| 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 |

♡ '𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗' ♡

Who are we? Are we simply what others want us to be? Are we destined to a fate beyond our control? Or can we evolve? Become... something more?

THERE WAS A GIRL. A girl with hair like wildfire and eyes that burned too bright for this world. A girl who was open, too open, her soul stretched wide like the vastness of the cosmos. She did not know it yet—how fragile she was, how dangerous she could become.

But the universe did.

And so did It.

The first time the girl's mind reached beyond the veil of mortal comprehension, she was just a child, no more than ten, sitting in the backseat of her parents' car. The day had been bright, the air warm, her laughter tangled with that of another—her best friend, Annie.

Then came the crash.

Metal screamed. Glass shattered. The world turned red.

Pain.

A voice.

Jean—!

Annie was dying.

Jean felt it happen as if it were happening to her. The light inside Annie flared, then began to dim. Something inside Jean reached for her, instinctive and desperate, grasping at the fraying threads of a soul that was slipping away. Her small hands clawed at nothing, trying to hold on—don't go, don't go, don't go—but death would not be undone.

The moment Annie's spirit was torn from her body, Jean followed.

For a breath—a heartbeat—she touched something vast.

It was not the afterlife. It was not heaven or hell or any of the gentle stories humans told to soften death's cruel edges. It was something older, something infinite.

It was the Phoenix.

It was flame and hunger, creation and destruction, all things at once. A force that was not kind, nor was it cruel—only inevitable. It looked at the tiny mind reaching beyond its place in the universe, and for a moment, it noticed her.

She is open.

She is raw.

She is powerful.

Jean fell back into herself with a shattering force, screaming as Annie was ripped from her grasp. Her body convulsed on the asphalt, her mind burning, burning—

And for the first time, the Phoenix burned with her.

She did not remember how long she stayed like that, her small frame limp in the wreckage, her mind scorched from touching something no human should ever touch. When she woke, the world was emptier, quieter. Her mother was dead. Annie was dead. Her father turned into a shell of himself. The doctors whispered about trauma, about shock and spoke of her coma, of brain activity that spiked beyond their comprehension. They did not see what had changed.

But the Phoenix did.

It watched. It waited.

Because the girl was not ready. Not yet.

But one day, when the time came—when she was truly open—

The fire would come for her again.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀'𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐉𝐄𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄, the sudden motion pulling her from unconsciousness. She blinked groggily, trying to focus her eyes. The cold, metallic walls around her slowly came into focus, the hum of a vehicle's engine vibrating beneath her. It didn't take long for her to realise she was confined, locked away somewhere, the sound of voices around her hinting at their destination.

Beside her, she noticed her father, closed off with a wall between them all cutting off any way to touch the other even without the restraints, Erik's expression was grimmer then usual, a grey collar with a red blinking light wrapped tightly around his neck, the glow of it searing into her eyes. Her brother was seated across the vehicle, his face set with determination, but next to him was a familiar figure—a white-haired woman. Ooroo, or rather Storm. Cuffs weighed heavily on all of them, preventing any resistance, keeping them in check. Guards watched them, walking up and down the walkway, guns in hand, ready for any unexpected movements.

The atmosphere was thick with tension, and as the silence lingered, Xavier's voice cut through, steady but filled with regret. He spoke with a soft intensity, as though the weight of his words were bearing down on him. "Raven had the right of it. Jean was never the villain. I was," His words struck them all, but his eyes stayed on Hank, who sat opposite him. "I should never have lied to her. I was wrong. But this power... inside of her, I never put that there," he continued, shaking his bald head lightly, "I would never do anything intentionally to hurt her. That isn't me, and this is not Jean. We can still save her. She's still Jean inside."

Hank's face pulled into a light grimace at its words, and grief and morals swirled inside his heartbroken mind. Wanda's face was a mix of concern and determination, and she spoke up, bringing the telepath's attention onto her, "I can feel her, she's still in there. But that power... It's pulling her, taking over, but I won't let that happen."

Xavier stared at the new arrival with inquisitive eyes, unsure of her presence, and without his abilities, he had no idea what to think. She came in wrapped in a red haze and nearly pulled Jean back to their side, to the side of humanity and peace.

The tension in the air grows as the pilot speaks over the intercom, confirming their distance from the Mutant Containment Centre, and Erik clears the silence. "What exactly is controlling her?" Wanda's father asked aloud, glancing at Pietro opposite him.

Xavier let out a heavy sigh, his face tight with worry as he answered his old friend. "I don't know," he admitted, his tone thick with the weight of uncertainty. "But this woman, this... thing, has had a taste of that power, and she'll be coming back for more. She'll be coming back for Jean." Xavier's voice had dropped even lower, a note of grave forewarning in it.

Wanda's father, however, responded in a voice cold with resolve. "Good. Let her."

Wanda immediately scowled at her father. "No," she snapped, her gaze fierce. "I came all this way. I'm not letting her die. The Phoenix Force won't take her."

At the mention of the Phoenix, Scott Summers, seated nearby, furrowed his brow in confusion. "The Phoenix Force?"

Wanda nodded grimly, her eyes darkened with the gravity of the situation. "The power inside Jean—it's a cosmic entity, and it has chosen her; there is little we can do. We can't destroy it, but we can't let that woman get her hands on it."

Xavier's gaze darkened, his voice filled with an ominous certainty, "She'll kill her to get it. But I promise you, the killing won't end there."

Scott, who had been listening intently, shook his head in disagreement. "That's not what Raven would have wanted," He looked at the brunette man opposite him, a man he had fought in his youth and then to a man he still called a mentor and continued, "You know that. You both do."

Before anyone could respond, a sudden rattling sound interrupted the tense moment. The sound of an alarm blared through the air, followed by the urgent voice of a guard telling them to stay put and move to the next compartment. The threat was clear to the mutant inhabitants; they were no longer alone. Now they were imprisoned, powerless and left with an older stoic guard who was anti-mutant by his assumption, "Goddamn muties came to spring you."

Xavier looked up at the guard, ignoring the slur and said, "They're not mutants! Free us, you're going to need our help."

"Were the only chance you have," Magneto told the man who scowled at him and went to speak when Pietro, thick foreign words called out.

"How many are there, Wanda?" Pietro asked his sister. Wanda, who had her eyes closed in concentration, searched for lifeforms outside of the moving train.

"More than two dozen," Wanda's voice was nearly drowned out by the sounds of gunfire, metal crunching, and the grunts of death came from the next compartment ominously. The mutants listened to the radio talk, grimacing when they realised they were all dead and fighting against the shapeshifting aliens that wanted Jean.

Then chaos erupted, and the Brotherhood and the X-Men banded together to fight against the invaders and save Jean. 

𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 lay slumped near Jean's still body, urging to wake. His voice was thick with emotion and regret as he tried to explain why this was all happening, what he had done. "I was trying to protect you. I was trying to keep the pain away, but.." 

The Jean finally answered, telepathically, "You just buried it."

He moved back in surprise as if she had struck him, and then found himself in a mindscape, the train car away from him, and now he sat on a couch in a particular girl's house. Wanda resisted the tingle in the back of her head that blared when the two telepaths sank into each other's minds, and Wanda focused back onto the fight at hand. 

The train rumbled through the night, hurtling toward its destination at breakneck speed. The flashing lights from the passing stations flickered across the metal carriages, casting strange shadows in the chaos of the moment.

Vuk's goons quickly set out to slipt the rest of the other mutants up, Cylops and Storm were outside, atop the moving convoy fighting them off to keep them from slipping inside and getting to Jean. Wanda left Erik to fight off against Vuk herself as she helped Peitro fight aganist some of the others that slipped in underneath Storm's eyes. The rest of the fight was a blur for Wanda and Pietro as wisps of red and silver flooded the compartment, leaving bodies left and right on the floor. 

Magneto stood at the front of the train, his eyes locked onto Vuk, who was standing across from him. The Phoenix Force, the raw power of the cosmos, was coursing through Jean Grey, but Vuk was the one pulling the strings. Jean was not herself, lost in the chaos of her mind, and Erik knew this now. 

Vuk's voice was empty as she spoke, "I have no desire to fight you."

Erik smirked, tilting his head as if amused by her words. 

"I get that a lot."

Magneto's lips curled into a faint smile, but his gaze never wavered. His hands, always poised for action, twitched as the magnetic fields around him began to shift. The train's metal frame groaned under the strain.

Vuk's eyes narrowed at him, "You wanted her dead."

He didn't speak as she raised a hand and gestured toward the train's wall.

Suddenly, a piece of metal from the wall tore free, soaring toward Magneto with unnatural speed. He didn't flinch. With a flick of his wrist, the metal twisted and bent midair, spinning around him like a protective shield.

Then he spoke, "Well, my kids fancy her, so I had a change of heart."

In a flash, the train's seats were ripped free, flying toward Vuk like missiles. She waved her hand, sending them off course with a telekinetic force that sent them crashing into the windows. Then guns were raised, hovering around Erik protectively, and clicks echoed through the compartment as the safety was turned off. He looked like a vision, a modern god of Ares. Then bullets rained down on Vuk, she ignored the heavy fire, walking slowly towards him, unaffected by the normally life-ending assault. 

The fight was a barrage of flying metal, and then the next minute, the train flipped, and they were shaking off the whiplash. Pietro —quick as lightning—was at Wanda's side, helping her to her feet. He glanced around, taking in the destruction that stretched for miles. The train, once whole, was now a twisted shell of metal, the world around them dark and fractured. The distant sound of the wind howling was the only thing breaking the silence, besides the dying screams of the rest of the D'Bari aliens.

"You good?" he asked his sister, who wiped the blood from her lip, her eyes staring at the battle before her. She nodded at Pietro, feeling his concern through their bond. 

Jean Grey, her eyes glowing with the fury of the Phoenix Force, floated in the centre of the destruction, her body surrounded by swirling embers and cosmic energy. Across from her stood Vuk, battered but determined, her alien powers crackling violently as she gripped the wreckage of the train.

The fight was a barrage of cosmic fire, both women using everything they had to tear apart the remnants of the train and each other. Then they were standing before each other, clawing at each other as the Phoenix force swirled around them. 

"You want this power? You're gonna get it." Jean mocked Vuk with a smirk, her red hair looked more like fire than hair as it floated behind her. She gripped Vuk's hand tightly around her. They were locked in a battle of will and power. Then the Phoenix force was leaking out, towards the X-Men, who stayed watching. It hit the closet, Scott Summers, and he let out a cry of pain, "Aah! Jean!"

It knocked Jean out of the battle of wills between Vuk, as she looked back at the cry. Jean's mind teetered on the edge, the Phoenix Force threatening to consume her completely. Her breath came in jagged gasps, her body trembling as the immense power tried to break free, to keep her loved ones safe. 

Jean groaned, "It's too much..."

Vuk mocked her with a savage grin, "You can't control it."

Jean's eyes flickered with fear, her mind fighting to keep the Phoenix under control. She looked at Vuk, who seemed more dangerous than ever, her power almost limitless.

"If you kill me, you'll kill them all."

Jean's entire body trembled, her connection to the Phoenix deepening, but at the same time, slipping from her grasp. The world was collapsing around her. Her own mind was a prison.

That's when, just as she was about to lose herself entirely, a soft, familiar voice broke through the chaos.

Wanda. Her voice was gentle, almost a whisper, "Come back to me, to us, to your family."

Jean trembled in the air, the Phoenix flaring wildly. Around her, the world blurred with power. Her mind teetered on collapse—until Wanda stepped closer.

Softly, she coaxed the redhead, "Let me in."

Jean's gaze met hers, fire and fear dancing together. Then—hesitation... surrender.

The Phoenix's energy pulsed around them—then Wanda reached out, her fingers brushing Jean's templе...

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐍 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄— Jean Grey's mindscape with endless starlit skies for the eye to see.  In the distance, fragments of Jean's memories hung like constellations: laughter with Scott, running with Hank, her childhood home in pieces, screams, silence. And in the centre—a blazing sun that pulsed like a heart. The Phoenix.

Wanda stood barefoot on the void, her eyes glowing faintly crimson. Across from her, Jean emerged slowly, barefoot too, in a flowing version of her suit. Her hair floated like it was caught in a dream. She looked more herself here—more human. More lost.

Jean's voice came hushed but still echoed through the vast expanse into Wanda's heart, "I don't know what's me and what's it."

Wanda stepped closer, her voice gentle but unwavering. "It's both. You're not a vessel. You're a force," Wanda explained, "And that's terrifying, I know. But I'm still here. You haven't scared me away."

Jean's eyes shone with unshed tears as the memories came flooding in, "I've hurt so many people."

Wanda's voice dropped to a whisper. "So have I."

Jean looked at her, finally seeing her—not the glowing magic, not the red crown—but the woman behind it. A survivor. A reflection.

She stared at the brunette stranger who felt more like home than someone had in a long time, and that scared her just a little bit more than the power now in her.
"They all want to fix me... or control me. But not you."

Wanda took the redhead's hand gently, coaxing it open to wind their fingers together as she spoke, "Because I've been the broken one. I've been the flame and the flood."

Their fingers laced together, and the stars around them burned brighter. The Phoenix pulsed again, but calmer now. Warmer but not burning to the touch.

Jean took a shaky step forward, then another. The world grew smaller, closer to the two.

Jean finally asked the question that had been on the tip of her tongue since the moment she met the mysterious woman before her. "Why do I feel like I've known you forever?"

Wanda, unable to give a real, concrete answer to her despite being an empath, tried, "Maybe you have... just not in this life."

The distance closed, and Wanda reached out to brush a strand of hair behind Jean's ear, fingertips lingering on her sharp jaw, seeing the veins of pure cosmic fire crawling inside her.

Jean leaned in first, but Wanda met her halfway.

Their lips met in the stillness. It was slow and almost reverent. A kiss between goddesses teetering on the edge of war and peace. The Phoenix flared gold and red around them, but gently, like a protective wing curling inward, a quiet fire settled between them.

When they parted, foreheads pressed together, Wanda whispered, "Come back with me. They still need you."

Jean nodded slowly, her power pulsing like a heartbeat.

Then they were out of the mindscape, Jean's eyes fluttered open, the golden fire within them dimmed, leaving the old hues of green. She hovered downward, her power no longer lashing out—but simmering, restrained.

She landed beside Wanda, breathing heavily.

Scott watched her in shock, his voice came out in a hesitant tumble, "J-Jean?" 

Jean turned to him, calm but distant and after a moment of silence, she answered. "I'm okay now. Just... not the same."

Wanda reached out, gently taking her hand. They stood together, glowing like twin stars—darkness behind them, choice before them, unaware a god was watching upon a self-imposed throne with a smirk intrigued by the starlit women.

I know who I am now. I am not simply what others want me to be. I am not destined to a fate I can't control. I evolved beyond this time. This is not the end of me... or the X-Men. It's a new beginning.

BUCKY.,

He didn't sleep. Sleep meant dreams. And the Soldier had learned the hard way that his dreams didn't know the war was over.

Instead, he moved. City to city, border to border. Following scraps of rumours: a brother and sister with strange abilities, a town left without power for days, a man seen moving faster than anyone should. Most of it was dead ends—urban myths, paranoid internet posts. But sometimes... sometimes, something felt close enough to taste.

And that was enough to keep going.

He boarded trains without destinations, paid cash for rides from people who didn't ask questions. One step at a time. One lead to the next. He kept the notebook close, and the scrap of Pietro's handwriting even closer, folded into a hidden pocket in his jacket like a talisman. He read it every night, just to remind himself that he hadn't imagined it. That they had been alive. Waiting.

And that now, they weren't.

Flashback

The power had gone out during a storm. For once, the entire facility had been plunged into shadow. No lights. No buzzing monitors. Just the sound of rain and wind howling outside.

Bucky sat in his cell, unmoving, his mind fogged from whatever injection they'd given him that morning.

Then—soft footsteps.

Wanda appeared in the doorway, barefoot, her auburn hair a mess. Her arms wrapped around herself like she was holding in something too big to speak of.

"They said the storm fried the external sensors," she whispered. "We have five minutes."

He blinked. She looked... different in the dark. More human and less afraid.

"I shouldn't be here," she said, stepping closer anyway. "They'll find out."

He didn't respond, or rather, he couldn't.

She crouched beside him and placed something cold into his hand. A piece of chocolate, probably swiped from one of the handlers' pockets. Still, her sweet tooth betrayed her.

"It's not much," she said. "But I thought maybe..." The Soldier looked at it in surprise. He hadn't tasted chocolate in decades.

When his hand didn't move, Wanda reached out—so slowly, like he was made of glass—and uncurled his fingers with both of hers.

"You don't have to protect us," she said, voice low. "We know you try."

His eyes flickered toward her. "Why?"

She smiled—just a little, broken at the edges. "Because we see you. Even when you don't."

Now

The next lead brought him to Romania. An old contact had sent word about two people—siblings—who had been seen fleeing an underground lab after tearing the place apart. The building had collapsed inward. Government cover-up, naturally. No casualties listed. But no names released either.

It was enough.

Bucky arrived in the dead of night. Rain again, because of course it was. The remnants of the lab were already cleared by the time he got there—just scorched earth and half a wall still standing. But the energy lingered. Static. Like the world had held its breath here.

And on the exposed concrete, a single word was scratched, faint and jagged.

"Run."

He pressed his palm over the carving, metal fingers tracing the letters. Pietro's again, probably. Fast, urgent. A warning—or a message.

They were still moving.

Still alive.

But still running.

_______

Half edited but I'm sick of looking at this chapter icl T-T

Keeping up with Bucky will be in the next chapters too because I love him and he deserves his own little plot line. Next up; an alliance brews, friendships are mended, gods intervene and plans are planned.  

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