Sarah Across the Multiverse

Sarah (POV)

I could feel the searing pain from the wounds on my shoulder, across my chest, and on my leg—pain shooting through my body, 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." 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—but because I was feeling the kind of weakness where sleep kept tugging at me. I'd overextended my magical energy fighting the damn collapse of that tunnel. The result? Time and space decided to cut me in pieces before chewing me out. Healing? Well, that's happening, 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, I'd probably be pushing up daisies right about now.

I staggered, one hand pressed against a 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 dry and raspy. "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 for a woman in my current shape. I looked up, only to realize that the sky was getting darker. I couldn't help wondering—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 as the world around me swayed. "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, my vision turning blurry.

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. "Was he surprised? 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... something about mutants and? 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 shove. I barely had enough energy to keep breathing, let alone blast them with anything useful.

And then? 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. For a second, everything was just... blurry. I squinted, trying to make sense of my surroundings.

White walls. Blindingly white. Sterile. "Hospital?" 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, struggling to do so, a voice broke into my little pity party.

"Ah, you're awake?"

I turned my head. There she was. A blonde, if I did know better I would have thought she'd been plucked out of a high school yearbook photo—bright eyes, with an almost contagious, energetic vibe. She stood in the sterile room, looking so out of place that I half-expected her to break into a song about sunshine and rainbows.

When she saw me move, her face lit up. "Oh, thank God," she muttered, letting go of a breath she didn't know she had just been holding her breath.

"My name is Raven. Raven Darkhölme," she introduced herself with a small, confident smile.

I blinked, processing the new information. "Sarah Vasilissa," I croaked back, with my new chain-smoker voice. "Did you save me?"

I let the words hang in the air, 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 a blur. 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 the situation. "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 and soon I was left 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, an involuntary "ouch" escaping my lips, as I tried to find a better position to avoid lying on my aching shoulder. 

It was time to get my act together. I had landed smack in the middle of the X-Men: First Class reality. Sure, I could have sat back and let the so-called "good guys" take the lead, but I knew what that would mean: countless innocent lives lost. That wasn't something I could stomach. Knowing what was coming gave me a chance to change the future, even if it was just a small one.

Erik and Charles. They were the heart of the problem. I needed to stop them from destroying each other. If I could do that, maybe—just maybe—I could prevent the catastrophe. But that was a tall order, considering how rigid and uncompromising they both were.

Xavier's dream of peaceful coexistence? Yeah, right. I had seen how that played out—mutants getting their asses handed to them. His vision was noble, but it was naïve. It ignored the harsh realities of human prejudice. People feared the unknown, and when that unknown was stronger, faster, and more powerful than they were? That fear turned into hostility and violence. Coexistence might have been possible, but not the way Charles envisioned it.

And Magneto? Brotherhood? Sure, if it was built on domination and fear. Erik was consumed by anger and a desire for vengeance. His path led to destruction, not liberation. He talked about protecting his people, but in truth, he was dragging them into ruin.

Charles wasn't entirely wrong, but his approach to Shaw had been misguided. Peaceful coexistence could have been possible, but it required a strategy grounded in the realities of the world, not just in Charles's ideals.

I had my work cut out for me. But then again, nothing worth doing ever came easy.

Footsteps interrupted my thoughts—heavier, more deliberate than Raven's. They echoed down the hallway, and my takeaway was that 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 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 straighter, studying them both. Charles exuded an effortless charm, like a politician who actually believes his own campaign slogans. Erik, on the other hand, regarded me with a laser-sharp gaze, his silence far more intimidating than any words.

"I hear you saved me," I said, meeting Erik's stare. "Thanks."

Erik raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. A moment of silence passed before he finally spoke. "We found you half-dead in an alley. Thought you were a mutant in distress."

"Well, I'm alive now," I shrugged, ignoring the pain in my injured shoulder. "Guess it wasn't a waste of time."

Charles chuckled, while Erik remained stoic. A classic dynamic: the charming idealist and the brooding realist.

Charles turned his attention to my injured shoulder. "Your wounds... you seem to have been slashed with a sword."

"Yeah," I replied dryly. "The other guy looked worse. At least, he would have if I'd stuck around to see it."

Charles's polite smile remained, but Erik's gaze grew more intense.

Before I could change the subject, I felt a subtle attempt at intrusion into my mind. I snapped my eyes to Charles as he leaned forward, fingers hovering near his temple.

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

"I just want to understand," Charles replied, his tone soothing, as if I were a child or a frightened animal.

No way. Not happening.

Before I could stop myself, his fancy floating chair rose off the ground, wobbling slightly but staying steady enough to keep him aloft. His brows furrowed, his confusion plain as he glanced down at the space between his feet and the floor.

"Don't get excited, Charles," I said, keeping my voice even but laced with a warning edge. "You're not winning any prizes with that trick."

Charles raised his hands, palms out, the universal signal for harmless intentions. "I mean no harm, Sarah. Truly. I only sought to understand your background. We have no malicious intentions."

I snorted softly, shaking my head. "Yeah, sure. That's what they all say—right before they start poking where they don't belong." With a flick of focus, I dropped his chair back to the floor with a deliberate thud. "Next time, maybe try asking before you pull a psychic stunt."

From the corner of my eye, I caught Erik's smirk as he stepped forward, his posture annoyingly composed. His voice, low and deliberate, broke the tension. "You know," he said, his tone measured, "there was magnetism in that."

The comment made me pause. I looked at him, skeptical but curious. "What are you talking about?"

Erik's gaze sharpened, his scrutiny unyielding. "Are you aware that your telekinesis incorporates magnetic manipulation?"

I hesitated, thrown off guard. "Not... really," I admitted, my voice careful.

He didn't reply immediately, his expression thoughtful but unreadable as he studied me. Charles, meanwhile, watched the exchange like an observer at a chess match, polite yet detached, probably imagining himself the patient mentor discovering untapped potential.

Perfect. Just what I needed—a scientist and a sleuth teaming up to analyze me. "Better give them something, most mutants have one or two abilities," I thought to myself.

Leaning back, I let out a slow sigh, sinking into the pillows with exaggerated resignation. I fixed them both with a look, the kind that said, You're exhausting me, but fine. "All right," I said, my tone clipped. "I'll give you something. But don't expect the full story. Not yet."

I let the silence stretch, feigning the weight of vulnerability as I pieced together my answer. When I finally spoke, my voice dropped into a hush tone, just enough to sell the lie. "I'm human," I began, watching their faces closely, "or at least, I was. Got caught in some government facility. They experimented on me—enhanced me with... stuff I don't fully understand. Telekinesis, magnetism, some other tricks. I escaped as soon as I could, and I've been on the run ever since. That's how I ended up tangled in this mess."

The beauty of a half-truth? It's grounded enough to be believable but vague enough to keep them guessing.

Charles folded his hands, his piercing gaze locked onto me, sharp and intent. "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 though they had their own agenda. One of them twitched—because of course, my powers had to put on a little show right now. A shadow tendril stretched toward Charles, seemingly torn between offering a handshake or delivering 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 with surgical precision.

"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 with an almost childlike curiosity. "A portal?" His tone brimmed with intrigue. "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. "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 in a way that screamed reclining antihero. "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 if 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, walking that fine line 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 reserved for ticking boxes that might be bombs.

"She's confident," Erik muttered, though there was a begrudging little spice of respect in his tone—the kind you'd never see on supermarket shelves.

"She's right," I corrected, cutting off any chance of them dropping 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 its snarkiest guest star. "Then perhaps we can count on your assistance," he said carefully, testing the 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 wanted to launch a nearby bedpan at my head. Jury's still out.

Raven didn't budge. She leaned casually against the doorframe, her smirk sharp enough to cut glass. "You've got a lot of secrets, don't you?" Her tone was light, teasing, with a razor edge of curiosity beneath it.

I leaned forward, mirroring her smirk. "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 meeting mine, searching for something beneath the surface, 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 still screamed 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 one messy fragment at a time. 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 on borrowed time. Charles radiated an all-you-need-is-love vibe, while Erik simmered with the barely contained rage of a man who'd spent way too much time scrolling Twitter.

It was a delicate balance—a seesaw over 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 that dropped stadiums on cities and turned chessboards into 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 one 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—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 the same way, 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 with the persistence of 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, the kind you take when microwaving pizza rolls and praying none explode, 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 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.