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Charles took the gun from Erik’s hands before realizing what he was holding, before he could understand what Erik was giving him, because when Erik said “I want you to help me with my ability”, Charles had gone instantly, happily even; when Erik offered him the gun, Charles didn’t hesitate before taking it, his body and mind only reacting to the object once the warm metal - probably for having been hidden close to Erik’s skin for a while now - was in his hand, touching his skin, and his eyes were seeing it clearly.
For a moment, all Charles could do was stare at the gun in his hand in silence, body tensing up painfully immediately and his mind coming to a halt until it became louder than it ever was. Charles was used to other people’s minds against his own, was used to never having a moment of silence inside his own head, but the loudness inside his brain was his own, no other mind screaming like his at that moment as the memories flooded in and the fear settled.
His eyes didn’t leave the gun for a while, Erik’s voice calling his name; it sounded distant. Even so, Charles raised his eyes, his breathing more laboured now, lungs seeming to not keep the oxygen he was breathing - in, out, in, out, fill your lungs, Charles chanted to himself inside his head. He had no idea what Erik had said, had no control over his own thoughts to look through Erik’s mind to find out, and, besides, Erik had asked him not to look there after all, so he tried his luck and just nodded. Erik seemed to look at Charles closely for a moment more before he shrugged it off, seemingly satisfied with Charles’ nod.
“Try shooting me. I’ll stop the bullet.” he said simply, stepping closer, a smile appearing on his lips, full of barely concealed pride. “Less distance… For the challenge.”
Charles tried shrugging that emotional response off, he wished he could do just that, wished his own mind was something he could control, but it wasn’t that easy, not as he stood just outside the house where he grew up in, where he acquired that fear in the first place.
Even so, even as Charles felt like his limbs were made of stone and that there was no air left in the world for him to breathe, Charles focused on Erik. Because Erik had asked for his help, and it wasn’t his nature to decline that - especially not to Erik. There was such bright excitement flowing from his mind before when he asked Charles to follow him outside, so much eagerness to let Charles see what he could do that Charles felt it was only right to ignore the way his body hurt to let Erik have his moment.
With that in his mind, Charles raised the gun. It only seemed to make things worse. The Westchester mansion loomed by his side, the memories it withheld flooding Charles’ mind now as the barrel of the gun almost touched Erik’s forehead.
He remembered being nine years old when he first had a gun pointed at himself, when Kurt Marko had been drunk inside that same house they were in, and had lost his patience with both Charles and his own son, Cain. Charles didn’t like Cain, not when the older boy had hit him many times before and hurt him, but, that night, Charles was by Cain’s side as Kurt took out his gun and started screaming at both children.
Charles had felt the tip of the gun against his temple that night, pressed there with a bruising force as the cold metal made Charles go still, stuck to his place with his eyes staring at nowhere in particular as he felt like he would die there at the hands of his stepfather; he saw as Cain had an almost equal reaction as Kurt did the same with the other boy, Cain’s mind louder than it ever was as Charles picked up on the stray thoughts. That was not the last time it happened, and, everytime it did, Charles would freeze, would detach himself from his body against his own will as he waited for that nightmare to end.
Having the gun in his hand and not pointing at him was different, but he could feel himself starting to dissociate, to feel his body work automatically as he watched it all with a blurry vision, as if he was espectating himself.
He also was able to remember vividly another night, when he was only seven, a warm spring night in which he wasn’t able to sleep at the time he should’ve, and decided to leave his room to go after his father. He loved being with his father, loved talking to him for hours on end about anything and everything - sometimes, inspired by his father, Charles would talk to him about a discovery he had made, childish wonder filling his voice as his father listened with kind eyes and praised Charles for being so intelligent and curious about the world; sometimes, Charles just liked to talk to his father about a children’s book one of the maids had read him, and Brian Xavier always listened to it with the same enthusiasm.
He had found his father on his study as always, hunched over his research and focusing on the papers in front of him with so much concentration that he almost didn’t move. Charles had called out for him from the door, Brian’s eyes rising to look at his son. Later in his life, Charles would realize his father’s eyes didn’t look as warm as they always did when he looked at him at that moment, but, on that fateful night, Charles only smiled at his father and asked if he could stay a while.
“It’s late, Charlie,” Brian had said, and Charles was too little and too fond of his father to realize the way his voice was different, morbid even, as he sent Charles away. “You have to go back to bed.”
Charles had tried again, had offered to help Brian with his research - which usually consisted of Charles asking him about everything about genetics and Brian having to find a way to reply in a way that a seven year old would understand -, and Brian had smiled at the child from his desk. Only years later Charles would realize how sad that smile looked, how the lack of telepathy in that age stopped him from feeling the dark feelings swirling in Brian Xavier’s head. Sometimes, he was grateful his telepathy only manifested itself a year later, before he could catch his father’s toughths, but always wondered if he could’ve stopped what happened if he had it back then.
Even with Brian’s smile, Charles was still sent back to bed, a pout in his lips at his father’s rejection.
“Go back to your room, Charlie,” his father had said, his lower lip trembling for a moment as he averted his eyes for a fraction before they were on Charles’ again. When his voice sounded again, it was weak and, if Charles was older, he would’ve been able to know his next words were a lie. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Charles had gone to the kitchen first to get water, hanging around there for a few minutes on his own as he wondered if he would be able to sleep at all, but he never got back to his room that night. He was climbing the stairs to his room when a loud noise sounded around the house, his steps coming to a stop as he knew somehow it had come from his father’s study. He ran there, almost tripping a few times and wondering what his father had dropped there to make such a loud noise. When he opened the door to the study, Charles still remembered only being able to see the crimson blood staining his father’s research - he had always been so careful with those books and papers, reprimanding Charles if he made them dirty or crumpled, that his child mind was very confused as to why he had allowed them to get dirty like that - and his father’s blue eyes, much like Charles’, open in a dead gaze as a gun rested in his hand, his whole body slumped over his desk.
Charles didn’t know for how long he stared, or why he didn’t react as he saw the scene, only standing there and, for one confused moment, calling out to Brian in search of an answer, but he remembered one of the maids arriving after a while and screaming loud enough to make Charles wake up from his trance, a bad feeling taking over his body. One of the maids had picked him up and carried him away as fast as she could, Charles’ eyes noticing his mother running in her sleeping robes to the study to see what was the commotion about. Their eyes had met that night, and it was the last time he had seen his mother’s eyes look so lucid.
That had been the first time Charles had seen a gun so close, and the first time that a gun had taken something he loved from him - not only his father, but his mother as well when she pushed away from him and neglected him after his father’s passing. It had been the night that caused Charles to become still as a rock when Kurt Marko pressed a gun to his head, because all Charles could see when he saw the cold metal was death and loss, and it had been the first thing to settle in that trauma of his, the first of many occurrences that led Charles to have a panic attack at the sight of a gun so close to him.
But then again, it was Erik there. Erik, who had used that same gun before to take people’s lives, but that would never use it on Charles. Erik, who became his closest friend after Raven in so long. Erik, who was smiling like he was eager to show Charles just how in control of his mutation he was, who wanted to impress Charles - and wasn’t it lovely that he wanted that?
It was Erik, who held Charles close at night on their trip through the country to recruit the mutants who now lived in that mansion full of horrible memories, who kissed Charles hesitantly at night, as if he was scared to open up still, and who seemed to want to share that moment of glory - for him - with Charles. So Charles took a deep breath and fixed his grip on the gun. His hand shook as he did that, almost completely out of himself now as his mind tried to detach himself from his reality, from the fact that he was about to shoot at the man he loved.
If it went wrong, Charles would lose someone once again because of that stupid thing.
Before he could shoot, however, he felt Erik’s hand on his wrist and some of his focus came back, eyes staring at Erik in confusion as the other man frowned deeply.
“Charles, you’re pale.” Erik’s voice still seemed distant, but the firm touch on his wrist seemed to help, grounding him. “You know you can’t actually hurt me, don’t you? I can stop the bullet.”
Charles didn’t answer, he didn’t feel like he had the energy to answer that, and Erik’s frown seemed to deepen as Charles didn’t open his mouth. He took the gun away from Charles’ hand, a small relieved sound leaving Charles’ lips as he felt everything around him crumbling, his body heavier than ever, muscles tense under his skin, and his eyes filled with tears. His whole body was shaking now, relief and the remnants of the previous fear making his mind an utter mess.
Erik stood in front of him, eyes wide as he didn’t know what to do, hand still on Charles’ wrist as if he was afraid of letting go. Charles didn’t ask before moving closer and pressing himself against Erik’s body, desperate for contact, for something that could ground him again and stop the shaking. Erik seemed to hesitate for a moment, his surface thoughts a mess of emotions with confusion and worry as the loudest ones, but soon he was hugging Charles close, pulling him in a tight embrace that seemed to make it easier for Charles to breathe. He felt utterly ridiculous for breaking down like that, but he allowed himself to have that comfort for a while and chastise himself later.
“I suppose this crying isn’t because you were afraid I wasn’t going to catch the bullet?” Erik asked quietly, his hand moving up and down on Charles’ back in a soothing manner. Charles was only able to shake his head slightly against Erik’s shoulder. “Right… Do you- um… Do you want to talk?”
“No, it’s alright.” Charles forced out, tired, each word seeming to take more energy from him than it should. He wanted to lay down and fall asleep for a couple of hours after that, feeling the tears subsiding slowly. “I just- Hold me, will you?”
“I’m already doing that.” Erik jokingly said, squeezing Charles a little more as if trying to prove his point. If Charles had it in him, he’d smile. “But what’s wrong?”
Charles shook his head again, using the little strength he still had in his bones to press himself closer to Erik - he smelled of his cologne, sweat and clean clothes, a smell Charles had already filed in his mind as Erik’s, and it was comforting to his wild mind.
“Don’t worry about me.” Charles mumbled, hopefully loud enough for Erik to understand him. “Just… We can test your abilities another way. Give me a minute and we can try-”
“No.” Erik cut him immediately, making Charles stop talking. “I think we should go back inside. You seem tired out of your mind all of the sudden.”
“Don’t be silly.” Charles moved back then, forcing himself to stand upright, looking at Erik with his best I’m alright look. Erik didn’t seem very convinced. “You need help with your powers and I can help.”
“Not like this, you can’t.” as he saw the way Charles’ lips pressed into a thin line at those words, Erik quickly added, “I just think you should rest before we try something, Professor.”
Charles sighed, his body slowly less tense as the moments went by and the ache settling and worsening. He did need to rest, to get his energy back so he could keep going with his day, but he felt bad for it.
“I’m sorry.” he said quickly, making Erik frown again. “I promise I’ll make it up to you…”
Erik only stared at Charles for a few seconds, seemingly trying to understand his words until the understanding finally came. He sighed, looking around for a moment before stepping close to Charles again and pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and quick, before his hand met Charles’ face and his thumb brushed against Charles’ cheek.
“Let’s go inside, Charles. There’s nothing to apologize for, we can try testing my powers later...” he said, making Charles purse his lips once more. “I think I’d rather be in one of the many empty rooms here with you for a while.”
As Charles walked side by side with Erik through the house, guiding him somewhere where they could be completely alone, Charles tried not to look at the closed door of what was his father’s study when they walked past it.