The flight had been long and mostly uneventful, but as the plane began its descent into New York, Xander's mind was anything but calm. He had never been to the city before, and the sprawling metropolis below felt like a whole new world—so different from the small, apocalyptic town of Sunnydale he had left behind. The vast skyline stretched out in all directions, the streets below teeming with life. Yet, despite the city's size, Xander couldn't shake the gnawing sense of isolation.
As the plane touched down and the landing gear hit the tarmac, Xander exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He was here. New York. The city that might hold the key to his past, or maybe just another dead end. Either way, he had committed to the trip. The answers, whatever they were, had to be out there somewhere.
The moment the cabin doors opened, a rush of people stood, shuffling to grab their bags from the overhead compartments. Xander waited, staring out the window for just a moment longer. He'd spent the entire flight thinking about the letter, about the name *James Howlett*, and whether or not this mysterious man could truly be his father. Was it even possible? After all the lies his mother had kept from him, how could he trust this one to lead him anywhere meaningful?
Still, he had come this far.
He grabbed his bag from under the seat, stood, and followed the crowd off the plane. The airport was massive, a swirling vortex of activity. People from all walks of life bustled through the terminals, eyes glued to their phones, pulling luggage behind them or clutching briefcases as they hurried toward their next destination. Xander felt like a ghost, slipping between them unnoticed.
The terminal signs guided him toward baggage claim, and he moved mechanically, grabbing his duffel bag off the conveyor belt. The mundane nature of the airport seemed out of place with the journey he was on. Everything felt too ordinary, too normal, given the strange, unreal nature of what had led him here.
As Xander made his way toward the exit, a strange twinge in his hands caught his attention again. The itching had never really gone away, but now it felt sharper, almost electric. He rubbed his hands together, trying to ease the sensation, but it lingered like a distant hum under his skin. There was something off—something that had been building ever since he left the Hellmouth.
He didn't have time to dwell on it, though. The busy airport was pulling him forward, deeper into the unknown. Outside, cabs were lined up, ready to take passengers wherever they needed to go. Xander hesitated for a moment before heading toward the coffee stand near the exit. He needed a moment to think, to ground himself before diving into the next part of this strange journey.
---
The air outside the airport was cool and brisk, a stark contrast to the stale cabin air he'd been breathing for hours. Xander pulled his jacket tighter around him, glancing around for somewhere to sit and collect his thoughts. A small café stood just outside the terminal, nestled between a newsstand and a taxi queue. It wasn't anything special, but it looked like the perfect place to disappear for a few minutes and get his bearings.
He stepped inside, the warmth of the café enveloping him instantly. The line wasn't long—business travelers and a couple of tired-looking families ordering their caffeine fix before heading on to whatever destinations waited for them. The barista called out an order, her voice sharp and efficient. Xander stepped up to the counter, scanning the menu briefly before settling on something simple.
"Large coffee, black," he said, his voice sounding far more tired than he expected.
The barista nodded without much fanfare, punching the order into the register. "That'll be $3.50."
Xander dug into his pocket for some crumpled bills, handing them over without thinking. His mind was already wandering, drifting back to the letter still folded in his jacket. James Howlett. The name stuck in his mind like a splinter. He kept replaying the lines over and over, wondering if this lead would finally give him some clarity about his past, or if it would turn into another empty promise.
A few minutes later, the barista slid a steaming cup of coffee across the counter. Xander grabbed it and found a small table by the window, dropping into the chair with a sigh. The heat from the cup seeped into his hands, helping to soothe the persistent itch that had been gnawing at him since he left L.A. He stared down into the dark liquid, his thoughts swirling as the world continued to move around him.
Outside the window, people hurried past, most of them too busy with their own lives to notice the man sitting in the café, wrestling with his identity. It was a strange feeling—being here, away from Sunnydale, away from the life he had known. He had survived battles, apocalypses, the death of loved ones, but nothing had prepared him for this quiet, gnawing uncertainty about who he really was.
Taking a long sip of the bitter coffee, Xander let his gaze drift. He couldn't shake the feeling that something bigger was at play here, that this trip was about more than just finding his father. His hands twitched again, and the itching flared up, sharp and sudden. He clenched his fists, trying to push the sensation aside. *Not now,* he thought. *I don't need this right now.*
But it was there, a constant reminder that something was changing inside him, something he wasn't ready to face just yet.
Xander closed his eyes for a moment, leaning back in the chair, letting the noise of the café wash over him. He thought about Buffy, about Willow, about Giles. They had their own paths now, their own fights to face. He wondered what they would say if they knew he was sitting here in New York, chasing down a ghost of his past. He hadn't told them about the letter. Part of him didn't want to. This felt like something he needed to do alone.
The sound of a raised voice from outside pulled him out of his thoughts. Frowning, Xander looked out the window and saw a group of people gathered not far from the entrance, their signs raised high. It looked like a protest of some kind, though he couldn't make out the details from where he sat.
With a sigh, he took another sip of his coffee, his eyes lingering on the crowd outside. Something told him this day was about to get a lot more complicated.
---
Xander watched as the scene outside the café became more chaotic. The crowd was growing larger, and the shouts were getting louder. He couldn't hear exactly what they were saying from inside the café, but the signs they held made it clear enough. Bold letters screamed phrases like *"Mutants are a threat!"* and *"Keep humans safe!"* alongside more aggressive symbols he recognized from fringe hate groups. Across from them, a smaller group of counter-protesters had gathered, their signs more hopeful, calling for tolerance and equality.
It wasn't hard to guess who the real targets of the commotion were. Xander had heard about the growing tension between mutants and humans over the years, but seeing it firsthand was a different experience. The energy in the air felt thick with fear and anger, two things he knew all too well from his days in Sunnydale. The only difference was that here, the enemy wasn't a demon or a vampire—it was prejudice, and it was wearing a human face.
He shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. There had been so many moments in his life when he had been part of a fight, but this wasn't his fight. At least, that's what he told himself. *I'm just here to find out about James Howlett,* he thought. *This isn't my world.* But deep down, Xander couldn't help but feel like the lines were starting to blur. The itching in his hands returned, more intense this time, as if reminding him that maybe this world wasn't as far removed from his own as he wanted to believe.
Outside, a scuffle broke out. A man from the larger group of protesters shoved one of the counter-protesters, knocking them to the ground. Xander tensed, his instincts kicking in, but he held back. The police were already stepping in, trying to separate the groups before things got worse. The signs continued to bob up and down in the crowd, the chants turning into an incomprehensible roar.
Xander took another sip of his coffee, but it did little to settle the growing unease in his gut. He knew what it was like to be different, to be part of a group that was hunted. In Sunnydale, it was always the monsters that hid in the shadows, but here in the real world, the monsters were sometimes the ones holding the signs.
He turned his gaze away from the window, trying to focus on anything else. But just as he did, the door to the café swung open, and a young woman rushed inside. She was wearing a brown leather jacket, and long gloves covered her hands despite the mild weather. She kept her head low, but Xander caught a glimpse of her face—she couldn't have been older than nineteen.
She hurried past the counter, heading toward the back of the café, but it was clear she was hiding from something. Xander's instincts prickled again. She looked nervous, scared even, and he could guess why.
Before he had time to react, two men followed her in, their eyes scanning the room like hunters tracking prey. They were part of the protest outside, their jackets marked with the same anti-mutant slogans. One of them locked eyes with Xander briefly before moving on, heading toward the back of the café where the girl had disappeared.
Xander felt his hands tighten around his coffee cup, the itching turning into a full-blown burn. He knew what was coming. He had seen this kind of situation play out before—this was a hunt, and she was the prey.
Without thinking, Xander pushed himself to his feet, tossing a few bills on the table before following them.
---
Xander moved quickly, weaving through the tables in the café, keeping a careful distance from the two men trailing the girl. He didn't need to see any more to know what was about to happen—this wasn't just some random altercation. These guys were hunting, and she was their target.
The café was small, with a few booths along the back wall. Xander spotted the girl huddled in one of them, her head still down, her shoulders tense. She was trying to make herself invisible, but it wasn't working. One of the men leaned against the wall a few feet away, his gaze fixed on her like a predator. The other man approached the table, standing right in front of her, blocking any hope of escape.
"Hey, mutant," the man said, his voice a low, threatening growl. "You think you can just hide in here? We saw what you did out there. You can't run from this."
The girl didn't respond, her gloved hands clenched tightly in her lap. Xander saw her knuckles whiten as she fought to keep her cool. There was something about her, something off—not in a bad way, but like she was holding back something dangerous. He could sense the fear rolling off her, but there was also power underneath it. He knew that feeling all too well.
Xander's feet carried him forward before he could fully process what he was doing. He was no stranger to fights, and old habits kicked in fast. He wasn't going to sit back and let this happen. Not again.
"Hey!" he called out, stepping up to the table. "You got a problem, buddy?"
Both men turned toward him, and for a brief moment, surprise flickered across their faces. They clearly hadn't expected anyone to interfere, especially not some random guy who looked like he had just rolled out of bed. But the moment passed quickly, and the man standing over the girl's table sneered.
"This doesn't concern you, pal," he spat. "Walk away."
Xander shook his head, taking a step closer. His heart was pounding, the adrenaline kicking in fast. "See, that's where you're wrong. It does concern me. Now, why don't you two just walk out of here and let the girl go?"
The second man, who had been watching from the wall, stepped forward now, his hands clenched into fists. "You must be one of them," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Another freak trying to play hero."
Xander's hands twitched, the burning sensation creeping up his arms, but he ignored it. "Last chance," he warned. "Walk away."
The men didn't take the offer. The first one lunged at Xander, swinging wildly. Xander ducked the punch with ease, his body reacting faster than his mind could keep up. He countered with a sharp elbow to the man's gut, doubling him over. The second guy moved in, throwing a jab, but Xander was already in motion, blocking the punch with his forearm and shoving the guy back into the booth.
"Get out of here," Xander growled at the girl, his voice urgent.
She hesitated for just a second, her wide eyes locking onto his, before she nodded and bolted toward the back exit. The two men scrambled to their feet, but Xander didn't give them a chance to regroup. He drove a knee into the second guy's chest, sending him crashing into a nearby table. The first man, still gasping for air, tried to get a grip on Xander's jacket, but Xander twisted away, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall.
He could feel the heat in his hands growing, the itch transforming into something more intense—something raw. His grip tightened, and for a second, he thought he saw his skin shift, like something just beneath the surface was trying to break free. It felt like the Hellmouth all over again, only this time, it wasn't a demon he was fighting. It was himself.
Xander let go, stepping back as the man crumpled to the floor. His heart raced, the adrenaline mixing with the strange energy surging through him. He didn't have time to think about it. He had to move.
Xander darted out of the café, his eyes scanning the alley behind it. The girl—the one the men had called a mutant—was there, leaning against a wall, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She looked up when she saw him, relief flooding her features.
"Thanks," she said, her voice quiet but steady.
Xander nodded, trying to catch his breath. "No problem. You okay?"
She looked away for a moment, clearly shaken but not broken. "I'll be fine. I'm... used to this kind of thing."
Xander didn't push her for details. He knew what it was like to have to hide, to be different, and to be hunted for it. "What's your name?" he asked.
She hesitated again, then finally answered, "Rogue."
---
Xander and Rogue didn't have much time to catch their breath. The sound of angry voices spilled out from the café as more men, wearing jackets emblazoned with anti-mutant symbols, pushed their way through the door. They were clearly part of the same group—the *Friends of Humanity*—a name Xander had heard thrown around in news reports but never expected to deal with firsthand.
"They've got friends," Xander muttered under his breath. He scanned the alley, searching for an escape route. "We need to move. Now."
Rogue nodded, already backing away from the approaching men, her gloved hands clenched into fists. "I know a way out," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Follow me."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and took off down the alley, her boots kicking up gravel as she ran. Xander was right behind her, his heart pounding as they weaved between dumpsters and crates, dodging the obstacles in their path. He could hear the shouts of the *Friends of Humanity* behind them, getting closer.
They rounded a corner, and Xander's pulse quickened when he saw a chain-link fence blocking the alley's exit. "You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered.
Rogue skidded to a stop in front of the fence, turning to face Xander. "Can you climb?"
Xander didn't need to answer. He grabbed the fence and began scaling it, his hands still itching and burning, the strange energy pulsing beneath his skin. He moved faster than he thought possible, his body reacting with an almost superhuman agility. He swung over the top of the fence and landed on the other side, his feet barely touching the ground before he turned back to help Rogue.
But she was already halfway up, her movements just as quick and nimble. Xander watched as she reached the top, then swung her legs over and dropped down next to him.
"You're fast," he said, surprised by how easily she kept pace.
"I've had practice," Rogue replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. The brief moment of levity was cut short by the sound of their pursuers closing in. The *Friends of Humanity* were still coming, and there was no time to waste.
"This way!" Rogue pointed toward a narrow street ahead, and they sprinted for it. The alley opened up into a wider road, where they quickly blended into the flow of pedestrians. Xander's breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to keep his head down, his eyes darting around to make sure they weren't being followed. Rogue stayed close to him, her shoulders tense, her eyes scanning the crowd.
"Where are we going?" Xander asked, trying to keep his voice low.
"Just keep moving," Rogue replied, her tone tight. "We'll be safe soon."
Xander wasn't sure how safe they could be with a group like the *Friends of Humanity* after them, but he trusted Rogue's instincts. She clearly knew the city better than he did. They wove through the crowded streets, dodging between people and slipping down side streets whenever they could. The adrenaline that had fueled Xander during the fight was starting to fade, replaced by the throbbing pain in his hands and the creeping exhaustion from the chase.
After what felt like hours, Rogue finally slowed down, glancing over her shoulder to make sure they hadn't been followed. They had ducked into a quieter part of the city, far from the café and the chaos. Xander leaned against a brick wall, trying to catch his breath.
"Are they gone?" he asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
"For now," Rogue replied, peering down the alleyway they had just come from. She looked back at Xander, her expression serious. "But they won't stop. The *Friends of Humanity*... they don't let go easy."
Xander nodded, grimacing as the burning in his hands flared up again. "So what now? Where do we go from here?"
Rogue hesitated for a moment, then glanced around as if making a decision. "You helped me out back there. I owe you." She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. "And... something tells me you're not just some random guy passing through."
Xander felt the weight of her gaze, but he didn't know how to explain the strange connection he had felt ever since leaving Sunnydale—the physical changes, the letter, and the nagging feeling that he was part of something bigger. "I'm... looking for someone," he said slowly, deciding to keep it simple. "Someone who might have answers."
Rogue raised an eyebrow. "Answers about what?"
Xander hesitated, then shook his head. "It's complicated. But I think we're heading in the same direction."
Rogue seemed to consider his words for a moment before nodding. "Alright. Let's get you where you need to go." She pulled out her phone, her fingers moving quickly over the screen. After a few seconds, she looked up at him. "A ride's coming. We'll be at the Institute soon."
Xander blinked, surprised. "The Institute?"
"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Rogue explained. "You're not the only one looking for answers. And they might have what you're searching for."
Xander wasn't sure what to say. He had heard about the school from the letter, but he hadn't expected to get there so quickly—or under these circumstances. He thought about James Howlett, the man who might be his father, and the mysteries that still surrounded him. Maybe this Institute really would have the answers he needed.
"Thanks," Xander said, his voice quiet.
Rogue nodded. "Don't thank me yet. We've still got a ways to go."
---
A black SUV pulled up to the curb just a few minutes later, the tinted windows reflecting the streetlights in a way that made it blend seamlessly into the night. The driver, an imposing man with sunglasses and a black cap, barely acknowledged them as they approached. Rogue gave him a nod before climbing into the backseat. Xander hesitated for a moment, feeling a little out of place, but followed her in.
The interior of the vehicle was clean and spacious, with leather seats that seemed out of place for someone like Xander, who was used to old, beaten-up cars back in Sunnydale. The hum of the engine was low, almost silent as the driver pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic. Xander glanced out the window, watching the city lights blur by. His thoughts raced as the gravity of the situation settled in.
"So, Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Xander said, breaking the silence. He turned to Rogue, who was sitting with her arms crossed, looking out the opposite window. "Is that where you live?"
Rogue nodded without turning to face him. "Yeah. It's a school, but it's also... a place for people like me. Like us."
Xander raised an eyebrow. "People like us? You think I'm a... mutant?"
Rogue glanced at him, her eyes flicking down to his hands before settling on his face again. "I don't know what you are. But you handled yourself back there like someone who's been through a lot. And something tells me you didn't grow up in a normal neighborhood."
Xander chuckled dryly. "You have no idea. But no, I'm not... I don't think I'm one of you. I'm just... I don't know, looking for answers."
Rogue didn't press him further, but Xander could tell she was curious. He couldn't blame her—he wasn't entirely sure of what he was himself. The itching in his hands had calmed down since they had gotten into the SUV, but he could still feel that strange energy simmering just beneath the surface. He wanted to believe it was just nerves or exhaustion, but deep down, he knew it was more than that.
"So, this school," Xander continued, hoping to distract himself from the discomfort. "You guys train there? Learn to control your powers?"
Rogue nodded. "Something like that. It's more than a school—it's a safe place. People like us don't have many options in the outside world. Not with groups like the *Friends of Humanity* hunting us down."
Xander frowned. "Yeah, I noticed they don't exactly roll out the welcome mat."
"They won't stop," Rogue said, her voice hardening. "People like them... they'll always be out there, waiting to take us down."
Xander leaned back in his seat, absorbing her words. He had faced all kinds of threats in Sunnydale—demons, vampires, the end of the world—but this felt different. This wasn't about saving the world from some external evil; it was about surviving in a world that didn't want you to exist. Xander could see the parallels between his past and this new world he was stepping into, but he also knew that there were no easy solutions here. Prejudice and fear weren't things you could just stake in the heart and be done with.
The car ride stretched on in silence after that, the city slowly fading into the distance as they headed out into the countryside. Xander watched the landscape shift from concrete to greenery, the noise of the city giving way to the quiet hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of trees in the wind. He didn't know where exactly they were headed, but there was something calming about the idea of a secluded place—a refuge for people who needed it.
Rogue eventually broke the silence, her voice softer than before. "When we get to the Institute, just... be yourself. Professor Xavier can help you figure things out."
Xander wasn't sure what to say to that. He wasn't sure who he was anymore. "Yeah," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "I'll do that."
The SUV continued its smooth ride, and Xander found his mind wandering back to the letter. *James Howlett.* Would the Institute know anything about him? Would this trip finally give Xander the answers he'd been searching for? He wasn't sure. And a part of him was afraid of what he might find.
"Almost there," the driver said in a gruff voice from the front seat. The road had become more wooded, the city now a distant memory as they neared their destination.
Xander glanced over at Rogue. "So, who do I talk to when we get there? Who's in charge?"
She met his eyes for a moment before answering. "Professor Xavier runs the place. He's... well, you'll see. And there's Jean Grey. She's one of the teachers. They'll help you."
Xander nodded, feeling the weight of the unknown pressing down on him again. He wasn't sure what to expect when they arrived, but one thing was certain: his life was about to change, again.
---
As the SUV rolled to a stop in front of a grand, sprawling mansion, Xander felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters loomed before him, an impressive structure that looked more like an old estate than a school. But appearances could be deceiving—if what Rogue had told him was true, this place was more than just a school. It was a refuge for people like her, people who didn't fit in with the world outside.
Xander stepped out of the car, his boots crunching on the gravel driveway. He looked around, taking in the peaceful surroundings. The trees that lined the property swayed gently in the breeze, and there was a calmness here that felt foreign after the chaos of the past few days.
Rogue got out as well, walking ahead of him toward the front door. "Come on. Let's get you inside," she said.
Xander followed her, his hands still twitching with that faint, annoying itch that had been plaguing him since he left L.A. They stepped through the large front doors into a grand foyer. The interior was just as impressive as the exterior—high ceilings, polished wood floors, and a sense of history embedded in every corner. It was quiet, though, almost too quiet for a school.
Rogue gestured for him to follow her as she led him deeper into the mansion. They passed a few students along the way—teenagers mostly, some talking quietly, others moving quickly down the hall as if they had places to be. Xander couldn't help but notice how normal they looked, even though he knew that beneath the surface, they were anything but. There was a subtle tension in the air, as if everyone was constantly aware of the world outside these walls.
They finally stopped in front of a large door. Rogue knocked once, and a voice from inside called, "Come in."
She opened the door, revealing a young woman standing behind a large wooden desk. She looked to be in her mid to late twenties, with a calm, composed demeanor. Her red hair framed her face, but it was her eyes that stood out the most—sharp, intelligent, and kind. The woman smiled as they entered.
"This is Jean Grey," Rogue introduced. "She's one of the teachers here."
Xander nodded awkwardly, unsure of what to say. "Uh, hey."
Jean stepped forward, extending her hand. "Welcome. You must be Xander. Rogue told me a little about what happened at the airport."
Xander shook her hand, though his mind was already racing. This place seemed so... ordinary on the surface. But he knew better. And he knew he wasn't here just because of some airport incident. He was here for answers. He just didn't know how to ask for them.
Rogue shot him a glance, as if sensing his hesitation. "You should talk to Professor Xavier," she said. "He's... well, he'll know how to help."
Jean nodded. "He's expecting you. Come with me."
Xander's brow furrowed as he followed her out of the room and down another long hallway. "Expecting me? How would he know I was coming? I didn't even know I'd be here today."
Jean gave him a knowing smile but didn't break her stride. "Professor Xavier has... certain abilities. He's a telepath, among other things. He sensed you when you arrived in New York."
Xander blinked, a slight chill running down his spine. *Telepath?* He wasn't sure how he felt about someone knowing his thoughts before he'd even had a chance to figure them out himself. But if this Professor Xavier really could help him, he wasn't going to question it too much. After all, he had seen weirder things.
When they reached Professor Xavier's office, Jean gave him a reassuring nod and pushed the door open. Inside, sitting behind a large desk, was a man who immediately commanded attention. His presence filled the room, even though he was sitting calmly in a wheelchair. His bald head and sharp blue eyes gave him an air of authority, but there was something gentle about him as well—something that made Xander feel less out of place.
"Xander Harris," Professor Xavier said, his voice smooth and steady. "It's good to meet you. Please, have a seat."
Xander sat down, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. He hadn't expected to be sitting in front of a telepathic mutant in a mansion school for gifted youngsters, but here he was.
"I've heard about what happened at the airport," Professor Xavier said, his eyes studying Xander carefully. "Rogue mentioned that you're looking for someone."
Xander took a breath, finally saying the words that had been eating away at him since he read the letter. "Yeah. I'm looking for a man named James Howlett. My mother said he was my father."
Professor Xavier's expression remained calm, but Xander noticed a flicker of something—recognition?—in his eyes. "James Howlett..." Xavier trailed off, the name clearly stirring something. He folded his hands in front of him, his expression thoughtful. "That is a name I haven't heard in a long time."
Xander's heart thudded in his chest. "You've heard of him?"
Xavier gave a slow nod. "I have... but it's complicated." His eyes shifted slightly, as if he were carefully choosing his words. "James Howlett may not go by that name anymore. He has had... many names over the years."
Xander leaned forward, a mixture of hope and frustration bubbling inside him. "Do you know where I can find him?"
Professor Xavier's expression softened. "The person I believe you're looking for is... difficult to find. He's currently away on a mission, but when he returns, I think you'll have the opportunity to speak with him."
Xander frowned, his hands clenching into fists in his lap. "Why can't you just tell me who he is? Is he hiding?"
"In a way, yes," Xavier replied. "Not by choice, but by circumstance. His past is not fully his own... it was taken from him. His memories, his identity—much of it was erased. If James Howlett is the man I believe he is, then finding him may bring answers, but it will also bring challenges."
Jean, who had remained quiet until now, stepped forward, her voice soft but direct. "The Weapon X program," she explained. "It's a government project that experimented on mutants, altering them, stripping away parts of who they were. It's possible that the name James Howlett was buried with the rest of his memories."
Xander leaned back in his chair, trying to process everything. He was so close to finding the truth, but it felt like every answer brought more questions. "So... what do I do? How do I find out if this guy is really my father?"
Professor Xavier gave him a sympathetic look. "You'll need to be patient, Xander. The man you're looking for, the one you believe to be your father, may not even know his own past. But when he returns, I'll make sure the two of you speak."
The words felt heavy, and Xander's mind was already spinning. He had come all this way looking for James Howlett, but it sounded like the man he was searching for didn't even know who he was.
---
Xander left Xavier's office feeling more uncertain than when he'd first arrived. He had been chasing the name *James Howlett* with the hope that it would give him answers about who he really was. But now, it seemed like everything was wrapped in more mystery than ever. The man Xavier hinted at—this *Logan*—might be the key, but it was frustrating not knowing when or if he'd get the chance to meet him. Xander had spent his life fighting demons and facing down apocalypses, but this kind of waiting, not knowing what lay ahead, gnawed at him.
As he walked through the wide halls of the mansion, he couldn't help but feel like an outsider. The students here seemed normal enough, but he knew that beneath the surface, they were grappling with their own powers and identities. And what was he doing here? He didn't know if he was a mutant or just the product of something far stranger. The itching in his hands, the strange changes he'd been feeling ever since he left the Hellmouth—it all made him feel more like he was caught between worlds.
Rogue had offered him a quick tour of the Institute earlier, but Xander had barely been able to absorb any of it. The mansion was massive, with students coming and going, attending classes that he imagined were far from anything you'd find in a regular school. Combat training, using powers, learning to control abilities—everything felt so foreign to him. He had spent his teenage years learning how to fight vampires with a cross and a witty remark, not training to harness some strange power.
He found himself wandering out to the mansion's grounds, the cool breeze and the open space helping to clear his mind. There were other students outside, some practicing their powers, others sitting and talking in small groups. Xander kept to himself, not wanting to draw attention. He felt out of place here, like he didn't belong.
*What am I even doing here?* he thought, running a hand through his hair. He had come all this way to find out the truth about his father, and now he was stuck waiting for a man who might not even have the answers he needed. *Logan.* The name was unfamiliar, and it frustrated him that Xavier hadn't said more. There was a part of him that wanted to push for more information, to demand answers, but something held him back. Maybe it was the way Xavier had spoken, with that careful, almost protective tone. Or maybe it was the idea that Logan himself didn't even know the truth.
Xander sat down on a stone bench, the weight of everything pressing down on him. For years, his life had been all about survival—one crisis after another, never stopping to think about where he came from or why things happened the way they did. But now, it felt like everything was catching up to him. The loss of Anya, the collapse of Sunnydale, the truth about his parents... it was all hitting him at once.
He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. Maybe this wasn't the place for him. Maybe he didn't need to know about Logan or James Howlett. Maybe it didn't matter. But deep down, Xander knew it did. He needed to understand why he was different, why he had always felt like something was lurking beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered.
A voice broke through his thoughts. "You okay?"
Xander opened his eyes to see Rogue standing a few feet away, her arms crossed, watching him with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Yeah," Xander muttered, though his voice wasn't convincing. "Just... trying to figure some stuff out."
Rogue walked over and sat beside him, her gloved hands resting on her lap. "I get that. This place takes some getting used to."
Xander glanced at her, feeling a small sense of relief. At least she understood. "I didn't expect much when I got here," he admitted. "I thought I'd get some answers and be on my way. But now..."
Rogue nodded. "Now it's more complicated than you thought."
"Yeah," Xander said with a dry laugh. "That seems to be the theme of my life."
They sat in silence for a moment, the breeze rustling through the trees around them. Rogue shifted, turning to face him more fully. "Look, I know how weird this place can feel at first. But trust me, it's better than being out there alone, wondering what's going on with you. Xavier will help you. And when Logan gets back... well, maybe you'll get the answers you need."
Xander looked at her, appreciating her words even if he wasn't fully convinced yet. "Thanks, Rogue."
She shrugged, standing up again. "Don't mention it. Just... don't give up yet, okay?"
Xander watched her walk away, her words lingering in his mind. Maybe he was expecting too much, too quickly. The road ahead wasn't going to be easy, but for now, at least, he had a place to start.
---
As the day wore on, Xander found himself drifting back inside the mansion, his mind still wrestling with the endless stream of questions. He had tried to push them aside, tried to focus on the here and now, but the past had a way of clawing its way back into his thoughts.
He found a quiet corner in one of the study rooms, away from the bustling students and the weight of the Institute's mission. The quiet was comforting, but it also gave him too much space to think. About Logan. About his mother. About how everything he thought he knew was being unraveled, one thread at a time.
Maybe I shouldn't have come here, he thought, staring out the large windows that overlooked the school grounds. What if this is just another dead end?
But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, something deeper inside him pushed back. He wasn't one to give up so easily. He had survived Sunnydale, lived through battles most people couldn't even dream of. And now, even with the uncertainty hanging over him, Xander knew one thing for sure—he couldn't stop now. Not when he was so close to understanding who he really was.
The itching in his hands flared up again, stronger this time. Xander looked down, flexing his fingers as a strange sensation rippled through his skin. For a moment, he thought he saw something—an outline beneath the surface of his palms, like bone or claws, trying to break through. But then it was gone, leaving him staring at his hands, heart racing.
What the hell…
Before he could process it, there was a knock at the door, and Jean Grey appeared in the doorway. Her presence, though calming, brought a new wave of questions rushing back to the surface.
"I just wanted to check in," she said, offering a small smile. "I know all of this can be… a lot."
Xander nodded, quickly shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, it's definitely not what I expected."
Jean stepped further into the room, her gaze soft but inquisitive. "You're handling it well, though. Most people would have a harder time adjusting."
"I guess I've had a lot of practice dealing with weird stuff," Xander said with a shrug, his voice trying to keep the tone light. But his mind was still on what he'd just felt in his hands.
Jean seemed to sense his unease. "Logan will be back soon," she said, as if she knew what he needed to hear. "When he's here, I'm sure things will start to make more sense."
Xander exhaled, his shoulders relaxing a little at the news. "I hope so."
Jean's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before she nodded. "If you need anything… we're here."
As she left the room, Xander leaned back against the wall, letting out a slow breath. His hands still tingled with that strange energy, but he ignored it for now. There were answers waiting for him—he just had to be patient. But deep down, Xander knew that whatever was happening to him, it wasn't going to stay hidden for long.
Outside, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the mansion grounds. Xander stood up, moving to the window, watching as the students continued their routines, unaware of the quiet storm brewing inside him. He didn't know what was coming next, but for the first time in a long time, he felt ready.
The itching in his hands returned, more insistent now.
Soon.