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Her name’s Asha.
She’s a beautiful, dark-skinned seven year old, with eyes the color of spun gold and blood red hair, making it only all too obvious, even to an outsider that she’s a mutant, of some sort. Her gift lies in her ability to manipulate plants, to make a dandelion crawl up through a crack in the sidewalk, to get a rose to bloom early. Nothing about her gift can be used offensively, even defensively, which is only partially why Charles’ first view of her through Cerebro disturbs him so much.
He senses her screaming out every way someone can scream out, her emotions burning through him like a hot little flame.
“I will not have a witch for a daughter, you little whore! I knew from the moment I saw that you were one of them fuckin’ witches, but I thought I could purge you! I’ll make you pray, you’ll see. Your bitch mother was a fuckin’ heathen, too, but I cured her. Pray.”
One large, tobacco stained hand grabs her hair by its roots. Another strikes her face with bruising force. She tastes blood.
“Go ‘way!” she shrieks, thrashing. “Please go 'way, please...”
“How dare you! How dare you, you ungrateful cunt, after all I’ve done for you...how I tried to save you...”
“No…!”
--
Since his paralysis, Charles has left the recruitment and rescue business to Erik and the rest of the children, mostly due to the inconveniences that his disability causes. He does, however, often lend a hand from a distance, in this case, erasing Asha’s father’s memory of her, and causing him to see Erik as an avenging angel of the Lord, coming, as he ripped off the doors by their hinges, to make him atone for his sins. It isn't entirely untrue.
Asha trembles as the chaos explodes around her, but when Erik asks her if she would like to go with him and Sean, to a school for people like her, she silently nods and follows at his heels, a stuffed monkey in her hands.
--
When Charles first sees her personally, she’s overstimulated and vibrating with tension, but doesn't speak a word. Most new students at the Xavier-Lensherr Academy are quiet, due to similar histories of abuse, neglect, and prejudice, so her silence doesn't surprise them.
--
Her temper tantrums, however, do.
The first occurs the first night she arrives at the Academy, when the grown ups are putting the little ones to bed. Mystique, on bedtime duty that night, sees her walking away from her bedroom, and follows her down the stairway into the Green Sitting room, where she turns on the television and then plops onto the couch.
Mystique turns off the TV. “Sweetheart, it’s bedtime. It’s not tim--”
“Fuck you!” Asha screams, and pushes a lamp off the side table, and it shatters loudly on the floor.
After this, her temper tantrums are nearly constant. She usually mellows enough to eat meals, and in fact, wolfs her food down so quickly Charles is surprised she doesn’t make herself sick. He’s also caught her wandering the halls of the mansion, but when she sees him, she drops to the ground and crawls away, literally babbling to herself.
She hasn't slept for three days.
---
Charles theoretically, can solve this problem quickly, easily, of course, but he stubbornly refuses to do so, tolerating the skepticism of the rest of the house.
“I can’t believe you’re actually being serious,” scoffs Raven---no, Mystique, he reminds himself. She stabs her fork into her steak, and crosses her arms, leaning back in her chair.
“R---Mystique. She’s a child. Her mind hasn’t fully developed yet, and I haven’t the slightest idea what would happen in the long term if I influenced her. Plus, you saw what her home was like, how she was locked up. I won’t be another person violating her trust.”
His sister rolls her golden eyes. “Do you know if influencing adults messes them up later? Yeah, didn’t think so. And if we all keep ignoring her, she’s going to have no reason to trust us. She’s miserable. Helping her feel a little bit better could go a long way in gaining her trust.”
“She’s just…so little.” He scrubs at his face. “I don’t want to hurt her more.”
“I know you don’t. I don’t think you will.”
Charles rubs his neck and sighs. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Oh, thank God,” Mystique moans in relief, just as shrieks explode from the floor above them.
“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Something heavy thuds to the floor, and Charles winces.
Mystique perks up, grinning. “Ah, bedtime already? That’d be your cue, Charles. Have fun.” She stands up and pushes in her chair, walking quickly in the opposite direction of the shrieking.
“And where are you going?”
“I have a thing. Bye.”
---
When Charles wheels out of the elevator, his jaw drops. Books from the bookshelves lining the hallway scatter the floor, and a few of the bookshelves themselves have been thrown to the ground. At the end of the corridor, Hank is trying to reason with Asha, but he is clearly making no progress. Erik leans against the wall, glowering and muttering fiercely under his breath.
“You fucking whore ass bitch!” she spits at Hank. “I fucking hate your ugly ass face. You should have never been born!”
“That language is unacceptable, Asha, you’ve been told that!”
A manic grin spreads over her face. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Fuck yooooou. Fuck you, you dirty cunt!”
Charles knows Asha’s situation is bad. He’s (barely) managed behavior situations before with her, but this is a new extreme. Several children creak open their doors, trying to get a peak of whatever’s going on, their faces alternating between frightened and enthralled.
“Go to bed,” he says. “You’re safe. One of our friends is just upset.”
Reluctantly, their doors shut.
“What’s going on here?” he said, raising his voice with an authority he’s just learning to wield.
“You can MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUISNESS!” Asha whoops.
Erik and Hank both twitch.
“Well, I would very much like to, but you’ve knocked down my books and you’re yelling at my friends. I don’t like that.”
“And what’re you gonna do about it? You gonna hit me? I fucking dare you, dumbass!”
“That is disrespectful and I will not tolerate it.”
“Asshole! Asshoooole!”
“Asha, that is enough,” snaps Hank.
She blows a rude noise on her bare arm. “Can’t make me do nothin’!”
Actually, Charles says to her, I don’t want to, but I could. And to prove himself, he gently sends her the impulse to clap her hands. When she sees what he made her do, she gazes down on her trembling hands, and lets out a soul-ripping wail.
The terror. God. It explodes out of her tiny frame. Charles desperately wants to shield, but gritting his teeth, he settles on retreating from her mind and holding up his palms.
“Go ‘way!” she sobs. “Go! Away! Bad! Bad!”
“I’m sorry. I can see that you’re very frightened; I won’t make you do anything without your permission again, Asha. I promise.”
“NO!” Asha flings herself to the floor, still crying so hard she can barely breathe. “Go ‘way! Bad!”
For a telepath, you can be oblivious, Erik thinks sharply, lifting his face from his hand to glare at Charles.
Charles glares back at him, and then his expression softens and he sighs. Erik, if you must, you can leave, he thinks, looping in Hank, who perks up hopefully. Hank, I’m terribly sorry, but if you could stay with me?
Looking at Erik, who smirks as he struts down the hallways and down the flight of stairs at its end, Hank sighs. Of course.
I’m sorry. Charles shoots him an apologetic smile. I just want someone else here in case something goes horribly wrong. Preferably someone who won’t commit homicide if it continues do exactly that.
You owe me a big one, he grumbles.
I know. In the meantime, Hank--- I am being terribly bossy, aren’t I?---do you think you could move the books off the floor and get some of the bookshelves back up? I just need a pathway to move through.
A big one.
I promise you.
Hank makes short work of the task. When he’s done, Asha’s still crying, though her wails have softened to sniffles, and rather than slamming her fists and feet into the floor, she’s shaking her head slowly and muttering softly to herself. Charles inches a little bit closer to her, and she, looking up at him, scrambles back against the wall and wraps her arms around her skinny legs.
“I’m very sorry for scaring you, dear,” he says, gently. “I didn’t mean to.” She places her thumb in her mouth, looking at him with wide eyes, and whimpering.
“Baaad. No me likey. Momma? Where momma?”
“I don’t know.”
“I-I wan’ momma,” she sniffs.
“I can see that,” he says, and inches a little bit closer, “And I don’t know where she is, but if she were here, I think she would want her big girl to go to bed. It’s bedtime, Asha. All the other children have gone to bed. I’m sure you’re sleepy, too.”
He doesn’t even have to try to sense the exhaustion that exudes from her mind like a thick gray cloud.
“No. No sleep!”
“Why not?”
Asha bites the inside of her cheek. “He’ll g-get me.”
“Who will get you?”
Making herself even smaller, she says, “The…bad guy. He’ll h-hurt me! I c-can’t let him get me, he’ll be mad and he’ll hurt meeeee.”
“Shh, Asha. Asha, nobody will hurt you here. Why don’t we go to your room and you can lay down on your bed. You don’t have to go to sleep, we’ll just talk.”
“Will you keep lights on?”
“Of course.”
He holds out his hand, and she stands up to take it, but she’s trembling so much he’s surprised she can.
“You can sit on my lap, if you want.”
For a few moments, she pauses, looking at Charles and his chair, and then so cautiously, so slowly, climbs into his lap. Once she’s there, though, she clings to him tightly, her face pressed against his neck. Her breathing is still too fast, and her skin’s cold and clammy, and through the close contact, Charles can’t help but overhear her frightened thoughts buzzing noisily.
Hank, thank you for staying. I think I have this under control for now.
After a nod and a grunt, Hank bolts nearly as quickly as Erik has.
Asha’s room is empty, and the covers of her bed are ruffled, but unslept on. “Alright,” he says, wheeling to her bedside. “It’s time get off.”
“Lights on,” she insists, as she cautiously crawls onto the bed.
“Lights on,” agrees Charles.
She turns towards him, squints and stares him dead in the eye. “You won’t be bad?”
“I won’t hurt you or make you do anything you don’t want to, no.”
“Good!”
“I do want to ask you a question, dear,” says Charles.
“Mm.” She plays with her toes, and doesn’t look up at him.
“I know you were frightened when I made you clap your hands, but I didn’t explain what was happening, did I?”
“No! Nononononono, don’t make me, don’t…don’t make me. I’m good girl now! Please, please…” Tears leap to her eyes once more.
“Shhhh, shhh. Take a deep breath. I’m not going to make you do anything without permission. You are being a very good girl, and I’m very proud.”
“I’m good girl,” she breathes, and sticks her thumb into her mouth.
“Yes, you are. You’re safe, Asha; I won’t make you do anything without your permission. I just want to talk to you right now.”
“‘Kay,” she whispers, still avoiding his eyes and curling in on herself.
“I was wrong to make you do anything without asking you. I’m very sorry. Do you think you could forgive me?”
Asha considers this for a while, and then lisps, “Now good.”
“Thank you very much, Asha. May I ask you something?”
“Mmhm.”
“You haven’t slept in a very long time, have you?”
She squeaks. “The maaaaaaan. The bad man! He’ll...he’ll get me. He’ll hurt me.”
“No one can hurt you here,” he soothes, “but I understand.. I get frightened by nightmares sometimes, too.”
“Really?”
“Really. If you would let me---and only if you would let me---I could help you have nice dreams.”
She tugs at a thread in her mattress. “W-will it hurt me?.”
“No, not at all. Nothing can hurt you here. I bet it’d even feel nice to fall asleep, since you’ve been awake for a very long time. And I bet you haven’t have a pleasant dream in a while.”
Pursuing her lips and considering for what seemed to be a very long time, she finally nods, in tentative agreement. “Just let me get Dokey,” she says, leaping off of the bed and scrambling across the room.
She returns to the bed with a plush monkey in her arms. It’s fur is nearly worn off in places, and it’s ears are torn. Charles aches to think of all the hardships it must have seen. Laying down on top of the sheets, Asha clutches Dokey close to her chest. “He’s still a little scared,” she says.
“Well, that’s quite alright,” Charles says, giving the top of Dokey ’s head a pat. “I think everybody is afraid of something that they don’t understand. We’ll go slowly.” With a sudden burst of inspiration, he holds out his hand. “Listen,” he wiggles his pinky, “when
you’re ready to start relaxing and getting sleepy, you can fold down this finger. Then, when you are ready to get a little more sleepy, you can fold down the next until you’re ready to,” he wriggles, his thumb, “go to sleep. And if you ever want to stop, you can just say ‘stop’, and I will, so we can talk about what was frightening you. Does that sound alright?”
“Mm.”
“Alright, then. I’m ready whenever you are.” He holds his palm out for her, and turns his gaze away, lest even that makes her feel pressured. It must have been five minute before she finally, tentatively, folds down his thumb.
Even as he soothes her worries, he keeps his distance from her thoughts, only draping the telepathic equivalent of a warm blanket over them. She squirms under the foreign emotions at first, not sure what to do with them, but eventually settled, but as he begins to tuck them more tightly around her, she suddenly starts. “Stop!”
He immediately withdraws. “I’ve stopped. It’s OK, you’re safe.”
“Too much,” she says, curling tightly inwards.
It was barely anything, thinks Charles, but he says, “I’m sorry. Maybe I began to send those emotions to you too strongly and too quickly. I’ll back off. Perhaps there’s something you can do that can help keep you occupied so you’re not so scared.”
“I could...count to one hundred.”
“That’s a good idea. Are you ready to give it another try?”
Thumb once more in her mouth, Asha nods.
“Tell me when.”
It takes her ten seconds of silence. “I’m ready. Dokey , too.” She squeezes Dokey tighter.
“Alright.”
It’s easier, this time. Even when she folds down his second finger, she remains still and quiet, a faint hum of contentment projecting from her. It’s after she folds down his third finger, though, that she’s uninhibited enough to meet his eyes and murmur, hand
still clasping his finger, “Why can’t you walk?”
“There was an accident.”
“Oh…Did it...Did it hurt?”
“Yes, it did, but it doesn’t anymore. I’m alright.”
She hums softly and says, “Good,” before letting her eyes drift close and folding down his fourth finger.
When she’s finally asleep, he lays the blanket that been folded at the foot of her bed over her, and smooths her hair.
For once, she looks peaceful, normal, her mouth open slightly. Something catches in his throat. God, he thinks, there are more mutant children out there like this. Struggling, in pain. No one should ever feel that desperate.
Well, he thinks, looking down at Asha’s sleeping form, and letting out a deep sigh, it’s a beginning.