Chapter Text
Westchester. December, 1983
The snow crunched underfoot as Erik got out of the taxi and collected his bag from the trunk. The driver barely waited until the lid had closed before speeding off, not wanting to spend a single second longer than necessary at Xavier’s school.
The blanket of snow over the grounds muffled any noise, creating a tranquility that Erik had scarcely ever known. Tracks littered the driveway, half-filled since they were made, and there was snow splattered on the stonework where it had been thrown against the wall. Christmas lights twinkled in the trees and shrubs around the main door, which had a large wreath hanging from it.
Erik stepped up to the door but didn’t bother to knock, or ring the bell. He waved his hand and the door silently opened for him.
The house was warm and smelled strongly of mulled wine and baking. The hallway was lit by candles on the side table and yet more fairy lights wrapped around the stair rail. He could hear the crackle of the fireplace and the soft murmuring of quiet conversation. Erik put his bag down and closed the door behind him, doing his best to stay silent.
“Who wants cookies?” came a yell from down the hall, and around the corner came Jean. She was wearing a hideous homemade holiday sweater, complete with sparkly pom poms and ribbons, and holding a plate of vividly decorated sugar cookies. She stopped short when she saw Erik standing on the mat but before she could say anything he held one finger up to his lips.
Jean got his drift and pointed into the large living room, where the others were sitting comfortably by the fire.
Erik snuck over and looked in, leaning against the door frame. The entire building had been recreated to the exact specifications of what had been before, so Erik knew what he would see inside: the fireplace surrounded by chintzy sofas, the tall bookcases, the chess set by the window. And sitting in one of the armchairs was Peter.
He and the others - Hank, Raven, Ororo, Kurt - were engrossed in a game of cards in which Peter was clearly taking them for a ride, with his winnings of candy canes, gingerbread men and chocolate coins piled up beside him. Someone had clearly been extremely busy knitting, as no-one had escaped an ugly sweater. Even Peter was wearing a luridly blue and white one with dreidels on.
“Ja, we want cookies, Jean!” shouted Kurt, who turned and saw Erik. He tapped Peter on the shoulder with his tail.
Peter looked over, placing his cards face down on the table, and his face immediately burst into a bright, wide smile. In an instant the game was forgotten and Peter was by his side.
“There you are,” Erik said.
“Hey, man. Still trying to sneak up on me?” he teased, playfully smacking Erik on the shoulder.
Erik ruffled his son’s hair, letting his hand rest on the back of Peter’s neck and pulled him into a tight hug. Peter felt solid and strong, radiating warmth; one of the best sensations Erik had ever felt.
Peter sighed contentedly and whispered to him, “welcome home, Dad.”
End.