Chapter Text
Charles couldn't escape it, the overwhelming sense of urgency that was instructing him to find the mutants, all of the mutants. The order came from a lovely, sweet voice sank deep into his bones and blotted out the tiny, insignificant part of him that told him he wasn't supposed to be doing this, that this was dangerous, to stop.
The glory of it, though, of those absolutely brilliant points of light glowed within Charles' mind—oh, how beautiful, how astounding. A hundred thousand people with almost as many different mutations. Stephanie Rogers, to whom the molten stone at the heart of the Earth responded with glee. Natasha Kohutiak, who could make any plant-life answer her command. Tony Downing, capable of calling down lightning from the sky and wielding electricity without harm. Their pulse was his own, beating in time with his own heart and he could feel their mind surging against his own.
He tightened down on them, focusing in on every single detectable mutant life, until he was breathing with them, living with them.
A surge of something terrible barreled through him, something dark and bitter that he'd felt once under a hot Cuban sun, and Charles stared blankly at all of the thriving minds, struggling to figure out what was going on.
Then the moment broke, shattered, and he was just sitting in Cerebro, confused with the little girl. “That's strange,“ he said mildly, even though his heart was starting to race. He didn't want to disturb the little girl, whose face was so young and voice so sweet. Facts struggled to rise to the surface of his mind, but he couldn't manage to grasp any of them for more than a second or two.
Something slipped into his mind, a voice more familiar to him than his own. Something about rules, Charles thought almost dreamily. That voice was absolute and Charles felt a brief urge to turn from Cerebro and greet the familiar face. The sensation of sand, a chess game, hot steel and strong hands flared briefly in Charles' mind, followed by a sense of hopelessness and despair.
“There's been a change of plans—find the humans.“
All thoughts of that other voice faded, and Charles cast his mind out once more, this time looking for an entirely different bright set of lights.
Before he could truly grab hold of those fascinating minds, however, there was a flash of diamond chill, the sensation of something shattering—and Charles opened his eyes.
“Erik?“
~*~
If there was one thing that could be said for Emma, it was that she didn't waste time. It was only a matter of hours for Erik to get his hands on the gold, but Emma hadn't even bothered to check that he'd given her the right one; of course, she could probably see it in his mind, but she made no effort to test his patience by verifying it was, in fact, the correct gold.
Instead, she directed him to leave the gold in her office while she made preparations for seeing to Charles. Those preparations, as Erik saw when he joined Emma in the room that had been set aside for Charles' use, consisted mostly of commanding Amelia and Alice to move the bed away from the corner it had been tucked into while she observed and making sure that the rest of them stayed as far away from her as possible. All the while, she peppered them with surprisingly intelligent questions on the state of Charles' wounds and the treatment that he'd received, trying to determine the probable state of his mind and body from that.
Erik leaned against the doorway, watching silently; none of this was news to him. Charles' back, though he would need extensive physical therapy and help before he regained his full strength, was almost entirely healed and capable of sustaining movement. How much, however, would remain to be seen—Ally hadn't been able to promise that healed meant functioning, something that still cut deep into Erik. Once he'd returned to the Hellfire Club, Charles' friends and family began crowding in around him, lingering in the doorway with him. Erik didn't know how they'd figured out what was going on, but he suspected that it was because Raven was clinically incapable of keeping her mouth shut.
"Sugar, bring that chair over here," Emma said absently, frowning down at Charles, and it was a good ten seconds before Erik realized she was referring to him. He brought it over, a hot reply on his lips, but Emma was wholly focused on Charles and didn't react to the way Erik slammed the chair down near her. She simply pulled the chair around Charles' bed and settled herself comfortably near his head. She gently bracketed Charles' skull with her hands, fingers on his temples.
Emma took in a deep breath. "Doctor Cooper, Doctor Wright, if you could please step away. The more distance I have between you and Xavier's, the easier it will be for me to touch his mind. You too, Erik." Obediently, everyone backed away, but no further than the entrance to the room. Emma appraised them for a moment, mouth curling wryly, but she didn't demand they leave entirely. Erik, for one, would have ignored the demand, and from Emma's look, she knew it.
"It's not going to look like much," Emma warned, but then she turned from them completely, ignoring them as though they weren't there. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, the tenseness in her shoulders and around her mouth seeping away as she focused herself. Her lashes fluttered a little and then slipped close.
Long moments passed, and Erik couldn't detect any changes in either Charles or Emma at first.
Then, all at once, the hair on the back of Erik's neck stood on end.
Their eyes were flickering beneath their lids at the same time, a rapid disturbed fluttering that didn't look normal. Now that he was focused on it, Erik could see them breathing at the same time as well, long and slow inhalations and exhalations that were completely in sync—and growing faster. Erik swallowed, skin prickling with sudden discomfort. He'd never seen Charles go so deeply inside any single person's mind that their unconscious responses were one and the same; he hadn't even realized that could happen, let alone what it meant now.
What is Emma doing? he wondered. His heart hammered a little as nausea struck. Charles...Emma, damn you, be careful.
One, then two, then five minutes passed, then another five, and Charles and Emma continued to physically react to whatever was going on in Charles' head. Erik gazed at them, hands clenching and unclenching in fists. Raven's hand was firm on his shoulder as she murmured in a deceptively light tone, "Erik, please get a hold of yourself." Following her gaze, he saw the way all the metal in the room was trembling. Taking a deep breath, he fought the urge to knock Emma away from Charles' prone form.
"This was a bad idea," Erik growled under his breath as another minute passed, "Fuck, this was a really bad idea." He started forward, fear surging, but before he could touch Emma, she inhaled sharply, breaking the bond between her and Charles, sagging in the chair and turning to diamond in the same moment. She stared at the ceiling as she struggled to breathe, her limbs quivering as though she'd just completed a marathon.
"Charles!" Raven cried, pushing past Erik and grabbing her brother's hand. "Charles, are you alright?"
"What happened?" Erik snarled, uncaring of how battered Emma looked as he stormed into the room. "What did you do to him?" She made a little noise of surprise, but her diamond form kept her well-protected from the grip that would have bruised anyone else. He shook her a little, and Emma's hand flew to her temple.
"Try that again, Lensherr, and I'm going to have my men drop you in the middle of the desert and laugh as you try to find civilization," Emma snapped in return, pushing away Erik's hand. She glared not at Erik, but at Charles. "What did you do to him?"
That made everyone stop and blink, turning to Erik and Emma in surprise. "What did I do to him?" Erik asked, confusion momentarily displacing the incandescent rage. "What do you mean, what did I do?"
Emma's eyes flashed, the pale blue glittering faintly. "Yes, Lensherr. What did you do to him?" For the first time, Erik realized she was calling him by his last name. It was unsettling, when she'd been so insistent on referring to him by his first. Erik wasn't sure what had caused the chance, but it made his skin crawl unpleasantly.
"I don't...I don't understand. What did you...what's happened to Charles?" Erik hadn't heard his voice sound that young in years, and crimson shame stained his cheeks while his throat tightened alarmingly. "Is he alright? What's in his head? Can't you...can't you help him?"
Emma stared at her. "Everyone leave," she demanded suddenly. "Now. Leave." When she saw them hesitating, she rose to her feet, looking otherworldly with her every facet refracting light. "Now!" she barked, and she looked ready to push everyone out if she had to. Still, everyone looked to Erik first; Erik was looking at Emma, however.
"Go," Erik agreed finally. His gaze shifted to his friends; Hank and Sean's transparently worried faces, and Alex's anxious scowl. Azazel didn't look like he was stressed, but his knuckles had turned faintly pink where he gripped the door, the pale spots of color practically glowing against his scarlet skin. Even Alice, Ed and Amelia were staring at Charles, conflicted. Raven was ashen beneath the scaly blue of her skin, golden eyes wide. Emma's accusation hung in the air, heavy and tangible and terrifying. If Erik was responsible for Charles' illness, if he was responsible for taking Charles away from the people who cared for him—Erik pressed a hand to his mouth to try and keep the frightened words locked behind his lips. "Please, go." The last thing he wanted was them to hear was what he'd done to lock Charles into this unconscious state.
Erik didn't look away from Charles as everyone slowly filtered out, casting frequent glances over their shoulders as if hoping Erik would change his mind. Raven was the last to go, and she refused to depart until she'd hugged him firmly, kissing his cheek. "You will figure this out," she whispered, searching his face. There was no accusation in his voice, only worry. "Promise me that you and Emma will fix this. Tell us the second there's anything we can do to help."
Erik nodded, mute, and Raven's face scrunched up as she attempted to keep the tears at bay, rushing out of the room. The others let her pass, and Erik couldn't read the complicated looks on their faces. Or perhaps that was just Erik's own guilt eating him from the inside out, burning through him like acid as he tried to figure out what was going on. Erik shut the door behind them firmly, before turning back to the telepath.
"Tell me what happened to Charles, Emma."
Emma gracefully seated herself once more at Charles' head. After a second's thought, she began quietly, "It should probably come as no surprise that the mind can be injured, just like your body can. Traumatic experiences leave their mark on more than just skin; the human consciousness tends to..." she gestured helplessly, trying to put into words that which couldn't be truly verbalized. She made a frustrated little noise. "It tends to leave dark emotions that sort of...stain the psyche, weaken the sprit. The worst injuries can end up affecting the subconscious, leaving injuries that affect everything from reactions to certain sounds to breathing." Emma pinned Erik with her gaze, still in her diamond form. "I've never seen a mind like Xavier's."
"Like...a telepath?" Erik tried, but it was a vain hope.
"Well, that might have had an effect," Emma admitted, "but I was talking about the injury itself." Again, language itself presented an absolute barrier to what she was attempting to describe. "I don't know how Xavier does it, but when I use my telepathy, it's like I can see everything a person is. I don't always understand it, but...it's like an instant knowledge." She could see that Erik didn't quite grasp what she was saying, so she tried again. "There are people in your life that you know well. Without them ever having to say anything, you can tell how they're feeling, what they've been doing, what they're about to say. That sort of practiced comprehension of how their minds work based on their unique experiences. It's not like that all the time; I have to actively go into their mind to get that. Usually it's just thoughts and impressions of the people around me."
She sighed, and shifted with a crystalline sound, the facets of her diamond form reflecting light from new angles. "When I went into Xavier's mind, I couldn't find him." Her voice didn't change in the least, but Erik's keen eyes picked up the way she shuddered just slightly; it didn't hurt that the shudder set off a soft chiming sound. "I thought for a moment that he was simply gone, had lost the ability to find his way back to his mind." That was a terrifying in and of itself—but one that Erik couldn't afford to address at the moment. She shuddered again, and her voice went distant; she stared over his shoulder as though he wasn't even in the room.
"Then I saw—I don't even know what it was. In the corner of his mind, there was this, well, barrier is probably the best word for it. It was meant to lock something away, I think. But what was coming from it..." Emma rested a hand lightly on her stomach. If she had been in her human form, Erik would have guessed she'd have vomited. "There was fear and guilt and shame and horror and so many other things from Xavier, all leaking out from behind the block he put up in his mind. I found something else, though, something strange. I felt Shaw."
Erik's heart stopped.
"I spent the better part of three years in and out of that man's mind whenever I could safely manage it. I know Shaw better than most, and I have never felt what I felt from him in anyone else." Accusation filled her voice. "Shaw got his hooks in Xavier, and the only reason I could see Xavier spending time in Shaw's mind would be for you." At Erik's open mouth, Emma turned away, continuing, "It's like the man burnt a psychic impression into Xavier's consciousness. I can sense the injury, but I can't pinpoint it. I think Xavier tried to seal the impression away before it could do too much damage behind the barrier he erected in his mind, until he could try and heal it himself, but I suspect he somehow got locked in with it when the additional trauma of the day occurred. I've honestly no idea what exactly Xavier was thinking, so that's only my best guess, but either way I can't get in. It's like it's a fortress. Every time I try to get close and open it, the entire thing turns into a seamless metal monstrosity that I can't get a grip on to pull away from the wound. When I get too close, or try to interfere too long, Charles' natural defenses start trying to forcibly remove me from his mind. If Charles is trapped back there, I think it's at least partially his own doing, and his subconscious understands that whatever happened to him is incredibly dangerous and he's trying to protect not only himself, but everyone else.
Erik barely heard her explanation over the roaring in his own ears. What was it that Raven had said, all those weeks ago? That she thought she heard Charles screaming inside of the downed plane? Erik's memories of the day returned in full Technicolor, and if he remembered correctly, that would have been about the time that Erik had been in the midst of finally achieving his revenge on Schmidt.
The coin.
Charles would have been intrinsically bound to Schmidt in that moment, holding him steady so that Erik could drill the coin through Schmidt's skull. Charles, whom Erik had cut off with Schmidt's helmet over his head; if Charles had been injured by his time in Schmidt's mind, Erik wouldn't have known despite all of Charles' efforts. Hadn't he seen the ragged look on Charles' face when he'd taken those steps out onto the beach as the humans turned their guns on the mutants? He'd thought it was stress at the time, stress or horror or fear or any one of the hundred emotions that Erik himself shared. He'd hoped that Charles would finally see what Erik had known to be inevitable, and Charles would stand by his side as Erik protected his people from the humans who wished to enslave and murder those under his protection.
Had Charles already been suffering the ill effects of Erik's attack on Schmidt even then? Had Charles faced down Erik with Schmidt's presence still in his mind? Had Charles' brilliant and sharp mind been devastated by Schmidt, the man's last act of terror and pain by a man on the verge of death?
Erik swayed on his feet, lightheaded. "Is that it?" he asked, and his voice was stripped of all hope, all kindness.
It was the voice of the living dead.
Emma looked up at him, distant and sorrowful. Erik didn't want to know what she was sensing from him beneath the frigid, blank exterior, but Emma's terrible expression already revealed too much. "I'm sorry, Erik," she murmured softly. "But...I don't think there's anything we can do. Xavier might recover on his own, one day, but..." she shook her head.
"But...but..." Erik protested, feeling foolish. This couldn't possibly be the end; after everything that they'd endured, after everything they'd faced, after everything, Erik refused to let Charles go. Not this time.
Never again.
Resolve flowed through his veins, the absolute conviction that this was not all that Erik could do. "That fortress in Charles' mind, the one that wouldn't let you in. It's made of metal, you said?"
Emma frowned. "Well, in as much as anything that is created in the mind can be any actual substance. That's what it looked like, though, and in the mind, visualization and will are key. Why?"
There was an idea threatening to rise to the surface of Erik's mind. He closed his eyes, trying to form it fully. "Could I move it?" Erik found himself inquiring, sounding far less strange than he thought he had any right to. "Even though it's in Charles' mind, it's metal. Or he thinks it's metal, at any rate. And I can move metal, and Charles knows what I can do. So, could I move it?" "I..." Emma looked flummoxed, the first time Erik had seen anything like it on her face. "I have no idea. Xavier is a telepath, so he would probably respond to your presence in his mind the same way he responded to mine. Since your mutation is to move metals, you're right. It's conceivable that Xavier's mind would accept that you would have the right to at least try and manipulate the metal of his fortress. You have a better chance than anyone else," Emma admitted, "You're a familiar mind, but you're also the only one who might have a chance to get beyond whatever it is that Xavier erected to protect himself."
"Can you do it?" Erik demanded with a fragile and dangerous hope, "Can you take me into Charles' mind?"
A spark of challenge lit itself in Emma's eye, bringing warmth to them. "I can certainly try."
They snapped into motion, rummaging up a second chair for Erik and setting it near Charles' head. Emma straightened her own chair, the diamond shimmer disappearing and leaving the very human Emma Frost in its place. She reached out with one hand, resting her fingertips lightly against Erik's temple and Charles'. "I don't know how long I'll be able to hold this. I pushed myself to the limits last time and I don't think I can do that again. Work fast," she commanded. Erik nodded, careful not to dislodge Emma's soft and warm fingers.
Then Erik was standing in darkness.
Emma stood next to him, appearing in the familiar pristine white clothing that she always wore, but something about her shimmered at the edges, as though she were constantly on the verge of transforming. "Emma?" Erik inquired, looking around him for some sort of detail, some sort of clue as to what was going on. Instead, they were standing in a featureless expanse, lit by a directionless light and no defining features to be found.
"I can't go any closer without Xavier's mind attempting to kick me out. From now on, you're on your own," Emma said, then turned to stand vigil.
Erik inhaled sharply, staring at her back for a few long moments. Nothing changed, however, not even a gust of wind to disrupt the dead silence and darkness. Mustering his control, he began walking in the opposite direction. Almost immediately, a wall began looming, moving closer far faster than it should have; it completely towered over him within seconds, or at least it felt like seconds. It dominated the landscape, looming over Erik. His heart hammering in his chest, Erik reached out a hand, brushing his fingers along the seamless metal. It was cool to the touch, and was constructed by nothing that Erik could see. He peered at it, trying to figure out what it could possibly be. Titanium, perhaps, or reinforced steel? Something familiar, at any rate.
Something flickered on the edges of Erik's vision, and he froze. Turning his head, he watched as something that somehow managed to appear even more shadowed despite the overwhelming blackness writhed in the shadows. Something acrid reached Erik's nose, and his hair stood on end. Licking his lips, he placed both palms flat against the surface, trying frantically not to dwell on the part of his mind that was asking, in an increasingly panicked voice, what the fuck that was. His breath came quick and fast as something like pure terror surged in Erik's veins when the shadows started hissing.
Erik had to move this wall, and do it now.
Rage and serenity.
Erik reached out with his powers, trying to find the width and girth and breadth of the fortress keeping him from Charles. It seemed to simultaneously go on forever and to be as thin and delicate as a hair, fighting his grip. He fought back, struggling to take control, trying to keep his fear at bay all the while. "No, come on, Charles," Erik gasped, sweat starting to gather at his temples and the small of his back. His muscles strained against the immense weight of the wall, which grew heavier with every passing breath regardless of how large or small it was. "Charles," Erik muttered warningly.
Rage and serenity—the notion that Schmidt had ever dared to touch Charles' mind, to leave his mark on the fragile hope and joy that made Charles so alive; the notion that Charles could come back to him in one piece yet, could join and stand with Erik and live. Rage and serenity—Erik could do this, this was no more difficult than the submarine or the satellite.
The hissing shadows crept closer, and now there was the unmistakable sense of Schmidt's mind that accompanied them. Schmidt's laughter rang out, low and cruel, and horror and shame not Erik's own swamped him and left him gasping for breath as fear-sweat ran into his eyes. He returned his attention to the wall, but couldn't keep from looking over his shoulder time and again, trying to open up the wall with all of his strength. Still, the wall resisted and Erik cried out as his muscles protested the abuse.
It wouldn't budge. The shadows pressed in closer, but the wall wasn't budging. There was no way out, either, no way to make it back to Emma without immersing himself in shadow. The barrier was his only option, and he couldn't even get it to flex despite all the power he was pouring into his attempt. Panic made his body shake. "Please, Charles, please, please," Erik muttered fervently under his breath. "Fuck it all, Charles, I don't care, just let me in, please, please. Charles." He kept trying to drag the wall away, to at least make a hole large enough for Erik to get in.
Nothing worked.
Erik slammed a fist against the wall, again and again. "Fuck you!" he screamed at the wall, absolute despair taking control of his mouth. "Dammit Charles, how could you! You can't just leave me here, you can't! I came for you, Charles, we need you, I need you!"
Something ghosted across his shoulder, and Erik whirled, the rant that was building breaking off into a strangled yell. The darkness was encroaching, trying to grab Erik and make it his own. Erik tried to back up, scrabbling against the wall.
"Charles," Erik breathed as the terrible emotions and Schmidt's horrifying psyche grasped for him with greedy fingers. He couldn't seem to fill his lungs properly, and he was sure that his heart had never hammered this quickly. "Charles, I'm not going to leave. Please, Charles. Let me help, let me—" the shadows left lines of cold where they touched him and his next words came out in a squeak, "—no, Charles, come on, please, please, please—"
They were all around him now, and Erik was drowning in the shadows and cold fire and Charles' shame and guilt and Schmidt's malicious glee, so he threw his mind wide open to give Charles everything, absolutely everything. Charles' patient smile as he coached one of his students, the way his full-bodied laugh would light up his face from the inside out, the way Charles cared. Erik gave him late night chess matches and the way it was more than just the alcohol that warmed his belly and then gave him the unparalleled joy that Charles had given back to Erik when the telepath had revealed Erik wasn't alone. Erik wasn't alone—he was never alone, had friends and family where he'd once had hatred and revenge.
Charles, Erik pleaded, and there was nothing but blackness.
Then Erik blinked, and he was staring at the ceiling of Cerebro.
Except it wasn't actually Cerebro, it was some dilapidated and strange version of it, one that looked minutes away from collapse. Groaning, Erik put a hand to his head, wondering what the hell had just happened. He rose to his feet awkwardly, staggering and rubbing at his face.
"Erik?"
Erik squinted for a moment, trying to clear his vision. Cerebro had been destroyed, though, hadn't it? When Schmidt's mutants had come calling. Then Erik recalled he'd been spoken to and turned towards the voice.
It was...Erik actually had no idea who it was for a long moment. Sitting straight-backed in a wheelchair, behind some sort of metal contraption sitting on what looked like a table, an elderly gentleman gazed at Erik. Bald, strong-featured, broad hands clenched onto the armrests of his wheelchair, the man stared at Erik with nothing short of awe, bemusement and an old pain that Erik didn't know how to parse. "Erik?" the man repeated, the word trembling in the air.
It was the blue eyes that finally did it, and the minute Erik pieced it together he didn't know how he could have thought the man was anyone else. Gleaming with a stern good humor, Erik knew this man.
Sometimes, it felt like he'd always known this man.
"Charles."
It broke the tense silence that had hovered in the air between them, and Charles rolled forward around the metal table towards Erik. The metallokinetic couldn't help reflexively reaching out for the wheelchair, as though feeling the cool metal with his powers would let him understand what had come to past in this land of nightmares to place Charles within it. "I don't understand. Erik, you look like you're thirty again. Younger, even." He reached out, marveling, only to stop with his hands a heartbeat away from Erik's skin. "I don't understand, what's going on? How did this happen? Where are we? I don't—I don't understand," Charles stammered.
Erik came to kneel at Charles' feet, trying to figure out the answer to those questions himself. Catching Charles' hand unexpectedly, he pressed Charles' worn palm against his cheek. It was callused and rough and so very warm against Erik's skin. Seeing Charles again, talking and moving and alive in a way Erik hadn't seen for months had his breath catching in his chest, even if Charles looked closer to sixty than to twenty and was trapped in this chair—it didn't matter, not truly. None of this was real, Erik reminded himself, trying to keep his breathing even. It was made easier by Charles' hand against his cheek. "Charles," he rasped, and he could find nothing else to say for long moments, simply basking in the sensation of Charles' skin against his own.
"Erik, how are you here? I thought—the last I saw you, I—" he cut himself off suddenly, shaking his head mutely. "I don't understand," he repeated, this time a little more helplessly.
Erik took in a deep breath. "Charles, wherever we are, whatever you think it's going on, it's an illusion. Do you remember Cuba?" At Charles' wide-eyed nod, which illuminated some of the laugh lines on his face, Erik continued, "After you got shot, on the beach, you...you were unconscious and injured, and we had to get you off the beach, so I got Schmidt's mutants—Azazel in particular—to help me. Do you remember that?"
Charles shook his head. "How are you this young?" he inquired, and beneath the polite façade, there was a steel blade. "Erik, you're not making any sense. You were—I saw you in jail! I put you there myself! And then Stryker got his hands on you—"
Erik frowned in confusion, "That CIA agent? Well, I mean, he did but—"
"Not the CIA agent, his son, William, he wanted to 'solve' the mutant problem and he wanted me to cure his son, Jason—"
"No, Charles, you're not listening to me, please, none of this happened—"
"What do you mean, none of this happened? Tell that to Anna-Marie, one of the mutants you claim to protect, Erik, say that to her face—"
"I don't even know who Anna-Marie is, what the hell are you talking about—"
"I'm not going to do this with you, Erik—"
"Stop!" Erik shouted, "Just stop, Charles, you have to listen to me. Please. Listen to me," Erik clenched Charles' free hand between his own, his other hand still against Erik's cheek. "Charles, I didn't...how could you think I would do any of that? I have no idea who Anna-Marie is, Charles, I swear. I don't even know what her mutation is." Erik took a deep breath. "You've been in a coma for about three and a half months. You've been unconscious, Charles, and we couldn't wake you up, we couldn't figure out what went wrong. Stop this, Charles, and wake up! You have your entire life waiting for you; Raven and Sean and Alex and Hank and even some new mutants—Azazel has joined us, and Alice and Amelia and Edmund, and we need your help. We need you. Please, wake up, Charles, and come back to us." Erik entwined their fingers, sweetly earnest. "Join me, Charles, please."
Something in Charles' eyes shattered, and he yanked his hand away, backing up as he shook his head, blue eyes overfull. "This is cruel, even for you, Stryker! You couldn't possibly think that I would believe this!" Charles called into the open air. His voice was raw and ragged. "This is not Erik, and you know it!" When he got no answer, Charles wheeling himself around and staring at the ceiling as though he could pinpoint the location of whoever was pulling the strings. "Jason, I can help you! I want to help you, to show you there's more than this! You don't have to listen to your father, Jason!" A sob caught in Charles' throat.
Erik covered his mouth with his hand, devastated. "No, Charles! It's me, it's really me!" Carefully, as though he was approaching a wounded, snarling animal, Erik rose to his feet and made his way carefully towards Charles. "Please." His hands he left at his sides, unwilling to accidentally threaten Charles into doing something foolish.
Charles closed his eyes, a tear trailing down the old, careworn cheek. "I know you think that, my friend."
Frustration, coupled with disappointment and fear, made Erik stalk forward. "I am Erik Lensherr! I don't just think it! I am me!"
Charles turned his face away. "Jason!" he shouted. "Dammit, Stryker, stop this now! What do you want?" his voice cracked and broke and left bleeding furrows in Erik's skin. "Don't...don't do this to me, I beg of you." The misery in the words stopped Erik cold. Proud, stubborn Charles would never plead, never bend to a man who had to all appearances trapped Charles in a nightmare. "Stop, please," Charles whispered, bowing his head.
That made something in Erik's own chest break wide open. Without conscious thought, Erik grabbed a hold of the metal of the imitation Cerebro around him, and used it to trap Charles' plastic wheels in place. Erik saw all too clearly the flare of absolute terror that appeared in Charles' eyes at the movement and swallowed heavily. "I'm not going to hurt you, Charles."
Charles, in turn, licked his dry lips. "I wish I could believe that, Erik," he responded, sounding calm, but his hands were white knuckled. Despite that, when Erik smoothed a hand over his smooth brow, Charles leaned into Erik's palm. Eyes closed, Charles prayed, "Stryker, stop this. I'll do anything."
Erik's heart broke.
"Charles, look at me." The telepath obeyed Erik's command, lifting his brilliant blue eyes to meet Erik's own. "How can I convince you what I'm saying is true?"
"I—I don't—"
Erik regarded him with sad amusement. "Let yourself believe," he breathed against Charles' temple, pressing in close. This man even smelled like Charles, soap and citrusy cologne and wool. "Aren't you the one who's always saying that we should trust those around us? Trust me, Charles, like you once did. There's something better waiting for you. Just trust me, and wake up."
"You're telling me everything I've wanted to hear from your lips for forty years," Charles whispered back against Erik's skin, intimate and familiar. "We have been enemies since you left that day on the beach, and sometimes it feels like I have nothing left in me but regrets over how things have turned out. I hope every day that you will come to see the error of your ways and we can find the true balance—"
"Between rage and serenity," Erik finished for him, or perhaps with him. He'd missed this, Charles' steady English tone, equal parts arrogant and kind and a balm against Erik's soul.
"But I fear it's not to be," Charles continued over him, and there was a hard, final note in his voice now. He gently but firmly pushed Erik away. "There are people who rely on me, Erik. I cannot join you."
"No."
It took a moment for Erik to realize it was he who had spoken, he who had rejected the notion that Charles would refuse to trust Erik. After everything, after facing that which seemed to be hopeless time and again, Erik wasn't about to give in now. "No," he repeated more strongly. "I don't believe that. I'm not going to leave you here, in this nightmare where we're enemies!" His passion took Charles aback, and the elderly gentleman who both was Charles and wasn't, who had been worn thin as paper by a hundred thousand different nightmares.
"Please, Charles," Erik breathed one more time, and kissed him.
It was a pair of chapped, warm lips against his own for an eternal heartbeat.
"Oh," Charles gasped, and it was a joy absolute.
~*~
Erik blinked, and he was back in that shadowy darkness he'd started in. Emma Frost, diamond curves picking up light even here, stood with her arms crossed. "It's about time, sugar," she drawled. Her attempt at unconcern was foiled by the stark relief on her features.
"I'm sorry about all this," Charles said in response, and he was Erik's Charles once more, standing tall in a dowdy cardigan and trousers, hands shoved into his pockets. Even the timbre of his voice was the familiar one that haunted Erik's dreams, light and friendly, instead of the deeper and sterner voice of the almost-Charles, who had shared his eyes and features but was almost wholly unrecognizable in every other way that mattered. "Thank you for bringing Erik to me, Miss Frost," he murmured politely, "but I think that you both ought to leave. It's about time my mind became my own again."
Emma smiled, and it was only a little mocking. "I was just thinking the same thing. It would be rude to overstay our welcome." She beckoned, but Erik didn't budge.
"Charles," he began, fear seizing him. What if this was just another trick and Charles would remain in the shadows forever more? What if this was just another nightmare, or a dream of a dream, and when Erik woke up it would just be another cold night spend vigilant over Charles' bedside.
Charles—his Charles, who moved the way Erik remembered and whose smile was as clear and lively as ever—came over to him. "Come now," the telepath chided, eyes glittering with his typical good humor. "What was it you told me in that world of my mind's own making? To trust you? It seems like the least you can do is return the favor."
Erik wanted to protest, but Charles' eyes were serious. "Trust me," Charles repeated.
Shakily, feeling hot all over, Erik nodded. "Close your eyes," Charles instructed.
Now open them.
Charles smiled sleepily up at him from the bed, color already returning to his cheeks. Erik's entire world faded except for that soft expression on Charles' face. Mute, Erik clung to his friend's hand, pressing it wordlessly to his forehead in benediction, thanking the Lord that Charles had been returned to him. Charles' hand, though weak, squeezed Erik's fingers gently. Erik shut his eyes, attempting to keep the tears at bay and largely failing.
Erik. Charles' mental voice was exhausted but didn't fail to give him the usual sensation of warmth flooding his veins. You look weary.
Erik choked at that, hysterical laughter bubbling in his chest. It's been a long few months, Charles.
Charles made a tuneless humming noise. Rest, Erik. You needn't keep your vigil any longer. You brought me back. Don't be afraid—I will be here when you awaken. I promise.
Erik wanted very much to be afraid that this was all just a waking dream, but not even the most glorious of his daydreams could match the patient, if drained, voice in his mind. Charles' eyes were barely more than slits, glimmered blue in the bright room. All the tension and anxiety and pain of the long weeks disappeared all at once, leaving Erik blinking slowly and swaying in place.
"It seems I must do everything," a strident, feminine voice said, but Erik was too exhausted to figure out who was speaking. A pillow was shoved beneath Erik's head, and he collapsed forward, Charles' hand still held tight in his own. Charles managed a brief grin for Erik, and then Erik's eyes slipped close despite himself. The voice muttered a few more times, bustling around the room, but as the end effect seemed to be primarily that darkness overtook the room and blankets were tucked in around Erik and Charles alike, Erik didn't mind.
Sleep, Erik. Charles' voice was drowsy as well, and a pleasant sort of tiredness sank deep into Erik's bones.
They slept, and did not dream.
