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The pain on his hand was so unexpected that he actually tripped, falling out of super speed and crashing into a barrier with a solid thud. He groaned, immediately shooting to his feet and darting off just as shots fired at the spot he’d just crashed into. He grit his teeth against the continued sting, glancing down at the back of his hand, and his eyes widened in horror as he saw the words carved in there.
I must not tell lies. Even as they appeared, they healed, but they reappeared again and again, a constant ache on the back of his hand, blood sliding over the skin. He shook it off, no choice but to ignore it for the time being, not unless he wanted to be shot through by the doom bots currently attacking his town. He’d been striking out on his own lately, but it seemed trouble was following him. Ever since he’d split away from his father and his sister - and he scowled at the thought of them both - he’d been coming up against more and more adversaries. It was like the world knew he was trying to turn over a new leaf and were making it as difficult as possible. He sped to some cover, stopping for a moment to sigh in frustration, narrowing his eyes at the bots flying overhead. Then he smirked, cocksure and ready. He disappeared from sight.
Pietro sat in his apartment that evening, looking at the back of his hand. The words were gone, but that didn’t erase the fact that they’d been there from his memory. He knew words could only appear on his skin if they’d been written on his by his soulmate, which meant the words that had carved themselves into the back of his hand had been done by his soulmate. The question was, why? He picked up a pen, rolling it between his fingers. Then he set it against his forearm.
Are you okay?
He ended up writing, because while communication had been slim between him and his soulmate, it wasn’t because they didn’t want to speak. Or at least, he hoped not. He just assumed his soulmate was just as busy in life as he was. Every once in a while they would write casual messages back and forth - a hope your doing well, or even once a I can’t wait to meet you one day. And really, that meant his soulmate had to mean it, because why write it otherwise. This was the first time he’d really thought to sit down and write to his soulmate, to actually wait for a response. Over the years, he’d been so focused on pleasing his family - pleasing his father - that he hadn’t realized how much harm he’d been doing himself in the mean time - how much he’d pushed aside for praise he would never receive. Praise he didn’t need, he reminded himself harshly. He didn’t need to be praised by a psychopath intent on ruling over people he considered lesser than he was - people who weren’t mutants. Pietro honestly thought that was ridiculous. They didn’t decide to be mutants anymore than everyone else didn’t decide not to be.
He couldn’t help the jolt of surprise when a slanted scrawl replaced his own chicken scratch.
Sorry about your hand.
Was the response, and it honestly didn’t make Pietro feel any better. Nervous now, because really, the idea of finally really talking to his soulmate had always been so distant, and now it was happening.
It’s okay.
He wrote back immediately, because he wasn’t hurt, not really.
What happened?
He asked before he could stop himself, and he could almost feel the phantom touch of his soulmate holding their own pen against their skin, pausing as they thought of the answer.
Hard to explain. But it wasn’t my choice.
The thought that someone had forced his soulmate to carve words into their skin - into both of their skin - set Pietro’s blood on fire.
Tell me where you are.
He wrote back immediately, his fury like a roaring ocean in his ears.
I’m coming to find you.
He followed it up with when his soulmate didn’t immediately respond.
You won’t be able to.
Was the reply a moment later, and Pietro bared his teeth in an almost feral grin. He might not have the ability to find someone no matter where they were, but he knew someone who could, and he could only hope that that person would help them after all the trouble he’d caused when helping his father.
Challenge accepted.
He responded, and then he couldn’t help but add;
Stay safe.
>>>
“You know, your soulmate may not actually want to be found.” the professor told him the moment he appeared, and Pietro huffed out a breath.
“It doesn’t matter. Someone forced them to hurt themselves. And me.” The professor didn’t respond right away, looking at the hand in question curiously.
“It is an unusually cruel punishment. To force someone to mark not only themselves but their bonded.” Professor Xavier agreed, tone mild, but then his eyes met Pietro’s and there was nothing mild about the force behind them. “You’ve waited this long.” Was all he said, but Pietro heard the question. Why now of all times? Was it just because he’d been hurt too that he cared?
He immediately shook his head.
“I-” he began, but then shook his head, frustrated. He met the professor’s gaze evenly. “I want more.” and he meant it. From himself, from life, from whatever his soulmate was willing to give him beyond the words casually shared back and forth on their skin. He’d sat back for so long while other people had been hurt - he’d participated in hurting other people - and he was trying to stop that. He wanted to be better. There was no reason he shouldn’t extend that policy to being better for his soulmate.
Something that almost seemed like pride looked back at him from the professor’s gaze, but he knew it couldn’t be because he’d done nothing to deserve that.
“Very well. I’ll find him for you.” and Pietro blinked, surprised. Not that he hadn’t come in the hopes that the professor would help him, but because he honestly hadn’t expected that the man would agree to help. He all but tripped over his own feet to follow the professor when he was beckoned, and he didn’t miss the amused glance even as he flushed scarlet. Of course this was when he would lose all coordination.
>>>
He fidgeted nervously at the door to the Cerebro machine, all but climbing the walls in his anxiety. His soulmate had never written back and Pietro wasn’t sure what to make of that, and beyond that, the professor was taking longer than Pietro had thought it would take to locate his soulmate. Though he supposed in reality he didn’t have a lot to go off of. How was he even supposed to find him? And that set him off on a whole other worried frenzy.
When the doors to Cerebro open, Pietro was practically vibrating with anxiety, and the frown on the professor’s face only worried him more.
“What is it? Are they okay? Aretheyhurt? DotheyneedhelpwhatcanIdo?” the professor put up a hand for peace and he realized that he’d ended up speaking so fast that all that had come out would have been more of a buzzing sound than actual words. He flushed again, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited.
“He’s fine.” the professor finally told him, and Pietro was giddy with the fact that he finally knew his soulmate’s gender. Then he noticed that the professor was still frowning and the anxiety crashed back ten fold.
“But?” he prompted before he could help himself.
“There’s some sort of barrier.” he admitted, frown deepening. “I could see him, but I couldn’t reach him. He’s in Scotland, I can show you where, but I don’t know if you’ll be able to reach him either.” the professor warned.
Pietro was reminded of what his soulmate had written on his arm - you won’t be able to - and set his teeth.
“I will.” because failure wasn’t an option. The professor watched him for a moment before the frown smoothed out and he gave a decisive nod.
“Very well.” and suddenly it was like a map filled his head, guiding him to his soulmate. And then there he was; an image of his soulmate in his minds eye; a teenager with shaggy black hair, impossibly bright green eyes, and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead that was too perfect to be accidental.
Pietro shook his head to clear it, determined to get to him as soon as possible. He turned on his heels after a quick but sincere thank you, ready to get started.
“Pietro,” the professor calling him by his given name had him jolting to a stop, turning back in surprise. The professor just offered him a wry smile. “His name is Harry.” Pietro offered a flash of a grin. Then he started to run.
>>>
Harry sat in the windowsill of his dorm, staring at his arm. There weren’t any words there, hadn’t been since the day before, but he could still see the last ones that had been there as if they’d never disappeared.
Challenge accepted. Stay safe. Even just thinking about the words sent a shiver down his spine. He’d never had someone who seemed to want to find him - who wanted him to be safe - without actually knowing who he was. And there had been no missing the urgency of the original script - the are you okay? that had appeared as soon as he’d gotten back to his dorm after Umbridge’s punishment.
He knew he should probably think it was weird that this was the first real conversation he and his soulmate had had, but at this point in his life, everything was always so weird that this seemed like a fairly natural progression all things considered.
He went back to staring out the window, trying to ignore how his hand itched from the scabbing words scratched into the back of it. He felt another wash of guilt at the fact that whoever his soulmate was, they now also had these words carved into their skin, and couldn’t help the miserable worry that they only wanted to find him in order to express that disappointment.
With a sigh, he brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and setting his chin on top. He didn’t really want to sleep with the nightmares that had been plaguing him as of late, and so he settled back, ready to spend another sleepless night in silent vigil.
It was just past midnight when the air outside actually rippled, and Harry sat up straighter, eyes straining against the dark. He grabbed his wand, pushing the window open so the glare of the glass wouldn’t be in his way. There was another ripple and that’s when Harry saw it; the flash of silver following along the wards at the edge of the grounds.
He was on his feet and under the cloak before he could so much as think twice, map clenched in his hands.
“I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” he hissed even as he dashed out the portrait. Whatever that was, it was trying to get in, and there was no time to warn anyone.
>>>
Pietro didn’t think he’d ever run so far so fast in his life. He’d made it all the way to Scotland - all the way to the castle professor Xavier had shown him. That’s when he found the barrier. And barrier it was. He’d almost been turned right around, but with the image of Harry firmly in mind, he refused to be dissuaded. After all, he was used to people trying to toy with his mind; used to the feeling of magic creeping into his thoughts and furiously fought against it. He would not allow it to stop him - not now when he was so close. He ran back, facing the barrier, jaw set. He would get through. He had to get through. He shifted into a ready position, one foot back, a sprinter’s ready, and then he launched forward. He collided with the barrier and almost bounced back but then he felt just the slightest give and he pushed against it. His body felt like it was on fire, his lungs screaming in his chest, but he refused to give up. He pushed harder and he wandered if the barrier was actually going to peel the flesh from his bone that has sharply it tugged, and he let out a shout as pain coalesced into something nearly unbearable -
And then he was through.
He collapsed to his hands and knees, limbs shaking, and he coughed harshly, blood splattering the glass. He grimaced, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Who are you?” a voice demanded, and Pietro’s head shot up, the fast movement making him dizzy. He blinked to clear his vision and then couldn’t help his grin. He was pretty sure it was probably a gruesome sight since he could taste the copper of blood in his mouth, but he was too happy to have succeeded to mind much.
“I promised I would find you.” He managed, right before his stomach rolled and he heaved it’s contents onto the grass. His soulmate - Harry - dropped to his knees in front of him, disbelief mixing with worry mixing with fragile hope and Pietro waved him off with a hand.
“I’m fine. Promise.” He forced himself to focus on Harry’s face, taking in his features. Then his gaze zeroed in on Harry’s hand. “How are you?” He asked, looking pointedly back at Harry’s face.
Harry couldn’t help the slightly hysterical laugh that bubbled up from his chest. Somehow, collapsed before him, was his soulmate. His soulmate who was coughing up blood and vomiting on the grass because of the toll breaking through the wards had taken. His soulmate who was barely older than he was but looked at him with a world of understanding in his gaze that said; I know hardship well enough to know what a lie about one sounds like. His soulmate who had actually come all this way without even knowing who he was because he was hurt. Unable to help himself, he looked at the other boy’s hand, blinking when it was free of the writing scratched into his own. He looked back up and met the bright blue eyes that looked back almost apologetic.
“Sorry. I heal a bit faster than most people.” Harry blinked at the admittance, fully taking in the other’s appearance now. He was tall - taller than Harry certainly, though he wouldn’t put him taller than the twins. He was broader than either of the twins though; where they were more lanky than anything else, the boy in front of him was wiry with muscle, something that Harry couldn’t help but blush for noticing. He had sharp features; a strong jaw, and hair the colour of pure silver.
“How?” He found himself asking, then, “What’s your name?” Because he didn’t just want to keep referring to him by gender.
“Pietro.” Was the immediate response. Then, with a wry smile. “And I’m a mutant.” Harry found himself blinking. It certainly wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d ever heard. After all, he knew about mutants; they were the reason some in the wizarding world though they should come out of hiding and reveal themselves to the world at large. How some in the government treated the mutants, however, was the reason why the others in the wizarding world thought that was a very bad idea.
“Cool.” Pietro barked out a laugh that was obviously relieved, finally shoving himself up to his feet. He wobbled and Harry shot up as well, quick to support him. “I’m Harry.” He replied belatedly, but it earned him a bright smile. Then he couldn’t help but blurt out; “I’m a wizard.” Pietro blinked back at him, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. Then he was throwing his head back in laughter. The sound was clear and bright and Harry found himself grinning despite himself.
“Of course you are.” Pietro said, eyes still bright with laughter, then he nodded towards the castle. “What this, your magic school?” And Harry nodded, almost embarrassed.
“Yeah, actually. I’m in my fifth year.” This time Pietro couldn’t help but snicker despite the fact that he pressed a hand to his chest, wincing with pain even as he tried to stifle his amusement.
“So what kind of mutant are you?” Harry shot back, face hot from the teasing laughter, Pietro smirked, the arm around Harry’s shoulders squeezing gently.
“They call me Quicksilver.” He shared with that same smirk. “I can run really fast. Among other things.” And Harry wanted to curse his own complexion with how obvious it made the blush on his cheeks. Even as he had the thought though, Pietro’s expression darkened. He shifted so he was no longer supported by Harry and could take his hand instead, bringing the injury up in front of his face, frown forming as he inspected it.
“So I guess this happened because of magic.” Harry nodded, feeling self-conscious. But this was his soulmate. Even if Pietro hadn’t repeated the promise he’d made, Harry could feel it in his very bones. He nodded, not trusting his words. Pietro looked up from his hand again, and there was a severity to his expression, an anger that lurked in his gaze, that stole Harry’s breath away. He found himself holding his breath, waiting for Pietro to speak.
“Who?” The older boy asked, and Harry let out his breath, not even sure how to answer. Did he tell the truth? Did he admit what was going on? Where would he even start? The realization of the breadth of what he would have to explain just to share who he was made his head spin and his stomach clench uncomfortable. Would his soulmate still want him when he learned the truth.
“Hey.” His gaze snapped back to Pietro’s and he found blue eyes closer than they had been. His breath caught again and Pietro smirked even as he reached out to caress Harry’s cheek with his thumb. “I ran all this way to find you.” And Harry heard what he wasn’t saying out loud. I’m not going anywhere.
Harry nodded, taking a deep breath, glancing up at the castle. Then he nodded again, decisive now.
“Come on. I’ve got somewhere you can hide.” Then he met Pietro’s gaze, and there was a spark of mischief in his green eyes that had been missing when he’d first appeared on the grass. There was a determination there, a drive to fight back. Pietro thought it was breathtaking. “Then we’ll see if you can outrun a spell.” And that had the sound of revenge written all over it. Pietro grinned back.
“What do I get when I win?” Harry’s laugh washed over him and he shook off the last of the shock from pushing through that barrier. He was still a bit achy, imagined he would be for a while yet, but it was worth it.
“If you win.” Harry shot back, “Winner chooses.” Pietro purposefully let his gaze drift down to Harry’s lips, watched, pleased, as the flush covered his skin once more. When he met Harry’s gaze again, he smirked.
“Deal.” But even as he teased his younger soulmate, Pietro didn’t let the thoughts of revenge fall far from his thoughts. It was obvious Harry had a lot to tell him; obvious from the momentary panic that there was much more going on than he could ever have guessed, but this wasn’t something he’d run from. He could already tell that despite whatever haunted Harry’s gaze, he was innocent in ways Pietro would fight to protect.
Plus, he thought darkly, he had lots of practice fighting against magic.
When Harry glanced up at him, that hope back in his gaze, Pietro grinned back at him; watched the rueful smile fill Harry’s features. He reached out, ruffling Harry’s hair before he could help himself, laughing at the indignant splutter, the curve of his lips he tried to hide. Yeah, he’d fight for this.