone...have another family…” Peter asked, genuinely intrigued with Erik’s answer. Another kid who wasn’t really a kid, another link in a chain of responsibility when this old Metalbender was trying to retire and start new things. Peter was….just another thing from the past that had caught up to him. “I am happy,” Erik confirmed. A part of him felt a bit guilty, since Peter had just gotten here and was barely settled with hockey practice and not even a place to stay - but he supposed there was also something to the idea of ripping the bandaid off. Anna wasn’t the type to sit on things herself - she was gutsy, and he admired that about her. But he’d opened this Pandora’s Box, so now they would deal with it. “I have a family here but it’s not closed off. You’re under no obligation to join or acknowledge me as your father - but maybe...it’s a fresh start for us too?” He hadn’t been there when Peter was born, or when he was a child coming into his own, learning about his powers. Erik hadn’t even known he existed, and things would have been different if he did, but now - Peter wasn’t too old to need a father. Erik hoped, anyway. Ask any of the other X-men---definitely not too old for a father. The ‘I wish I had a dad and direction’ syndrome wasn’t exactly something Peter hid. He had been a loser, he knew that, but there was nothing he could do other than try to hide himself for his mom, his sisters...but they got older and life went on for them, whereas he never had one. It was his mom who told him not to go looking for Erik in the first place, but well, she couldn’t be of help in other ways he needed. And she wasn’t exactly the most caring lady except the occasional pop out a few kids here and there. Did his sisters even know their dads? Naturally, he had a small issue of trust. “Is that what you really want, or are you saying that because it’s ‘the right thing to do’?” Peter went to go get another drink of water, drank it standing, then sat again, then grabbed more bread and put it in his mouth. Only fast enough to not see, nothing to ruin the quaint little family home. He didn’t want to seem like it was bothering him so he did things to occupy those seconds of his anxiety. Until he could finally look at Erik. “Well, biologically, you are my dad..and I’ve been trying to find you, or I was, it just didn’t seem..I was always too late.” Another shrug, more to try and shake off the unwanted emotions. He laughed at himself, shaking his head. “I’m pretty dramatic, y’know. Time passes for everyone else but I still feel the same.” Still lost. No motivation or ambition, guidance, just the possibility of acceptance from his father was enough to stir Peter in a different direction, make him start living. But if it wasn’t something he couldn’t have he wasn’t going to torture himself over it. Ah, dramatics. They had that in common, anyway. Erik probably wouldn’t have been prone to half the dramatics he was if the universe, God, whatever - just left him alone after he ended up fleeing the United States. Previously, he was under the impression that Schmidt had created a monster at the onset - and there was no going back from that. But fatherhood - well, that was the one thing he felt like he hadn’t destroyed. Made him think he wasn’t so monstrous after all, that there were parts of him that really were good - the way Charles always insisted. “It’s what I want,” he promised. “And now, it seems like you’re right on time.” Not too late - it wasn’t too late for either of them. Even if this world took them away, blipping them out the way Erik had seen it do to many others (the disappearance notifications on their phones were always gut-wrenching), well, at least they would have tried. That meant something. Who the hell gave all these Mutant leaders a speech degree? Was it just a thing? Peter felt his eyes get warm and-- oh no no no, we weren’t going to do that. He’d blink that out of existence. “Just that easy, huh?” It was very hard to believe given nothing had ever been easy but this just seemed too good to be true. Biting his lower lip and letting his knee bounce a little to keep fighting back a wave of emotions that had been resting on his shoulders forever, he looked up at Erik curiously again. “What about Rogue? She...okay with that?” If he were really a douchebag he wouldn’t care. But smarmy remarks and quirky personality aside, Peter wasn’t a douchebag and he didn’t want to ruin anyone else’s life just to get his own. “She seemed pretty controlling of this...whole..situation.” “It doesn’t have to be hard,” Erik smiled a little, taking a sip from his own water glass. “Many things in life are - but this doesn’t have to be.” As for Rogue, well, she wasn’t Magda - and honestly, he didn’t need her to be. Magda had treated him like he was the man he could have been without the influence of Schmidt, without Auschwitz at all - she’d been a good listener, a reliable ear, and it was why he’d told her who he really was the first night they met. But Rogue was a good listener as well. After Magda was killed, he didn’t think he’d want to have anything like that again - sex was easy, it was simple, an impulse. Being around someone, being with them, that was all much harder but Rogue had a way about her that allowed it to be easy too. “And I promise you Rogue will be very okay with everything. Both she and Anka Irene will want to get to know you. Same as I do.” Peter had wondered about that. How Erik just was able to pick up and move on again. The sex thing, obviously, Erik didn’t have a problem with because there were Dad-neto babies all over. Or just two here at least. And Peter was excited to get to know his sister, one he didn’t have to hide from, or take care of secretly because mom was married to the bottle… But he wouldn’t bother Erik with that sort of question right now. Maybe eventually. “I thought they already knew me?” A little bit of air quotes and a very mature neener-neener face to go along with that question. Obviously he was being sarcastic but it was his nature and it helped him get more comfortable. “Yeah, I guess it can be that easy...I was born in 1955, I stopped aging at 30...ish? Um. There’s still an ongoing debate about whether I’m ‘really fast’ or able to ‘control timeflow’--Hank is up in arms about that, I still think I’m fast because if I could control time flow I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be getting my ass handed to me by Jean...this is my natural hair color, unfortunately and yes the carpet matches the drapes, I know you wanted to know that. Annnnnnnd,” he leaned back, pretending to think more. This was all shit that obviously didn’t matter. Again. Made him feel better. “Sometimes I get impatient or like, ADD, but I’m not. I don’t mean it I just. Sometimes seconds are forever for me. I’m getting better at getting on the same frequency as everyone else.” Born in 1955 and didn’t look a day over twenty. Peter definitely aged well - then again, so did Erik. He’d been alive for the Holocaust and should, by all accounts, appear to be wearing the effects of age more than he was. There were no concrete theories as to why that was - perhaps genetics, perhaps his own powers and manipulation of magnetism kept him looking young? Who was to say? “Well, either way, I’m sure Hank is pleased to know the carpet matches the drapes,” Erik quipped dryly - he could be funny sometimes, when he was around people who got him to open up a little. People who didn’t need him to be a leader, or a figurehead, but simply allowed him to be himself. There was probably more to know, but he would learn it all - in due time. “How do you feel about a hug? Would the seconds feel like forever?” After all this time - Peter helping to break him out of prison, the battle against Apocalypse, rebuilding the Institute, and then Jean’s wreckage - Erik thought perhaps it was long overdue. And because, well, he wanted to hug his son - his only son, who by all accounts was a little bit special, because he always believed the father-son bond to be special too. He’d certainly looked up to his father. Uh oh, did Dadneto just make a joke? Peter flashed a toothy smile, not unlike his fathers, all while shaking his head. Hank preferred not to get into those sorts of biology tests but if he was going to make Peter run like a hamster then, naturally, Peter was going to fuck with him. He froze at Erik’s question, not because time was stopping around him, but because no one...really...offered to give him a hug? His little sisters a very long time ago, sometimes Kurt if he needed it (the guy was so religious), Storm held his hand while she took him to medical after getting injured. They all had their own way of showing that they cared, looks, glances, a pat on the back--the ladies were more open with a touch, a squeeze of the hand, and it really did make a difference to Peter. Instinctively his body stood because yes, of course he wanted a hug from his dad it was just. Was it weird? No...no. People did that all the time, right? His eyes were burning and he just pretended to ignore that. So many new weird emotions. “No I...I don’t think they would.” He answered honestly, sheepishly, still unsure. “If it did I think it would be the one instance I wouldn’t care. Unless you had BO but you’re like walking sophistication so I doubt that.” Honesty with a side of sarcasm and witt. Still very much a young man in more ways than one. Certain things never nurtured within him had been put on pause, forgotten. But they weren’t things Peter didn’t want. He wanted his dad. He wanted a family, a place to belong. Walking sophistication. Well, that was quite a compliment. “I think I should be alright, in terms of smell,” Erik chuckled and, indeed, he worked in a smithy where he was often dirty and sweaty, an aroma of metal and the oils and chemicals associated with; strong deodorant was required, and he always showered whenever he got home from a day of work. Right now, he probably just smelled like soap. And fresh bread. Hopefully that wasn’t a bad thing. But Peter would soon be able to judge for himself, because Erik took those steps toward him, enclosing him in a hug. They were close to the same height - maybe an inch of a difference, so it was a good fit. It was a full-on hug too, not one of those awkward shoulder or back pats that men tended to do, as if hugging someone you cared about wasn’t masculine or something - he’d never understood such things. “I’m glad you’re here, Peter,” Erik said, and he meant that. If just for a moment Peter’s body tensed, everything slowing down for him instinctively—not that he thought Erik was going to hurt him, it was probably just nerves. He brought himself back into real time because super speeding through your first dad hug would ruin the whole thing. Being on the X-team, Quicky had calmed down significantly and gotten used to their whole “family” dynamic but this was different this was real and it felt great. He almost didn’t realize the water leaking from the corner of his eyes-fuck, no no. After absorbing the warm emotions that were new and overwhelming he eventually sank against Erik, returning the hug. He didn’t expect this to hit so hard but Peter would just ignore it. He found his father. His father wanted him, just as he was, and had no reservations. No conditions. Peter’s fingers dug more into the fabric of Erik’s closed and closed his eyes. His voice came out softer than usual, a little faster, “Me too...thanks dad.” |