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Peter is too late. Of course he is.
He arrives in time to see the first snow settling on a bunch of bodies.
“Fuck.”
There are so many bodies. Men. They are frozen to the ground. Open unseeing eyes.
“Shit.” Peter turns around, bends over, and dry heaves helplessly.
He is pretty sure this is going to haunt him forever. Burned into his mind.
Peter shivers in the cold. He should leave. He definitely should. Whatever happened here, it’s not his problem. It was stupid to come here. Was stupid to search for that guy he only knows from stories and the news.
He almost does leave. But he can’t.
Can’t just run away. Not again. He has some words to say.
He finds Erik in a cabin.
Erik’s alone, although the cabin looks like a family is living there.
There is a comfy couch, with a plush rabbit laying on it, but Erik’s sitting on the floor.
He’s sitting on the floor, staring at a gun in his hand.
When Peter approaches so much slower than he usually does, Erik doesn’t look up.
He does talk though.
“I kept the gun in the drawer. Just in case.” He says that matter of factly.
“What happened?” Peter asks. He is scared of the answer. All the words haunting his mind are forgotten, stuck somewhere in a corner.
“They are dead,” Erik says, still way too calm. “They are dead and it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. Again. They killed them because of what I am.”
Peter swallows. His wandering eyes discover a picture. A little girl, smiling. One hand on each of her shoulders. One belonged to Erik, the other to a dark-haired woman.
“Fuck,” Peter breathes.
Erik hums. “It’s the right thing to do,” he says and the click of the safety is so loud in the silent room, it makes Peter flinch. “It’s fitting.”
In front of Peter’s horrified eyes, Erik raises the gun and presses it to his temple. “Charles didn’t want to do this,” he says, still in this unnerving monotonous voice. “But I know I could stop the bullet. If I would want to.”
His finger twitches on the trigger, just one tiny bit.
Peter moves.
Peter has never run so fast in such a short amount of time. Has never crossed so much distance before.
Everything aches and after handing an unconscious Erik over to Hank, he almost collapses. Hands push him over to a bed and he all but falls on it, groaning.
The Professor is there, asking frantic questions, but Peter is still too dizzy.
He does understand it though, when the Professor asks, “can I see?”, and nods.
A hand on his forehead, a mental nudge, then Charles is inhaling sharply.
After a moment, the touch disappears. The blanket is pulled up to Peter’s chin.
“Rest now,” Charles says shakily. “And thank you.”
Then he’s gone and Peter falls into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Erik talks a lot when he sleeps.
Not everything is in English though.
He doesn’t talk at all when he is awake. Just sits in bed, staring out of the window.
It seems like he is trying to fade away like a leaf in autumn.
“Your toast is getting cold,” Peter says, looking at the untouched plate on the nightstand.
Erik doesn’t react.
“You need to eat something,” Peter says. “It will give you energy. You need the energy to get out of bed."
Erik doesn't react.
"It will make you feel better, I bet," Peter continues. "Food always makes me better. Well, not toast, to be honest. But there are a lot of things I love to eat. Hey, do you like twinkies? Cause I got a bunch in my room -"
“Please don’t do this,” Erik says very quietly and Peter is actually surprised he got a reaction. “Don’t act like you care.”
“But I do,” Peter says.
“Why should you,” Erik says, closing his eyes.
“Because I’m your son.” Oh. There. That’s it. He didn’t even plan to say the words now. But hey, it feels nice to have them out of his head. Might not be the best moment though, he thinks a second later, when Erik’s eyes snap open and he turns his head to stare at Peter. “What?”
“I’m your son. Remember when I told you that my mum knew a guy who could move metal? Well. Turns out that was you.”
Erik pales even more. He doesn’t say anything, so Peter just babbles on. “First, I wasn’t sure, you know. I mean, I wasn’t sure if I should try to find you. I mean … You were pretty scary on television and at that point, I was still thinking you killed the president. But then I decided I want to talk. Prepared some words. So I went searching. I was at the mansion, but you weren’t there. I continued searching, and eventually, I found you.”
Erik swallows. “I’m sorry.”
“What for? Leaving? Guess you didn’t know …” Peter shifts his weight and looks at his shoes.
“I’m sorry for everything. For you growing up without a father. For you seeing the things I did. Hearing the words I said. For … for finding me like this. You shouldn’t have gone through any of it. And I want you to know that everyone around me tends to get hurt. I couldn’t protect any of them," Erik tells him.
“You loved them, didn’t you?” Peter asks, remembering the picture and the plush rabbit with an ache of his chest.
“More than anything in this world," Erik breathes.
“Do you think you could love me too?” Peter bites his lip. Stupid, pathetic question ...
Erik looks at him, his eyes full of emotion. “I already do."
Peter nods. It's fine. It's fine how this does make him feel slightly fluttery. But combined with the sadness, it is a strange sensation. He doesn't know much about psychology and everything, but he does understand enough to know Erik is not in a good place. He's in a pretty dark place. So he decides that they need to take this slow. Slow is not his usual thing, but in this case, he can do it. He still has to process things himself. Has to ask himself questions about this. So slow it is. “Do you want to eat something with me? I’m making omelet. I’m no chef, but it’s edible I guess," he says.
Erik looks at him for a long moment, his eyes searching. Peter doesn’t know what he finds, but eventually, he says, “alright”, his voice hoarse.
He heaves himself out of bed and follows Peter out of the room.
The cold toast remains on the nightstand, forgotten.