━━ DEMONS

Nights are always the hardest.

When the darkness is complete, when all light seems to drain from the world, smothered in a blanket of evening, those are the times where it's hardest to keep the voices at bay. To keep the memories from forcing their way to the front of my mind. To keep everything I've spent ten years pushing down come crawling back to me all because of a little shade.

But it's not a little shade to me. To me, Leena Talley, the shadows are everything. They are the tears that dry on my freckled cheeks. They are the wisps that tug at the side of my vision. They are the matter keeping me together, and they are very thing trying to tear me apart. The shadows are my ghosts, my demons, they are the very thing that I am named after. Phantom. The word feels bitter on my tongue, a word from another era, another life. A life that seems like a far off dream. A distant memory. A life for a different girl, an innocent girl, a naive girl.

I sit on my bed, a quilted king size with grey sheets and a knitted blanket thrown over top. My room is large, larger than the one I had when I was fifteen. Everything is in a darker shade; the curtains, the furniture, the windows. Pale sunlight streams into the room from where I have the panes of glass propped open. My bedroom looks out across the front of the house, an overgrown pachwork of weeds and vines that none of us ever bothered to clean up. I can see the closed off gate, the warning sign hanging limply across the rusting metal. A sign that once held all the meaning in the world for so many young children is no longer visible, knocked off its hinges by a disillusioned man who'd had too much to drink.

I remember when Charles had come down that night, his eyes crazed and determined. In his hands he held a large hammer he'd somehow gotten from the basement. Both Hank and I had gotten up from our spots at the kitchen table, an unfinished game of go fish between us, a beer (for Hank) and a coke for me (I tried alcohol when I turned 21 a couple years ago, and found that I'm not a fan) sat on the wood. We'd taken several steps back, and a hand went to my head as I keeled over from the pain that punched me in the gut. He'd reeked of scotch and something disgusting, bitter and rank, and the agony in his mind was enough for the shadows to take over my head. I had been so good, so good at keeping them at bay, ever since Hank perfected his serum and I took a dose a day, they hadn't bothered me. Until that night. Until Charles ran outside, still in his pajamas, and knocked that sign off the brick wall.

Hank and I had stood in the doorway, my arms around my middle and his eyes worried under his large glasses. We'd shared a look, but did nothing. Later that night, when both men had gone to bed and I was still awake, I went outside to that brick wall. The night air was fresh on my face, cooling the sweat that lined my brow from the nightmares. I'd walked across the overgrown courtyard, pulling my cardigan closer around myself, and sauntered over to the gate. I'd opened the metal with a flick of my wrist, dark energy erupting from my palm, pulling the gate open because I was too lazy to open it myself. Too weak.

I'd knelt down and placed my hand over the sign, my fingers grazing the cool metal. For a moment, I thought I should put it back up. Take the sign and return it to its former state. It would be easy, just a twist of my fingers and the dark energy would move it back upwards. Everything would return to normal. There would still be a school. I would still live on the premises. I would still be me.

But as I knelt there, in the dark of night with tears drying on my cheeks and emotions that were not my own pushing up against the walls of my mind, I knew I was lying to myself. Nothing would go back to normal just because of a stupid little sign. It would still be a school, yes, but a school without any students. Without any children running around the halls, catching up with their friends and playing sports out in the back lawn. They had all left, gone to fight in a war they barely knew anything about. I knew what it was like to fight in a war that couldn't be won, and I knew where all those kids were now. Buried in unmarked graves on international soils.

Nothing would be the same, because even if I still lived on the premises, it wasn't because I wanted to. Ever since Charles began taking too much of the serum, he hadn't been himself. He'd become a drunken idiot without a care in the world. Others didn't matter to the telepath anymore. In fact, he tried his very best to keep everyone away from him, both physically and in his head. I'd wanted to leave for so long, the plans worked out in my head for ages. I would go to Raven, who I knew was doing her own thing now. I might go to try and find out if Darwin was back to his former state, having adapted to his situation as something above death.

I would try to find Sean.

Banshee. My first kiss. The boy who always had a mischievous glint in his eye and a smirk to match. The boy who made me laugh when I wanted to cry. The boy who gave me my name. He'd been drafted into one of the regiments years ago when the war first started, volunteering himself without a second thought.

I remember the last time I'd seen him, on the tarmac of an undisclosed airport. He was in military garb, a knapsack thrown over his shoulder, strawberry blonde hair cut short. I said it looked good, and he'd only smiled and shook it out, saying he wanted it to be long again, as the long hair always got all the ladies. I won't ever forget the way he'd hugged me that last day I'd ever see him. It was as if he was trying to squeeze me to death, his arms around my middle and head buried into my shoulder. He'd been so scared. I didn't need to read his emotions to realize it. He was terrified, and there was nothing I could say to comfort him.

I hadn't heard from him since.

I didn't know if he was dead or alive. I didn't know if he missed me, if he was back home and looking for me. If he even still thought about me. I still don't know. I'd planned my escape from the manor for years, but I knew I couldn't leave. Not with Charles in the state he was, not with Hank trying his hardest not to show the strain of taking care of the older man. I couldn't leave them, not when we were all each other had.

And even if I put the sign back up, I still wouldn't be me. I wouldn't be Leena Talley. I wouldn't be Phantom. That was a girl long since forgotten, a fragile fifteen year old who had suffered so much and been loved so little. I was naive back then, innocent and a prisoner in my own mind. A lot has changed since then. I lost a father-figure to corruption of rage. I lost another guardian to the effects of alcohol and depression. I lost family to war and a love to the thrill of heroics. I lost everything that had made me me. I wasn't the Leena Talley from the beach in Cuba. I wasn't the girl who played cards with the team early in the morning or the girl who thought that losing control would be the death of her. I'd learned since then, become wiser since then.

But I was more broken.

I wouldn't ever be me again, not unless some miracle occurred, which up until now still hasn't happened. So I left the sign where it was, lying in the grass to someday be overtaken by ever growing life. To be enveloped in swaths of green, becoming one with the earth, never to be seen again. It was better that way, like burying the past and starting anew.

If only I'd known how much worse it would all get.

A knock jolts me out of my daze, and I turn my head slightly. "Come in." my voice is quiet, as light as a feather, but the moment I speak the wood crashes open, swinging dangerously on its hinges, knocking into the back wall. I get up immediately, raising my hands instinctively, but then I see who stands in the doorway, and relax my stance.

I don't know when I got so paranoid, but every time I hear the slightest noise that doesn't sit right, my mind instantly begins to sound alarms, and I prepare for a fight. The only time I have ever felt this paranoid was years ago, when I was still living with Sebastian Shaw as his experiment, his lab rat and his asset.

My daughter, I close my eyes for a second, trying to get Shaw's sickening words out of my head. You are my daughter, Leena.

He comes to me at night sometimes, a ghost of a man. In my nightmares he grabs me, wrapping his arms around my neck or strapping me down to a table in order to begin experiments. He'll laugh and coo my name, place my hand on his cheek or spread kinetic energy across my flesh. He'll torment me in the night, a demon I can't defeat until I wake up screaming drenched in cold sweat. The dreams always end with Shaw leaning over me, whispering into my ear, blood seeping down his face from where a metal coin has been thrust through his skull. He's a walking corpse, a dead villain I can't get rid of.

I open my eyes again as the voice disappears and turn back to where Charles is slumped on the doorframe, a robe hastily thrown over his t-shirt and loose pants. His head is pointed directly at the space in front of my feet, oily hair and grown out beard un-brushed and in tangles. He looks like a mess. He is a mess.

He also smells like he just tried to drown himself in beer, which is never a good sign. I wrap my hands around my waist and watch him expectantly, knowing that the best way to get him to tell me what's wrong is to be patient. He can't read minds anymore, and I'm starting to wonder if he's lost the ability to think as well.

"What is it, Charles?" I ask softly. I need to be gentle, just like he was once with me. Charles finally looks up, and I almost take a step back at the utterly broken face I see before me. Dark circles line his crystal blue eyes, which are bloodshot and strained. His mouth is puckered and his lips tremble, eyebrows scrunched as if he's trying to figure something out. He's failing. I compose myself and go forward, holding out my arms.

Charles walks towards me, then crumples in my arms. I stagger slightly at his weight as his arms wrap around my own and his head falls sharply onto my forearm. I push him back slightly, pulling his head up, taking his face in my hands.

"What's wrong?" I ask. I lead him over the footstool at the end of my bed and plop him down. Charles puts his head in his hands.

"Everything," he whimpers. I kneel down and place a hand on his knee. Then Charles' arm shoots out and grabs my own, fitting his fingers into mine. He takes my arm and puts it onto his forehead. His skin is clammy under my flesh, slick with sweat and as pale as a ghost. I try to pull my hand back but Charles keeps it on his head with surprising ferocity.

"I hear them," he says. "I hear them, Leena. Make them stop."

"Charles—"

"Make them STOP!" I flinch as he begins to yell. He brings his other hand up to my temple. His fingers shake. I bite my lip, trying not to scream as his pain flashes across my mind, shadows flitting like a stone has broken a peaceful pond.

"Charles," I say slowly. "Maybe you need to hear them." I try to say it as nicely as possible, my eyes never leaving his own as his face falls. His features melt, fear blending with anger to create a storm on his once soft features. God, he reminds me of Erik right now, like the rage that Erik was once so many years ago. I try to push the memories aside. Those are the one that hurt the most. The ones where he's in them.

"Leena," Charles says my name so softly, so broken, that tears well up in my eyes. "You are the only one that can make them stop."

I move my head to the side, hand still on his head, his fingers still on my temple. "Charles," I say his name with the same fragility. "You know I can't."

"Please, Leena."

"I take the serum to stop the empathic abilities."

"Please, Leena."

"I can't fix your emotions, Charles. Not anymore."

A tear slips down Charles' cheek. "Please." I look down at the floor, his face too broken for me to look at him any longer. It's the face of a man shattered by the world, by the voices in his head. By everything he's lost. Charles Xavier, the once kindhearted and gentle soul, is now a whirlpool of darkness, of loss and suffering. He's no longer the Professor I knew. He's a... I'm not quite sure what he is anymore.

I want to help him. I want to rid him of his demons, pull the anger and terror from his head, but it's impossible. I take Hank's serum to keep the most powerful emotions out of my mind. I take it to control my empathic abilities. While the strongest emotions still affect me, I'm mostly immune to taking their feelings without even realizing it. The dark energy is the only thing that wasn't affected by the injections, the only thing I still can use without great strain.

It was a great loss the first time I realized it, but over the years, I've grown used to only being friends with the shadows, and nothing more. I no longer pick up on every little emotion in someone's head. I no longer take their pain away with one look into their eyes. I no longer have to worry about sending someone into a coma, or pulling up past memories without even realizing it.

In many ways, the serum was a gift. But right now, as Charles holds onto me like I'm the last living person on earth, like I'm the only thing in the world, it is most certainly a curse.

"They haunt me, Leena." Charles tells me. "They are always there, at the back of my mind."

"I know, Charles."

"They're screaming at me, pleading for me to save them, and..." he lets out a gasping breath. "I can't." A tear slides down my ivory cheek. "I can't save them."

I pull my hand away from his head, and Charles' hand slides into his lap, other hand falling away from the side of my face. I hoist myself up to a standing position, bones creaking. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. It's grown flatter over the years, still shoulder-length, but not the corkscrew curls I once held. Right now it's a mess of tangles, as I've spent the morning running worried fingers through the ebony locks.

I stare down at Charles, biting my lip, debating what to do. He holds his head in his hands, planting his palms over his ears. His face is strained, eyes closed as he gently rocks back and forth. His powers are coming back. Slowly, one voice at a time.

"When was your last injection, Charles?" I ask.

Charles shakes his head slightly. "Last night." he mutters. "I can't save them. I can't save them, Leena. But I try."

"I know you do." I say, then turn around. "I'll be right back, Charles. Don't go anywhere."

"Where else do I have to go?" Charles calls after me as I reach the doorframe. I whirl back around and meet his eyes. "I lost them all. I can't go to any of them. This is all I have." He waves a hand around the room. I purse my lips, but say nothing. I can't see him like this, I can't see him on the verge of becoming someone different. He's always the worst when his powers start to come back. Always the most broken. It hurts my heart and makes it difficult to breathe, makes the idea of running away seem much more inviting.

I can't afford to think like that.

"I'll be right back, Charles." I say, then make my way out the door, closing it as softly as I can. Once I know he can't see or hear me, I let out a loud breath and put my head against the wood. My hands tremble at my sides as I stand there for a moment, trying to think of anything but what I just saw. Not for the first time, I curse Charles. I curse him and his alcoholism, him and his carelessness, his pitiful broken state, and how I need to care for him, make sure he eats and sleeps and takes his medicine. I'm like a nurse taking care of an old man, with no time to think for herself.

I immediately regret those thoughts, taking an imaginary match and burning them. I shouldn't think like that, I can't think like that. I need to stay strong, I need to stay compassionate and sympathetic. Charles has been through a lot, more than I can probably tell, and just like he once promised to care for me, I promise to do the same for him.

But it's exhausting. I'm so tired, so angry and shaken and tormented. I can't get any sleep, I'm barely ever hungry, and I'm haunted day and night by nightmares and memories I don't ever want to see again.

I'm so tired.

Shuffling feet causes me to look up from where I stand, and I turn my head slightly towards down the hall, where I spot Hank leaning against the wall. He's close to the stairs leading down to the sullen foyer, a place I hate going to, because of all the fun times I spent running through the space. His face is pale, and he looks like the same Hank I met so many years ago, but with more wisdom in his eyes. His face is more tempered, more lined with age and knowledge he's gotten over the years. While I still look like a teenager, seventeen at most, Hank looks older than before, as he ages normally, and I don't.

He has his hands in his pockets as he looks at me in front of the door. His face is expectant, his eyes full of questions. I know what he's silently asking. How is he?

I give a small shake of my head, and Hank's face falls. He gets up off the wall and I walk to the middle of the hall. He meets me there and we both look towards the closed door where a damaged telepath slumps over at the foot of my bed. Hank sighs and looks back to me.

"He's getting worse, isn't he?" Hank asks. I nod solemnly.

"Yes." I answer. "I don't even need to use my abilities to know." I blow out a frustrated breath. "The voices, he says, are pleading. They're begging him to save them."

"Who are they?"

"The students." The silence following my comment is palpable. I bite the inside of my cheek as we stand in the hall once bustling with lively kids. Some could teleport. Some could fly. Some could shoot lasers or freeze time or talk to animals. They were all so boisterous, so unique and full of life that there was never a dull moment at Xavier's school for gifted youngsters. Those were the days where the memories were almost non-existent. I rarely ever thought about the past when I was playing with the kids in the lawn or listening in to some of the classes.

I didn't think about Shaw, or my past. Or Erik.

"What do we do?" Hank asks.

I look down at my feet, hands snaking around my waist. "I'm not sure there's much we can do, Hank." Hank nods, agreeing regretfully at my words. We both know it's the truth. For years we've been trying everything to get Charles back to his former self. We've tried to hide the serum, knowing that we would be responsible enough to take the correct dose, but when we did, Charles grew violent, pulling apart the house inch by inch, crawling on his hands and knees to find it. At one point, his cries grew to be too much, and I'd taken one of the needles and stuck it into his arm, just to get him to stop. We'd tried to get him to talk to us, to speak to us about happier times, happier moments, hoping to make him see that there was still some light in the world. It only made him delve deeper into himself.

We've tried everything. Nothing has worked. The only thing Charles has left is us, and we don't know how long it will be before he turns us away as well. I shiver at the thought, shadows gripping the sides of my vision as I look back to Hank.

Before I can say anything, there's a light knock that comes from downstairs. Both Hank and I share a look. It sounds like the front door. The knock comes again, this time more pronounced, and it rings around the empty manor, echoing through the abandoned rooms. I take a step back. Hank turns around.

"Was that?" I ask, pointing towards the stairs.

"I think so..." Hank answers. I scrunch my eyebrows together. No one has knocked on the front door to this place in years. Not since the school was still up and running, right as everyone was being drafted, and parents were coming to take their kids away, throwing them in to fight even if they didn't want to. I won't ever forget the kid's cries as their parents pulled them from the house to go fight for their country.

All memory of getting Charles his serum forgotten, the two of us make our way carefully down the stairs. I'm wearing only socks, and suddenly my foot slips on the smooth wooden tile. I yelp and Hank catches me swiftly, arms unwavering under my weight. He might look skinny, but I always need to remember that Hank is also Beast, the strongest person I know.

"Thanks," I mutter as we make it to the bottom of the foyer. I gulp as I take in the sight of the dusty chandelier and oak table centered in the middle of the hall. The amount of times I ran through this place, breathless from having a race with one my fellow mutants, or soaking wet from dancing out in the rain with the youngsters. They're all gone. Now it's only me left. Me and the memories of what was.

Hank and I walk over to the door, and after a glance between each other, Hank swiftly unlocks it and opens it a sliver. Sunlight streams in, fresh air filling my lungs, illuminating several mothballs that fly about the open space. I stand behind Hank, and try to look confusedly over his shoulder at who could possibly be knocking at our door. I'm too short, however, and can't see anything except for a tuft of dark brown hair.

"Can I help you?" Hank asks.

After a moment, a gruff voice answers. "Uh, yeah." I frown. "I'm looking for the professor."

AUTHOR'S NOTE...

hello people! Well, there it is, the second chapter (and really the start) of the next part of Leena's story. Oh boy was this a hard chapter to write. I was literally trying not to cry as I wrote about Sean and Charles. BUT I am incredibly happy with how this chapter turned out. And Leena is back! While she is still the same girl though, though, she's not the same Leena that we had in Act One. This Leena is more wise, more adult, and DEFINITELY more broken. just to prepare you guys, this act is literally all pain...

ANYWAYS, I would love to know your thoughts on this chapter! what are your theories for how everything is going to play out? do you think Leena will stop taking the serum, and what do you think of her nightmares about Shaw and not wanting to think about Erik (I'm literally so excited for their reunion ahhhh). 

Love you, Mal