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Haller, Xavier, and the two Jeans' go inside the mansion.

The mansion loomed above them, overgrown and neglected, gaping holes where the windows should be. A skeleton where a home should be. Holding onto the young Jean's hand, Charles stepped carefully through the water pooling around the front gate, before pausing.

~Jim,~ he sent as loudly and clearly as he could. ~I've found the mansion.~

The reply was immediate. #Coming.#

An instant later the younger telepath was standing beside him. It was easy to become lost in another's mind, and as such breaking a trail was always the most difficult and dangerous part of the venture. However, there were benefits to working in pairs. Once one had forged a path, all the other need do was use them as a beacon.

Jim took a minute to orient himself, shifting his weight in the pooling water, then looked up. His eyebrows lifted at the sight of the figure holding Charles' hand. "You found her, too?" he asked.

Charles raised an eyebrow at the astral form before him, taking in his son's 'true' face with a moment of surprise. Something had happened, then. "Too?" he asked, looking around. "You found Jean?"

A glint of light flashed against one of the gates, and for a moment, something moved in the reflection. The feeling of familiar eyes were there, watching.

The girl holding Charles' hand peered at Haller curiously before her eyes widened. "Whoa. What happened to your face?" she said. There was no delicate undertone of recognition toward him in her voice. She seemed to respond as if meeting him for the first time.

Jim blinked, more surprised than offended. In the context of personal experience it was a fairly mild reaction, but not one he'd expected from someone whose presence he'd just left.

"It's a long story," he replied, stealing a confused glance at the professor. #She knew me a minute ago -- she's the one who saw through the mask in the first place.#

Charles blinked, that fleeting glimpse of movement bothering him, the way a name will sometimes hover at the edge of your mind. "Jean," he said, turning to the girl at his side.

"This is David Haller. You know him. He is the guidance counselor at the school, and your colleague."

Jim gestured over his shoulder into the distance. "We spoke back there--" he began, then paused. They were both looking at Jean, but he and Charles were not using the same eyeline.

"And this--" Jane's voice said, though the words did not come from the lips of the one who stood there. "Is what happens when telepaths play ball in the house. Like a bull in a china shop."

The voice echoed, coming from no one place in particular but many places and almost reverberated. Another flash of motion moved against the reflection on the console beside the gate, a hint of cream and red.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

The other Jean, ignoring the voice, walked up to Haller and poked him in the arm. "Do you normally look like this?"

The voice was familiar, eerily so. "Wait." Charles turned to Haller. "You said you had found her too, but I don't see her. Where is she?"

"Right . . . next to you." Jim's eyes shifted from the reflection in the console back to the figure standing next to Charles, the red of her gown mingling with the blood threading the water at her feet.

The reflection in the console didn't match the person standing there. She had her arms folded, while the one standing next to them was busy examining Haller carefully, close enough to where personal space was somewhat violated.

"Are you listening? This is a bad idea," the reflection said.

The one standing next to them studied Haller's every seam also added, "Well, do you?"

"I am listening, Jean, I am not seeing you, however." Charles turned to study the console and blinked to see reflected in it the teenager that had accompanied him down the mountain. "Jean?" He turned to where the girl was studying Haller intently. "Jim, who do you see in front of you?"

"Jane. Well, the part of Jean she represents. Who do you see?" Then, briefly returning his attention to the woman and the reflection behind her Jim added, "Yes, if I don't cover it up this is how I always look in places like this. And once things have gone far enough to reach point of necessity you can't really limit yourself to the good ideas."

"Jane?" Charles shook his head. "I see Jean, as she was in her teens, her younger self. Both standing in front of you and reflected." He let out a rueful chuckle. "Apparently our minds are playing tricks on us. Or Jean's is."

Jean paused a moment to consider what Haller had said earlier, more specifically 'places like this' and it wound up making her fall silent as she remembered that place, glancing around.

Jane, meanwhile, rubbed her forehead. "Look...I know I told you to keep going but...I plead temporary insanity. This is a bad place. You go in, you die. He'll kill you all. Just like he killed them."

Well, at least I'm not the only one talking from different sides of my brain. The younger telepath traded a glance with Charles, mouth drawn. #Jane's convinced Matthews is still here.# Aloud he said, "But we're on our guard. Professor, can you build anything here?" Jim looked at the brackish water swirling at their feet, then at the shell of the building beyond the gate. "Maybe if we get it started . . ."

~As is young Jean - it took quite the effort to convince her to come out of hiding.~ Charles' response was equally grim. ~And the longer this lasts, the harder it will be to address.~

Raising his hand, Charles focused on raising a bridge to the mansion's door in much the same way as he had done in Times Square. But this time there was no answering response from Jean's mindscape, the bloody water swirling slightly as if mocking him. "I'm afraid we'll have to continue forward," he said. "Do not be afraid, either of you. We are here to help and we will not let anything happen to you."

Both Jane and her younger counterpart shared some mutual dubiousness as the younger Jean kept her attention fixated toward the mansion and Jane arched a brow at the two of them.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Jane said. Jean, meanwhile, took a step back, shaking her head. "Do we have to?"

Jim stepped forward, placing one hand on the ruined gate. "I'm sorry, but I think so. The longer you avoid something, the harder dealing with it gets. Better to do it now than have it come back on you later . . . again."

He pushed the gate. It moved with a tortured groan, then fell from its hinges with a splash of slime. The way was unbarred. Jim stopped and looked to Charles.

"Be careful," Charles warned. "This is a place of great importance to Jean, and I expect we'll encounter a degree of resistance here."

As if in response, the water bubbled slowly, bloated, white bodies slowly rising to the surface. Their dead faces were those of the people they knew, the people they lived with, ate with, worked with. Sightless eyes stared upwards, somehow holding an accusatory expression, and the limp hands of the dead drifted against the travelers' legs as they walked slowly forward.

The walk toward the door felt more like hours than moments, the smell putrid and overwhelming. Jean stayed close to Charles, trying very hard not to clutch his arm as she trembled, keeping her gaze forward as best she could, trying not to look down.

The front door was closed, the knob more rust than metal, and the wood bowed inward from being water logged.

Without a word, Jim moved ahead of Charles and Jean's manifestation. The professor was clearly providing her with a sense of security, and if something was going to happen it was best it happen to someone she was less attached to.

Jim tried the door. The knob turned under his hand with a sound like a sob, unlocked.

Rank water streamed from the open door, sickening with the smell of mold and rot. Jim had to engage his shoulder to push it open the rest of the way, dislodging a body floating against the door in the process. It drifted away, but not before he saw a glimpse of a blue-furred hand. But for the drip and slosh of water, the foyer was quiet.

"Clear," Jim said quietly, though he didn't turn as he moved aside to allow the others entrance.

The main foyer of the mansion was in a serious state of decay. The walls were cracked, to the point of where parts of them folded into each other like a deck of stacked cards. The walls were mildewed, black and green, and the water made the wooden floor soft to walk on, with the threat of buckling beneath their feet in places.

The stairwell to the upper levels resembled a waterfall, with a steady stream of water trickling down it. Parts of the stairs were damaged and destroyed.

More bodies lay in the halls, young and old alike. Amid the rot lay remnants of the actual damage the mansion had suffered at the hands of Nightmare and his men. And the bodies of the real dead lay among the perceived ones.

"Don't think you're not important too," Jane said from the reflection of a hazy mirror as Haller passed it by.

"I would be very pissed off if you died."

A ripple resounded through the water, as small waves cascaded through the surface. A scream echoed through the halls as a figure--Meggan--ran toward them, but was slowed down by the water. She wore the same wounds as she did in real life.

"PLEASE HELP ME!" she shrieked, her hands desperately outstretched toward them until she flinched, as if having been shot and began to shriek again in unimaginable pain, putting her hands to her head as tendrils of blood poured from her nose and mouth. Her eyes suddenly took on an unfocused quality as she grew very still and quiet before dropping into the water with a resounding splash.

In her wake a man stood, the smell of death wafting from him like a wave. His skin was mottled and gray like the others, eyes clouded over, chunks of flesh missing. But instead of blood, black sludge dripped from his wounds and where the sludge dripped it seemed to disintegrate into wisps of shadow.

A dark smile played across his cracked lips.

And Jean screamed.

"Jean!" Charles laid his hand on the young girl's shoulder, his voice emphatic. "Listen to me. He's gone. What you're seeing is a memory, an echo, a trick of your own mind. I need you to realize that. He's not real."

Jean rapidly shook her head, looking like she very much did NOT believe him as she started to back up.

"NO! He's real!" she screamed.

Nightmare rose up out of the water, his feet dangling over the waves as he barreled toward them. A series of wires snaked out from under his skin and shot towards Xavier, ensnaring him by the throat. Another pair of wires went for Haller's arms and legs, aiming to pull the mismatched appendages in opposite directions.

The younger man didn't even flinch. The wires connected, but they were wrapping around appendages no longer Jim's. Jack sneered at the apparition, clenched his left hand, and yanked.

The alter's strength was augmented by telekinesis. The wire snapped with a shriek and whipped back into the water, harmless. His muscles were already bunching to free his other arm when he heard the screams.

The younger Jean stumbled backward. The scream that had erupted from her lips was cut off prematurely as she slammed against a wall and it took her breath away.

For a moment, the world around them flickered, and the younger Jean looked down at herself as blood poured from a newly formed gash across her chest. Her gaze flickered back up towards Haller with confusion.

The wires snaked around Charles' throat, threatening to strangle him, and yet he did not struggle. The discomfort was obvious and yet his mental voice was perfectly calm.

~Jean. Jane. You must face him.~

Jean seemed still particularly terrified at this prospect, frozen to the spot as Nightmare pulled the wires tighter. Eventually, the mirror on one of the walls began to rattle as Jane stepped out into the water, a matching wound on her chest that mirrored the younger girl. He had asked her to face him, and she knew only one way how to do that.

Nightmare sensed this new presence and smiled, but he barely had time to react a telekinetic blast sent him reeling through the wooden stair banister. While this served to free Charles and Haller, it also snapped the rest of the wires holding them.

Jane hit her knees, bringing her hands out to steady herself. She slowly looked up, a surprised, dawning realization in her eyes.

"We...can't do it," she said.

"Not separate."

Jim landed heavily on his hands and knees. Jack had gone again, and it was just as well -- he was going to be no help. Every blow dealt to Nightmare was not only reflected, but magnified in Jean's avatars. Because . . .

Because it wasn't truly Matthews they were against -- no more than it was truly Jean here with them.

Not yet.

Jim floundered through the water over to where Jane had fallen. He pulled the stunned woman back, away from the ghoulish apparition. Her red hair was plastered to her face, soaked almost black with water; blood ran down her pale skin in rivulets. "There's someone else, isn't there?" he pressed, giving her no time for the shock to settle. "Another part of you. Where?"

Jane stared at Jim for a long while, nodding a little before her eyes flickered over toward the younger version of herself.

"Home," she said softly.

"Somewhere safe."

Despite his preternatural calm of earlier, Charles had fallen to his hands and knees in the murky water when the wires had been cut, coughing and rubbing his throat where he had been choked. "Not here," he managed to say, before switching to the mental link again.

~Not the mansion, not with him here. Somewhere else you felt safe, yes?~

The younger girl didn't respond. She trembled, her knees pulled up to her chest in the middle of the water where she'd fallen as she watched Nightmare grab Meggan's body and drag it into the recesses of the building.

Jane, however, glanced over toward Xavier. She smiled faintly.

~You know, Charles. You've known all along.~

He gave her an echoing smile, not much more than a lightening of his expression.

"There's no place like home," he said softly.

The world faded around them, and suddenly, what was water, became grass and asphalt at their feet. A soft warm wind blew, and, while the sky was still grey, it didn't rumble. There were no other houses but this one on the street, encircled by white nothing.

A picket fence surrounded the exterior and the house, a steel blue with white shutters, appeared perfect and unblemished. There was no water to speak of, nothing disjointed or out of place.

Attached to the picket fence gate was a mailbox that read "Grey."

For a moment Jim simply stood and observed. This was a place he'd never seen, but the house was suffused with a single feeling: home. The one corner of her mind kept safe and separate.

It resonated. So faint it was almost invisible, the ghostly after-image of an alter crouched behind Jim to pluck at the lawn with a small hand.

Looking at his son, the professor's eyes clouded with regret for a moment. Just a moment. "I remember coming here with Erik," he said, quietly, resting his hand on the gate. "It is fitting, that I should find myself here again." He turned to the two incarnations of his first student. "Should we go in with you?"

Both Jane and Jean stared at the house. Jane's expression was forlorn and the younger Jean seemed considerably calmer, most of the terror of before gone. She seemed almost...happy. Their next words, perhaps due to the closeness of their missing part, were in unison.

"If you'd like."

Jim hung back as the younger incarnation entered the house first, followed by the professor. He motioned for Jane to lead the way. It seemed to him that while the teenager's pink clothing seemed a perfect fit for the suburban surroundings, the scarlet of the adult's gown was almost livid.

There was something else. As Jane moved past him Jim looked down to see the grass brown where her dress swept. After a few paces the lawn returned to normal, as lush and green as it had been when they'd arrived.

The living room was dated with rows and rows of old leather bound books in a built in bookcase surrounding the fireplace. The television was wood paneled and sat in the corner with a sleeping cat perched on top. An old record player sat against the wall, and two pairs of shoes: larger red Mary Janes and a pair of smaller yellow sneakers sat underneath a bench located just off the foot of a staircase.

The house was quiet, save for the ticking of a black cat clock, whose tail and eyes moved back and forth to mark the seconds.

Jean grabbed a cookie off a plate on the kitchen counter and took a bite, while Jane stepped inside, the carpet darkening under her feet as she glanced around. Her gaze rested on the staircase, and she started her ascent. Jean munched on her cookie for a few moments before following.

Charles hung back just a little, enough to give the two women some space. This was for Jean now and they were merely bystanders to the mental drama. Bystanders ready to support and assist, if needed, but bystanders nonetheless. The stairs creaked comfortably under his feet as he ascended the staircase, following the pair down a hallway.

Jim kept a step behind his father, eyes tracking their surroundings. It was clearly a safe space, but also somehow static -- more a snapshot of a home than a real location. The contamination Jane had carried into the house faded back to unblemished perfection as she passed, as if this place rejected alteration.

At the top of the stairs, Jean and Jane had reached a door at the end of the hall and stopped.

The door was decorated with stars and moons and had four letters carefully made out of construction paper that spelled out 'JEAN' in red, blue, green, and purple. A soft white light spilled out from underneath.

Jane studied the door, then reached out to put her hand on the knob and suddenly flinched, pulling her hand away as it burned her palm. She took a few moments, an uncertain look on her face before the younger Jean stepped forward, glancing up to her older self as if seeing her for the first time. The two met each others eyes, with mutual expression of agreement as the younger Jean reached out and turned the door knob, releasing a blinding flash of light.

~***~

In a white room.

The place that lay behind the door was pure white. It was not warm, nor cool, it just...was. In the middle of the room a child, barely 10 or 11, lay asleep on the ground in a white dress, the only shock of color being her red hair. Her skin, unbroken, was lily white and dangerously pale, with barely any color to her cheeks. Her hands were draped against her chest in repose.

Memory arose unbidden for Charles as he looked at the sleeping girl. Jean, as she had been when they had first met. Preserved untouched in this corner of her own mind. The essential self, kept locked away from Nightmare's predations. But still he held back, waiting for Jean's other parts to make a move.

They seemed transfixed to the spot as the wet sound of blood droplets hit the floor and sizzled, burning away from red to nothing the moment they touched the ground. The teenage version of Jean clutched her stomach, her eyebrows drawn, trembling, while Jane stood tall and stiff, from body to jaw, the rest of her features unreadable.

"Are you afraid?

The words came from Jim, but he was . . . not Jim. The patchwork appearance had been replaced by a near-mirror of his physical form. It differed from his astral mask, bearing different wear lines on his face and features that still carried a hint of asymmetricality, but it was unmistakably David Haller.

The young man looked from the girl to the woman, his blue eyes calm. "Tell us," he said quietly, "what are you afraid of?"

"The pain," their voices replied, barely a whisper. "The loss."

The drops of blood that hit the ground, instead of fading away, slowly started to turn into water.

"We can help the pain go away," Charles told her softly. "We can help you with the loss. But you can't hide away any more, Jean. You know that." He stepped forward, his shoes squelching in the wet patches forming on the carpet. "If you want to save her, you need to stop protecting her. She needs to be awake and part of you."

"But it would be..." they both said, both looking toward Haller with perfect synchronicity. A flash of memory by the lake, their wet clothes. "...so easy..."

"When hiding's all you've grown used to." Hiding things, bottling them up. It was almost standard for a telepath.

Both looked back down, as silence fell, save for the sound of dripping. They took a step forward toward the sleeping girl.

The world once more went white.

~***~

Whole again, Jean realizes there is work left to be done.

A soft breeze blew across the air, causing the leaves to rustle on a nearby tree. A pair of mockingbirds called to one another in its branches. Nearby a dog barked, whining to be let in. And a faint melody wafted from an open window, where the curtains blew outward with the wind.

They were once more on the street outside of the Grey house, but more houses had come to rest around it. The houses showed some wear, and needed a few touchups, but they were whole.

Jean sat on the front stoop to the house, dressed in a green t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. Her hair fell into curls around her shoulders, masking the cuts that still lingered but were not as numerous as her other selves carried. She stared down the street, studying a tire swing as it swayed back and forth in the wind.

Jim looked around, one hand resting against a flaking tree trunk. They were no longer in the center, he felt that immediately, but this place had dimension and substance that had been somehow lacking in the house that had been erected around Jean's core. Now, instead of a photo-perfect setdressing, they were in a world of impermanence and imperfections: all the things that were proof of life. All anchored to a mind that was finally one again.

With a smile of relief, Jim pulled his hand from the trunk of the tree and stepped towards Jean.

"Hey," he said. "Welcome back."

Jean glanced up at the sound of Haller's voice, blinking a little before relaxing as bits of memory flooded back.

"Thanks," she said, both in acknowledgement to his statement and what they'd done. She didn't quite know what else to say. Nothing felt right.

She looked back out over the street, where a storm loomed in the distance.

"There's still something I have to take care of, isn't there?" she said. After combining together some parts of herself overlapped, some memories of the mindspace retreated inward, to allow her mind to cope by letting them come back gradually instead of having to remember two separate experiences all at once.

The younger man nodded. "It's your brain. We can get you started, but you're the only one who can finish it."

Jean pulled herself up to a stand, staring at the sky again for a few long moments. Her outfit melted away, and in its place was a black leather uniform.

"No...I need to do it on my own. I have to."

It was the only way she could feel safe in her own mind again.

The world around them began to shift again, as water began to seep in and pool at their feet and the mansion stood before them. It was intact now, and seemed much more structurally sound, but was there was still some mending to do judging by the foot of water and the occasional cracks still in the foundation.

Jean glanced around, a brief look of desolation in her eyes at what her mind had created before her eyes took on a distant look as she worked on focusing herself.

The air around them seemed to warm, as patches of light were seen through the clouds. A rumbling was heard, as bits of the ground began to crack open and water poured into them. Glimpses of water laden grass and stone were seen underneath, but the water level stopped at around two or three inches left as Jean closed her eyes.

It was a start, but she had to save the rest of her energy for the main task at hand.

Her eyes trailed up toward the door, and it opened on its own, beckoning them in.

Charles and Haller followed Jean as she walked up the path towards the open door, There was a sense of foreboding, or expectation, something lurking in the shadows of the doorway. Something malevolent.

After a moment, Jean stepped through the door into the darkness. The lights, what was left of them, flickered on and off, and the temperature seemed to drop to a bitter cold.

"Matthews..." she called. "I know you're here."

"So, look who's come back for another dose of pain..." The voice was cracked and wet-sounding, gurgling its way through a mangled throat. Nightmare came down the stairs slowly, taking delight in the horror his damaged and rotting body elicited. "You should have stayed hidden, little girl. Now you're mine!"

He gestured with both hands, wires zinging out towards Jean, seeking to ensnare her and rip her apart.

And behind her, standing motionless under the flickering lights, the two other telepaths only waited.

Jean didn't move as the wires wrapped around her arms, legs, neck, and torso, tightening hard enough to dig into her flesh. The wires lifted her up, making her resemble a twisted marionette doll. But instead of struggling she just stared at the man in front of her. Instead of struggling she took a step down, toward him.

"No," she said. She took another step, as the water beneath her feet began to boil, bringing up a flicker of a similar memory.

The distance between them closed quickly, until they were face to face. Close enough to touch. Which, she did.

"You are," she said, reaching up to put her hand on his forehead.

As she pulled her hand away flames began to pour out from a hand-shaped print. The flames spread.

Nightmare let out an unearthly scream as her skin touched his. The wires retracted, whipping around dangerously in the room, but as soon as they came close to touching anyone, they crumbled into ash. The flames swept over the nightmarish figure, consuming all they touched, until all that was left was a husk. Then, that too, crumbled away into a smear of dust and ash, floating on the surface of the water.

In his wake, Jean looked down at what remained and saw herself reflected amidst the ashes. Slowly, she looked back up to Xavier and Haller. She knew what came next.

Jim looked at the slowly dispersing smudge of ash on the surface of the water. Not a man -- it had never been the man. He and Charles had been right. Matthews was long gone: what remained had only been the shadow Jean kept with her.

The younger man looked up at her and smiled. "Nice work. Ready for the hard part now?"

Jean couldn't help but laugh softly. "You mean this wasn't the hard part?" she said. Even if she knew he was right.

"There is always more work ahead," Charles said with a rueful smile. He crossed the space between them and took her hands in his. "But you don't have to do it alone. I hope you know that now."

Jean stared down at their hands clasped together, the day they first met almost a hazy memory. He'd been so much a part of her life for so long it was hard to remember at times what it was like before. She wanted to believe that, and in most ways, she did. Perhaps she just needed to be reminded.

She nodded once, then looked up toward the mansion at large.

"Let's get started."