The War Room was still tense, the echoes of the previous shouting match still reverberating in the silence left behind by the Avengers’ departure. The X-Men stood in various states of frustration, some barely containing their anger, others lost in thought, processing everything that had just transpired. The energy in the room was suffocating, a storm of unspoken words hanging over them, waiting to break.

  Logan leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, his bloodstained gloves still dark from the night’s events. His jaw was tight, his teeth grinding together as he replayed Falcon’s words in his head. The accusation that he couldn’t stop killing, the way Rogers had stayed silent instead of defending him—it all sat wrong in his gut. He’d been in too many wars, on too many battlefields, and if there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was when someone who had never been knee-deep in blood tried to lecture him about morality. It was the same old song. When the enemy played dirty, when people like the X-Cutioner and Leper Queen threatened their lives, the world wanted Wolverine to be a monster on their behalf. But the second the war was over, the same people who relied on him looked at him like a rabid dog that needed to be put down. He was sick of it.

  Rogue, standing near the table, was just as furious, but her anger burned in a different way. It wasn’t raw and explosive like Logan’s, but simmering, deep, a betrayal she had felt too many times before. Her arms were crossed, her fingers digging into her biceps, her shoulders stiff. Her mind churned, trying to make sense of everything. Captain America had promised her. Promised Alamo. And now? Now he was doing what every other authority figure had done to her since she was a child—deciding for her what was best, withholding information, breaking trust, treating her like her feelings didn’t matter in the grander scheme of things.

  Across the room, Gambit had his hands in his pockets, his normally lazy smirk gone, his eyes sharp beneath the shadow of his bangs. He wasn’t one to throw himself into arguments unless it was absolutely necessary, but even he had to admit that this whole thing felt rotten. He had seen enough of government dealings back in New Orleans, knew enough about how power worked to recognize when someone was getting played. And right now? It felt like the X-Men were the ones getting the raw end of the deal.

  Jubilee, Bobby, and Kitty stayed toward the back of the room, their expressions shifting between concern and uncertainty. They were younger, and while they had seen plenty of ugliness in their time with the X-Men, there was something about tonight that felt different. The room had been split, not just between teams, but between ideologies. Trust had been fractured. And in a war like this, that was a dangerous thing.

  At the center of it all sat Xavier, his fingers interlocked as he processed the weight of the conversation. His expression was carefully neutral, his mind already working through the different angles, trying to salvage what he could from the situation. He understood the anger in the room, even sympathized with it, but he couldn’t allow this to spiral further.

  "I understand the degree of the emotional response," he finally said, his voice calm but firm. "But Captain America’s decision has provoked responses I cannot tolerate."

  Storm gave a slow nod in agreement, her presence steady, regal as ever. She was the only one in the room whose emotions didn’t seem to cloud her judgment, though Rogue could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled slightly against her lap.

  Xavier continued, his gaze sweeping the room, resting on Logan and Rogue in particular. "I did not teach you to lash out violently like this, Anna Marie. Logan."

  Logan’s teeth clenched. He pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his hands on his hips. "Chuck, Stark thinks he owns the damn world. He comes down here and disrespects me? Stripes? The X-Men? I’m sorry, Chuck, but I don’t take trust fund baby bullshit."

  "He thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow," Rogue added, her accent thicker with emotion. "He’s lucky Ah didn’t slap him silly."

  Logan smirked slightly at that, his anger still bubbling beneath the surface. "Yeah, ya an’ me both, Stripes."

  Xavier let out a slow, measured breath. "I find Tony Stark’s arrogance as upsetting as both of you do, but this is no way to treat guests."

  "They ain't no guests," Rogue shot back. "Heck, Duncan is a guest, he just brought 'em along, an’ even then, Ah'm startin' to think he grew too damn comfortable 'round 'em, lookin' at Cap all starry-eyed like he's the best thing since sliced bread."

  Jubilee let out a short snicker at that, though she quickly covered her mouth when Storm shot her a glance.

  "They’re all guests, Rogue," Storm corrected gently. "And we should treat them with decorum."

  Rogue exhaled sharply. "Well, Ah don’t have ta like it."

  Cyclops finally spoke, his voice as controlled as ever, but there was a sharpness to it, a quiet frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Storm is right, Rogue. I don’t agree with Captain America. I even resent his decision. But this was a circus. You and Logan stepped out of line."

  Rogue’s eyes snapped to him. "What?"

  Jean Grey, who had been silent up until now, spoke softly but firmly. "Scott’s right, Rogue. We are better than this."

  Rogue shook her head, her fingers tightening on her arms. "Cap promised me he’d do somethin’. He didn’t promise y’all, he promised me. An’ honestly? Ah’m pretty mad he didn’t hold on to his promise. Ah thought it was worth somethin’."

  Xavier sighed, a weariness creeping into his expression. "Captain America was pivotal to the creation of this team. I’m sure his intentions were the noblest possible."

  Rogue’s lips curled bitterly. "Well, Professor, Ah once heard the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Maybe we should be lookin’ fer some results."

  Storm’s gaze flickered toward her at that, a knowing look in her eyes. She had a strong suspicion of who might have told Rogue something like that.

  "Maybe... Maybe we should not be so eager to judge Captain America and the Avengers," Beast finally spoke, his tone thoughtful. "Their contributions to our team are indeed essential. We must not disregard their help. We must cool down our emotions now, but take more consideration from their point of view."

  "Henry is right," Storm added. "We must consider carefully our emotions. It is essential to be open, but also, to be understanding. And I believe you should remember your ability to empathize."

  Rogue’s expression hardened, her eyes dark beneath the weight of her frustration. "Ah understand that, 'Ro. But Ah sure as hell don’t like bein’ lied to. Not again."

  For a brief moment, the room was silent.

  Xavier understood. Storm understood. But neither of them had lived Rogue’s life. Neither of them had been raised on false promises, manipulated into loyalty, only to have the truth pulled out from under them time and time again. But Logan understood, maybe he understood it all too well.

  Logan shifted beside her, exhaling a breath that was more of a growl. "Yeah, Stripes got a point. This sentinel crap is just ‘nother one of ‘em."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Storm met both their gazes, calm but unwavering. "We understand. But now we must recollect. Breathe. And slowly come to our senses."

  The room remained tense, but the storm—at least for now—had passed.

  Outside the X-Mansion, the Avengers gathered beneath the cold glow of security lights. The crisp night air did little to settle the lingering tension that clung to them like static, the aftermath of the War Room confrontation still fresh. For all their battles, for all the respect they had for the X-Men, there was a divide—a chasm of ideology, of experience, of fundamental mistrust—that had never fully closed. And tonight? Tonight, it felt wider than ever.

  One group was a family, the other was an institution.

  Falcon was the first to speak, his voice steady, his presence solid as ever. "We fully support you, Captain." His hand found Steve’s shoulder, a gesture of reassurance, of loyalty. "You made the right call."

  Steve barely reacted at first, his eyes trained somewhere in the distance, lost in thought. He wasn’t sure if Falcon’s words were true, wasn’t sure if anything about tonight had been the right call. Rogue’s reaction had struck a nerve—not because of the anger, not because of the defiance, but because he understood it.

  "I'm still unsure if this was the best decision," he admitted at last, his voice lower than usual.

  "Why? Because Rogue threw a temper tantrum?" Iron Man scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. His irritation was apparent, his frustration barely veiled beneath the casual condescension that came so easily to him.

  "Tony," Wasp warned, her voice carrying the weight of caution.

  But Tony Stark didn’t care to be careful. Not tonight. He rolled his shoulders, shaking his head. "No, no, Jan. Look, we're trying to help. Cap went out of his way to help them. He even got Carol to help, damn it. We know how much of an asshole she can be at times." His tone was dismissive, exasperated, as if he couldn’t fathom why they were the ones being treated as the villains in all this.

  Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a slow, controlled breath. "Enough, Tony. You already pissed off Logan and Rogue. That’s enough for one night, no?"

  Tony huffed, shaking his head. "Sorry, Steve. But, honestly? The X-Men are just a bunch of ingrates. We're really trying here, Cap. And all we get is hostility."

  Falcon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Tony’s right, Steve. We are doing our best here, and we burned bridges with Fury, for them."

  It wasn’t bitterness in Sam’s voice, but frustration—an honest frustration that, in some ways, was justified. They had risked a lot by backing the X-Men in this, had Fury cut ties with them, with an agency that, for better or worse, had been an asset in many of their fights. But what the Avengers saw as an act of faith, the X-Men saw as too little, too late.

  She-Hulk finally spoke up, her tone carrying the weight of experience and a legal mind that had spent years understanding injustice. "We need to have a little empathy for them," she said, glancing around at the group. "Mutants have been oppressed for years, decades, centuries."

  Tony groaned. "Okay, Jen, I understand the whole ‘help the underdog’ thing, but it just doesn’t work here. A lot of mutations would put some mutants above planetary level threats. You know that, right?"

  She-Hulk’s brow furrowed. "What?"

  Iron Man rolled his eyes, but his stance was firm. "I mean, let’s be real here. You’ve got Omega-level mutants who can rewrite reality, telepaths who can control minds, beings who could snuff out entire cities with a flick of their wrist. And yet, they still want to act like they’re the world’s most persecuted minority."

  She-Hulk’s eyes flashed, something sharp and dangerous simmering beneath the surface. "Because they are," she snapped. "It doesn’t matter how powerful some mutants are, Tony. The system hates them. Society fears them. They don’t get the same luxury you do. You can take off your suit. I can turn back to Jen. But most mutants? They can’t turn off what they are. The world doesn’t let them."

  Falcon nodded, exhaling through his nose. "She’s right, Tony."

  But Tony wasn’t ready to concede. He scoffed, crossing his arms. "I’m not saying they don’t get a raw deal. I get it. But you can’t have it both ways. You can’t be one the most powerful beings on Earth and still claim to be helpless victims. Pick one."

  Wasp sighed, her expression pinched with conflict. "Tony has a point," she admitted carefully. "People like Jean and Ororo are strong. I sympathize both with them and the people who fear them."

  Tony snapped his fingers, pointing at her. "Thank you, Jan. Exactly. It’s really hard to be an oppressed minority when you can bend metal, steal powers, control the elements, and shoot death rays from your fingertips, if you ask me."

  Falcon’s gaze darkened. "Tony, you are scared. Just admit it."

  Iron Man scoffed, but there was something defensive in the way he squared his shoulders. "Woah, Sam. I never said I was scared. More like… concerned."

  She-Hulk folded her arms, unimpressed. "Yet, the vast majority of mutants don’t have those kinds of powers, do they?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the conversation like a blade.

  Tony hesitated for a fraction of a second, but his ego wouldn’t let him admit it. "Well," he finally muttered, "that’s why we’re trying to help."

  Steve had been listening quietly up until now, letting the conversation unfold, but he finally stepped forward, his voice low, steady—measured.

  "We are asking them to believe in a government that has never trusted them," he said. "A government that created a program to put them in line. Lied to them. Controlled them. And now we expect them to fully trust a state that never trusted them? That still doesn’t?"

  The group fell silent.

  Steve’s expression darkened. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "Rogue and Logan might have been disrespectful, but they’re hardly unjustified."

  The words hung heavy in the air.

  For all their arguing, for all their posturing, none of them could deny that.

  The silence stretched, uncomfortable but necessary.

  And for the first time that night, Tony Stark didn’t have a quick retort. He thought carefully what to say, what to give up on saying and what to consider.

  "So what’s the end goal here, Cap? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like the X-Men aren’t interested in playing ball with the system. It seems like they’re willing to throw the whole thing out."

  Steve turned slightly, meeting Tony’s gaze with quiet steel. He knew this conversation was coming—it was inevitable after the argument inside. "It’s about changing the structure of government laws, like we discussed previously," he said, his voice steady but firm. "I want mutants to be seen like any other citizen of this nation."

  Tony scoffed, shaking his head. "Well, every other citizen of this nation is also monitored. You can thank the NSA for that."

  "I meant not being hunted just for existing," Steve corrected, his voice edged with something harder now.

  She-Hulk, standing beside them with her arms crossed, exhaled sharply. "This has happened in this country far too many times," she muttered. "People hunted, lynched, executed just for being themselves or doing things that ‘society’ of the time didn’t deem natural or pure."

  Sam nodded, his lips pressed into a firm line. "It’s true," he admitted. "This country has oppressed people before—many people. But now? Now it’s mutants."

  She-Hulk sighed, running a hand through her dark green hair. "America isn’t a perfect nation. Never has been, never will be."

  Steve's voice came in response, carrying a gentle pride, but elder wariness.

  "Perfect or not, it is our home. And the principles we stand for? They’re the principles that built this nation. Men might not be perfect, but the dream is. And I’ll stand for it. Mutant or human, we’re together in this."

  She-Hulk studied him for a moment, then nodded. "I can live with that."

  Falcon, who had been quiet up until now, crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah. And Cap is doing his hardest, aren’t you, Cap?"

  Steve exhaled, shaking his head. "Maybe not enough."

  "Steve," Wasp said, stepping closer, her voice gentle. "You—"

  But Sam cut her off. His expression was heavy, his voice lined with something more than just concern—it was responsibility. "It was me," Sam admitted. "I convinced Cap to do it. It shouldn’t be him taking the flak—it should be me."

  Steve turned toward him, his expression unwavering. "Sam, I took the decision out of my own volition," he said. "You helped me, but this isn’t on you."

  "It is, Cap." Sam’s shoulders tensed, his jaw clenching slightly. "They’re—"

  "No." Steve’s voice was firm, unwavering. "I shoulder the blame because I lead this team. If there’s a mistake, it’s my duty to fix it."

  For a moment, no one spoke.

  Then Tony exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Alright. There’s no mistake, Cap. We’ll just talk to the X-Men, clear the air."

  Wasp nodded. "Yes. The mutants are angry now, but hopefully, we can sort this out when we get back inside."

  "Wait," Tony said suddenly, glancing around the group. "Did the kid stay back?"

  There was a pause.

  Then Steve answered. "No. Alamo left before we did."

  Steve’s brow furrowed slightly. "Let’s find him. I want to hear what he thinks of this."

  Falcon frowned slightly. "You think he’s with us?"

  Cap raised a hand, signaling for silence. "I’ll talk to him."

  The group exchanged glances, but none of them objected.

  "Okay..." Tony muttered, though his expression was uncertain.

  Steve exhaled, turning away from the group, scanning the surrounding area. The night was quiet, the tension of the argument still lingering in the air. But there was something else, something Steve couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  The Alamo wasn’t just another fighter. He wasn’t just another voice in the room. He was something else entirely.

  Steve had seen it in him from the start.

  A man caught between principles.

  A young fiery soul who had trouble weighting his own independence, the X-Men and the Avengers.

  Not an X-Man.

  Not an Avenger.

  And right now? Steve needed to know where that fire would burn next.