Recruitment
Summary: Scott Summers, one winter day in Manhattan, stumbles upon a kid in a deli in need of a hand. Rating: K+ Characters: John Pyro Allerdyce and Scott Cyclops Summers Notes: Me and @willsomeoneholdmyhand were talking John and Scott headcanons before and this was formed!
It was a chilling December afternoon when Scott Summers stepped into a lower Manhattan deli. When he stepped in with snow covered shoulders and white tipped hair it wasn’t to buy anything, it had been to get out of the freezing cold.
When he walked into the family owned store, a bell above his head chiming loudly, the mutant noticed the lighting wasn’t great, it was dim and made the white walls look grey and scuffed up cream colored tiles look dirtier than they were. The store was small, barely any walking room between the few back isles, but it was warm. He didn’t want to get kicked out immediately so he strolled to the back of the store and started to slowly look at the cheap snacks they stocked.
He’d just gotten to the end of the first aisle when the bell above the door rang. Scott looked up, not meaning too, when instead of seeing person under layer and layers of jackets he saw a boy-no older than thirteen-shuffle in quietly. The kid wasn’t wearing a coat, instead he wore a flimsy zip up sweatshirt, his dirty sneakers were worn out and blonde hairs stuck out from the bottom of his fraying wool cap.
Scott frowned as he looked at this kid who, with shoulders hunched together, tried to make himself seem smaller than he really was.
“Bacon and Egg,” the kid’s voice cracked as he spoke to the fat man behind the scratched counter; making Scott’s frown turn into a heartbreaking smile. He remembered his voice doing the same.
“Anything else?” The olive skinned man asked the boy.
“A coffee and a lighter.” Scott felt both his brows raise while the clerk scoffed at the boy’s request.
“A lighter?”
“Yeah, you know, to keep warm,” The kid hissed hostile as he took his hand out his pocket and slammed it down on the counter, leaving a small pile of pennies, nickels and dimes in his wake as the gaunt looking parentage pulled back.
The clerk glared at the boy, looking down past his nose at the smaller, frail looking male as the kid made his way to the steaming hot coffee machine. There he poured himself a large, the only kind of cup they had, cup of pitch black coffee-no sweeteners in it, before turning back to the first counter where the clerk looked almost smug.
“You’re a dollar short.” Scott saw the boy pale considerably. He glared at the man, but stayed glued to his spot at the corner of the first aisle doing nothing.
“What? No, I have six dollars righter there, that’s more than enough!” The boy cried.
“It’s $3.50 for the food and the same for the coffee.”
“Than I’ll put the coffee back,” the child argued as Scott pulled out his wallet.
“Still have to pay for it than,” the clerk said in a matter-of fact tone. The boy’s shoulders slumped forward while his jaw clenched itself tightly.
“Fi-”
“Here,” Scott said, moving from his spot in the back of the store to the vacant spot next to the kid.
“What?” The boy, with blond strands in front of his face, looked lost.
Scott turned to the clerk and handed him a ten-the kid could keep his money.
The clerk hesitates a moment, he looked between the boy and Scott, who to this boy was a stranger.
“You wanted ketchup or anything?” He asked the boy.
“Ketchup and pepper.” The clerk nods before moving from behind the counter to go to the far back of the store where the kitchen was.
The boy turned to Scott.
“I’m not sleeping with you, I don’t sleep with dudes for money so sorry to say you just wasted seven bucks,” the kid snarked.
Scott pursed his lips together and frowned,
“Where are your parents?” He asked, already knowing the answer, the only kids in the world, that he knew of, who were both that young and all alone were almost always outed mutants that came from conservative homes.
The boy glared,
“None of your business.”
“Come on kid, I just bought you food,” Scott said, “Meaning you answer my question or I take it and leave.” It was a dick thing to do, threaten an obviously homeless child with taking away their food. Scott felt like a monster when he saw the boys brown eyes widened ever so slightly.
“Same place I left ‘em, upper east side,” the boy spat, glaring at his shoes.
“Why’d you run?”
“You said question,” the boy responded, guarded, “I don’t have to answer no more.”
Scott sighed, his sheltered eyes flickered to the open door way where the rude clerk disappeared behind.
“You know I know a bunch of runaway kids-I work at a school upstate for special kids and a lot of them came from the street.”
“And, what’s that to me?”
“All of them are mutants.” The kid looked at Scott, analyzing him for a moment. The boy slipped off his cap, a mop of blonde, greasy hair fell onto his face.
“What’s the name of this school?”
“Xavier’s,” Scott said.
“Are you? A mutant I mean?” The boy asked. Scott nodded, tapping his red glasses.
“I shoot lasers out my eyes.”
“I can control fire,” the boy said quietly, “Can’t make it.”
“The school will still have a place for you,” Scott told him seriously.
“How does a school run-” the clerk came back, the kid took the food and stuffed it in his pocket before walking to the door with Scott on his tail. The cold blast of winter air knocked both the boy and Scott back for a moment; but only for a moment. They stood under the stores canopy that read: BRIAN’S DELI
The kid turned to Scott, “-With poor runaway freaks in it? Obviously it’s not city, I got kicked outta mine because of an accident, so how you guys do it?”
“The headmaster, Professor X,” Scott tells him, smiling slightly, “His loaded. Meaning there’s always heat, food and fresh clothing for the students.”
“You know,” the boy said after a moment, with a mouth full of food, “I never got your name.”
“Scott, Scott Summers,” he held a hand out. The boy looked at him for a moment, silently, before taking it,
“John Allerdyce.”
