Sarah Across the Multiverse

I could feel the searing pain from the wounds on my shoulder, across my chest, and my leg—like fire shooting through my body, only way less fun than the fiery hot wings I had the other night. The time-space continuum? Yeah, it decided to give me a personal fuck you courtesy of my tether to my pocket dimension. Surviving? Just barely. And trust me, barely doesn't exactly leave you in tip-top shape.

I shivered. Not because I was cold—though, yeah, that too. More like I was feeling the kind of weak that makes even the toughest heroes think about calling for a nap. I'd overextended my magical energy fighting the damn collapse of that tunnel. Result? Time and space decided I was gonna get cut up like a coupon book. Healing? Well, that's happening, but like a dial-up internet connection—painfully slow, frustratingly glitchy. At this rate, I might actually expire before I finish healing. Which, let's be real, would make things a hell of a lot easier.

If I hadn't been all clever and tethered to my pocket dimension, siphoning off energy like a bad ex, I'd probably be pushing up daisies right about now. Or maybe just a pile of goo, which is equally as glamorous.

I staggered, feeling like a two-dollar superhero. My hand pressed against the grimy wall, holding me up as much as the wall was holding itself up. My legs were ready to just say, "Nope," and collapse on the spot. "Safe place to meditate, recharge," I muttered, my voice like a dying hamster on a wheel. "But for some reason, my shadow dimension's on vacation. Why the hell can't I get in?"

For once, no snarky back-and-forth with my shadow self. Maybe it was off living its best life. "Guess I'm doing the 'human way' this time, huh? Great. Just what I needed."

I was in some dirty alley. Surprise, surprise—nothing new. If you've been to any alley in any city, you know the drill. Still, not exactly a hotspot for hangouts when you're in worse shape than a taco left in the sun too long. The sky was dark, so at least I wasn't teleporting across dimensions like a tourist on a bender—but where the hell was I?

Staying conscious was getting harder. My blood, which had already seen better days, was about to take its final bow. If I didn't find help soon, I was toast. And not the fun kind that comes with a side of guacamole.

I collapsed, my back hitting the wall, the world around me swaying like it was on a roller coaster designed by Salvador Dalí. "This is fine," I mumbled to the void, or maybe to the sidewalk. Not sure who I was addressing at that point. Everything was fuzzing out like someone turned the saturation on life down to zero.

Then—because of course—two guys showed up. They must've missed the memo that it's not a good idea to approach someone in this much pain. One of them stopped, eyes going wide like he'd seen a ghost—or maybe it was just my staggered, near-death look that got him. I didn't care. Not in the mood to care.

I caught fragments of their conversation like the world was playing a game of Chinese whispers with my brain. Something about Charles Xavier and Erik? I blinked. "Charles Xavier... and Erik?" I muttered, trying to pull the names out of the hazy fog in my head. They sounded important, but my brain wasn't quite processing. Was that a good thing?

I tried to push out with my telekinesis, but all that came out was a sad, half-hearted push. Like a kid trying to shove a boulder uphill with a toothpick. I barely had enough energy to keep breathing, let alone blast them with anything useful.

And then? Time decided to just take a nap, freezing around me like a bad director's cut of Groundhog Day. That's when I heard the voice. It wasn't the voice of reason or even a voice I should be trusting, but still, it was there.

"Charles, I like this young woman."

And that's when I checked out. Everything went black.

...

I slowly opened my eyes, feeling groggy—like I'd been hit with a sledgehammer, dragged through a swamp, and then slapped by a wet fish for good measure. For a second, everything was just... blurry. Like someone had smeared Vaseline all over my vision. I squinted, trying to make sense of my surroundings.

White walls. Blindingly white. Sterile. It's like someone slapped the color out of the room and replaced it with hospital chic. Yeah, this wasn't some alleyway nap. And the dull, persistent ache in my shoulder? Yeah, that confirmed it wasn't just a bad hangover from an interesting night out. I was really injured. Great.

"Yup, not a dream," I muttered, wincing at the throb in my shoulder. "Still out of it, though. What is this, 'The Healing Matrix'?"

Just as I tried to sit up, like some undead zombie pretending to be alive, a voice broke into my little pity party.

"Ah, you're awake?"

I turned my head. And there she was. A blonde woman, looking like she'd been plucked out of a high school yearbook photo—bright eyes, energetic vibe like she'd just walked out of a sunscreen commercial. And here she was, standing in a sterile room, looking so out of place I was half-expecting her to break into a song about sunshine and rainbows.

When she saw me move, her face lit up like I was the last slice of pizza at a party. "Oh, thank God," she muttered, almost like she had just been holding her breath, and now she could finally exhale.

"My name is Raven. Raven Darkhölme," she introduced herself with a small, confident smile as if that name was supposed to mean something.

I blinked, processing it like a slow internet connection. "Sarah Vasilissa," I croaked back, voice still sounding like I'd been gargling gravel for the past hour. "Did you save me?"

I let the words hang in the air like a bad joke, unsure if I was asking the right thing. Or if I was even capable of asking anything coherent. The last few hours—or was it days?—were like a blackout drunk's memory. I vaguely recalled two guys… but then everything went fuzzy.

Raven looked at me for a second, then shook her head with a smile that was too calm for what was going on. "I didn't save you," she said. "Charles and Erik did."

She paused, clearly gauging my reaction, before adding, "Please wait a moment. I'll go and call Charles over here."

And just like that, she was gone. Footsteps faded down the hallway like she was auditioning for Mission Impossible or something.

Alone with my thoughts. Great. I could feel the confusion starting to wear off, though. Pieces of the puzzle were clicking into place, and let me tell you, this puzzle wasn't exactly a fun one to solve.

Charles Xavier. Erik Lehnsherr.

Oh, hell no. I was knee-deep in X-Men: First Class. This wasn't just some random dimension with random people. No, I was smack dab in the middle of the X-Men's recruitment phase. And based on my stellar luck so far, things were about to get weird.

I leaned back against the pillows, my shoulder aching like it had just been introduced to a cheese grater. Time to get my act together. This wasn't just about surviving. It was about playing the game. And let's be real—I wasn't about to play it like everyone else. If I played this right, I could change the damn course of history.

Erik and Charles.

They were the key to everything—and the problem. I had to keep them from tearing each other apart. If I could manage that, maybe—just maybe—I could stop all the horrible crap that was coming.

But here's the thing—trusting either of them? Not on your life.

Xavier's little "dream" of peaceful coexistence between mutants and humans? Yeah, well, I'd seen that movie. And spoiler alert: it ends with the mutants getting their asses handed to them in the worst way possible.

As for Erik—Magneto, I thought with a grimace. The guy was headed straight for a dictatorship with a side of world domination. So much for "brotherhood," huh?

Yeah, no. I wasn't some pawn in their little chess match. I didn't care about either of their grandiose plans. I wasn't joining Team 'Peace and Love' or Team 'Let's Overthrow the Government.' Nope, I was a wildcard, and no one, especially not those two, was going to control me. Not now. Not ever.

Footsteps interrupted my thoughts. These were heavier, more deliberate than Raven's, echoing down the hallway like someone really wanted to make an entrance. And boy, did they. The door opened to reveal two men who screamed "Important." One was dressed to the nines in a crisp suit, clearly the PR-friendly half of the duo. The other? He didn't need a suit to announce his authority—he carried it in his posture, his expression, and that air of quiet menace that said, I don't do small talk.

"Ah, you're awake," Suit Guy said, flashing a smile that was all surface. Warm, sure, but with just enough calculation to remind me that I was in his house, on his terms. "I'm Charles Xavier. This is Erik Lehnsherr."

Great. The dream team of idealism and brooding intensity, standing right in front of me.

I sat up a little straighter, letting my eyes drift between them. Charles had this effortless charm, like a politician who actually believes his own campaign slogans. Erik? His eyes pinned me down with all the subtlety of a laser sight. He didn't say a word, just gave a nod that felt more like an appraisal.

"I hear you're the one who saved me," I said, locking eyes with Erik because, hey, if someone's going to size you up, you might as well return the favor. "Thanks for that."

Erik raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Silence stretched for a moment before he finally said, "We found you half-dead in an alley. Thought you were a mutant in distress."

"Well, I'm alive, so..." I shrugged with my good shoulder, ignoring the flare of pain from the other one. "Guess it wasn't a total waste of your time."

Charles chuckled like I'd cracked some inside joke, while Erik stayed stoic. Classic good cop, brooding cop.

Then Charles gestured at my shoulder, his expression growing more serious. "And your wounds... you seem to have been slashed with a sword."

"Yeah," I said dryly, glancing at the bandages. "The other guy looked worse. Or at least, he would have if I'd stuck around to see the aftermath."

Charles didn't laugh this time, but his polite smile didn't falter either. Erik, on the other hand, looked like he was filing that little tidbit away for later scrutiny.

Before I could redirect the conversation, I felt a subtle pressure at the edge of my mind. My eyes snapped to Charles as he leaned in slightly, his fingers hovering near his temple.

"What are you doing?" I asked sharply, more annoyed than alarmed.

"I just want to understand," Charles said, his tone soothing, like I was a skittish horse or a wayward toddler.

Yeah, no. Not happening.

Before I could stop myself, his fancy floating chair rose off the ground, wobbling slightly but staying aloft. His brows furrowed as he looked down, clearly startled by his impromptu levitation.

"Don't get excited, Charles," I said with mock calm. "You're not going to win any carnival prizes with that trick."

Charles raised his hands in surrender. "I mean no harm, Sarah. I just wanted to glimpse your background. We have no malicious intentions!"

"Yeah, that's what everyone says before they go poking into places they shouldn't," I shot back, lowering his chair back to the floor with a deliberate thud. "Next time, maybe ask before you try the psychic sneak attack."

From the corner of my eye, I caught Erik's faint smirk. He stepped forward, tilting his head like he'd just noticed something interesting.

"You know," he said, his voice smooth and thoughtful, "I felt magnetism in that."

That made me pause. I glanced at him, forcing a neutral expression. "Did you, now?"

Erik's gaze narrowed slightly like he was picking apart a particularly intriguing puzzle. "Are you aware that you've been using magnetism in your telekinesis?"

Ah, fantastic. Sherlock over here just had to go and make things complicated.

"Magnetism, telekinesis—it's all just moving stuff around, right?" I said breezily, ignoring the tiny bead of sweat threatening to betray me.

Erik didn't answer right away, and that was worse somehow. His eyes stayed locked on me, sharp and probing, while Charles watched with polite interest, like a teacher who'd just discovered a promising student.

I sighed, leaning back into the pillows, giving them my best you've worn me down look. "Fine. I'll tell you something. But don't expect the whole truth. Not yet." I let the words hang for a moment as if I were carefully piecing together the best version of the story they might buy.

"I'm just a human who got caught in some government facility," I began, lowering my voice like we were huddled around a campfire trading secrets. "They did experiments on me—enhanced me with... well, stuff I don't fully understand. Powers: telekinesis, magnetism, some other tricks. I escaped when I could, and ended up on the run. That's when I stumbled into... whatever this mess is."

The beauty of a half-truth? It's grounded enough to sound real but vague enough that nobody gets too curious.

Charles folded his hands, his piercing gaze locked onto me like a microscope's lens. "Fascinating," he said, voice tinged with admiration and intrigue. "Shadows, telekinesis, magnetism—such an array of abilities. It's rare to see a mutant with such versatility."

I followed his eyes to the shadows flickering along the walls, behaving as if they had their own agenda. One of them twitched—because of course, my powers had to put on a little show right now. A tendril curled toward Charles like it wanted to give him a firm handshake—or maybe a slap.

"Tell me," Charles continued, leaning in slightly, his tone almost fatherly, "how long have you known?"

"Known what?" I tilted my head, letting a smirk tug at my lips. "That I'm awesome?"

Erik's lips twitched at that. Not quite a smile, but close enough to count. Charles, though? Stone-faced. He was clearly too curious to appreciate my sense of humor.

"That you're a mutant," he clarified, voice calm, measured, and absolutely relentless.

The smirk faltered for half a second, but I bounced back quickly. "Oh, that. Well, here's the thing: I'm not a mutant. I'm just a regular human with superpowers. But hey, believe whatever makes you happy." I leaned back, keeping my tone casual, though I could feel the air in the room shift. "Let's just say I've been around long enough to know how to handle myself."

Charles didn't push further—yet—but Erik wasn't letting it go. His gaze was razor-sharp, cutting through the nonsense like he had a superpower for spotting lies.

"And what exactly were you doing in that alley?" he asked, voice cool but laced with suspicion. "You looked more like collateral damage than a player."

I met his gaze head-on, refusing to flinch. "Let's just say I had a disagreement with some very unfriendly forces. One portal, a botched escape, and voilà—here I am." My voice stayed light, almost flippant, but my mind was racing. The last thing I needed was for these two to start digging deeper.

At the word portal, Charles perked up, leaning in like a kid hearing about a hidden treasure map. "A portal?" His tone was curious, almost delighted. "You're saying you've been traveling... between dimensions?"

Oh, good job, Sarah. You really know how to stay under the radar.

Before I could decide whether to lean into the lie or pivot, there was a soft knock on the door. Raven's voice followed, cutting through the mounting tension.

She stepped in with a plate of food, her presence instantly shifting the atmosphere. "Thought you might be starving," she said, setting the plate down on the table by my bed. "You look like you've been through hell."

I gave her a small, tired smile. "Hell would've been a vacation," I quipped, trying to ease the weight of the conversation. "But thanks for the room service."

Raven grinned back, her expression brightening just a little. There was something unspoken in her eyes—curiosity? Sympathy? Whatever it was, I wasn't sure how to feel about it.

Charles cleared his throat, snapping the moment between Raven and me like the last Pringle in a can—unexpectedly loud and mildly disappointing. "If you're feeling up to it, we'd like to extend an invitation," he said, calm as a monk but with a sprinkle of please-don't-make-this-weird. "Erik and I are assembling a team. A group of gifted individuals—like yourself—who can help us face an imminent threat."

I leaned back against the headboard, crossing my arms like I was auditioning for the role of 'Reclining, Mysterious Antihero #4.' "Imminent threat, huh?" My tone oozed skepticism, but inside, I was already tallying up the plot points. "Let me guess—Sebastian Shaw?"

Charles blinked, and for the first time, his Jedi poker face cracked. Erik? Different story. He stiffened as I'd just stolen his last pretzel stick, his eyes narrowing with laser-focused suspicion.

"How do you know that name?" Erik's voice could've cut glass—or at least dramatically shattered a villain's whiskey tumbler in a flashback.

I tilted my head, going for that sweet spot between mysterious and infuriating. "Let's just say I keep up with the news." Not technically a lie. A little vague? Sure. But vague is my middle name. (It's not. Don't fact-check that.)

Erik shot a did-you-hear-that-bullshit-too? Glance at Charles, who looked torn between intrigue and the kind of caution you'd reserve for ticking boxes that might be bombs.

"She's confident," Erik muttered, though there was a begrudging little spice of respect in his tone. Like the begrudging respect flavor Pringles that never made it to shelves.

"She's right," I corrected because no way was I letting these two drop the ball on my sales pitch. "And if you're planning to take on Shaw without me, you're either overconfident or straight-up suicidal."

Charles sighed, rubbing his temples like a man carrying the weight of the world—and possibly the world's snarkiest guest star. "Then perhaps we can count on your assistance," he said carefully. It was the verbal equivalent of dipping a toe into shark-infested waters. "For now, get some rest. We'll discuss the details later."

With that, the Power Duo exited stage left. Erik's gaze lingered a beat longer, sharp and assessing, before he followed Charles out. Probably trying to decide if he liked me or just wanted to launch a nearby bedpan at my head. Jury's still out.

Raven, though? She didn't budge. Instead, she leaned casually against the doorframe, smirking like she'd just watched me steal Erik's aforementioned pretzel sticks. "You've got a lot of secrets, don't you?" Her tone was light, teasing, but there was a razor edge of curiosity beneath it.

I leaned forward, mirroring her smirk like we were in some kind of smirk-off. "Stick around, and you might just figure some of them out."

Her grin widened, sparking with intrigue. "I just might." She lingered a second longer, her gaze catching mine like she was trying to read the fine print on my soul, before slipping into the hallway. "Don't go anywhere," she tossed back, her voice dripping with amusement.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone in the blinding hospital brightness that screamed, Welcome to your sterile existential crisis! I exhaled slowly, letting my head fall back against the pillow. My body was still screaming OW, OW, OW, but the pain had downgraded from Please Make It Stop to Mildly Annoyed.

This time, it wasn't the slow siphoning from my pocket dimension patching me up. My magic circuits were putting in overtime, piecing me together like a dollar-store jigsaw puzzle. Slow, messy, and frustratingly efficient. Not pretty, but hey, progress is progress.

I brushed my fingers along the edge of the crisp sheets, my mind wandering to Charles and Erik. Magneto and Professor X. Frenemies with a ticking clock. Charles had his all-you-need-is-love vibe, while Erik simmered with the barely contained rage of a man who'd spent way too much time on Twitter.

It was a delicate balance—like a seesaw at an active volcano—and I couldn't help but wonder how long it would hold before Erik flipped the board. My money? Not long. But hey, that's tomorrow's problem.

Erik—Magneto, future master of magnetism and living embodiment of "Well, that escalated quickly". In my timeline, his name became shorthand for rebellion, the kind where stadiums get dropped on cities and chessboards double as therapy sessions. His inevitable fallout with Charles wasn't just tragic—it was apocalyptic. And now, standing at the precipice of that defining moment, I had a singular goal: make sure it didn't go full season finale cliffhanger.

In 1962, Erik and Charles were still on the same team. Friends. Partners. Maybe even something... closer if you squinted hard enough through the cracks of their complicated bond. The bromance-to-enemies pipeline was painfully fragile, like a teetering Jenga tower built on unspoken trauma. I'd seen it before—how one small push could send it crashing into a million jagged pieces. Pieces that wouldn't fit together again, no matter how hard anyone tried.

But here? Here, I had a shot. A chance to wedge myself into the narrative and reroute it before Erik dove headfirst into the dark side of the metaphorical pool. Did I think I could fix him? Hell no. Erik wasn't an IKEA chair with missing screws. He was a man whose past was a weight so heavy it made Atlas look like he skipped leg day. But inevitability? That was just another story we told ourselves to sleep at night.

This might not even be my timeline. For all I knew, I was wading waist-deep into a multiversal casserole with ingredients I couldn't name. Was this universe bound to play out like mine, hitting every tragic checkpoint like a doomed road trip? Or was it already diverging in ways I couldn't see—because cosmic breadcrumbs are never conveniently labeled?

That uncertainty clung to me like glitter after a craft fair, but so did the sliver of hope. Maybe Magneto wouldn't become that Magneto. Maybe there was a path where he and Charles stayed united, where their mutual dream didn't fracture under the weight of their conflicting ideologies. It was a long shot, like trying to microwave pizza rolls without one of them exploding, but it wasn't impossible.

Changing Erik's mind wouldn't be a matter of delivering an inspirational TED Talk. He wasn't that kind of guy. He was conviction personified, and you'd need a crowbar just to pry open a crack in his resolve. But cracks were all I needed—those fleeting moments where his armor softened, even for a second. If I could find them, wedge myself in, and nudge things just enough, maybe I could tilt the scales.