Work Text:
“Hey Mags, what’re you doing up?”
Erik raised a brow as he rounded the back of the couch, observing the silver-haired speedster who was lounging back with his eyes glued to that obnoxiously loud game device in his hands. “I could ask the same of you,” the man replied, lifting his hand and dragging the device out of Peter’s grip with ease.
“Hey! Not cool,” Peter protested half-heartedly, though he made no move to snatch it back.
For a moment Erik simply observed the device the speedster admired so much, turning it over in his magnetic grip and noticing the buttons that had become worn down from overuse. Eric didn’t have much experience with video games. He preferred things like chess- methodical and strategic. Something that actually drew him out of the rabbit hole that was his mind, instead of the quick reactions and rush of adrenaline that this new era of games demanded. No, Erik had experienced enough of that on the battlefield as it was.
But he supposed for someone as fast both physically and mentally as his son, it was a fitting pass time.
“You’re supposed to be in the medical wing,” Erik stated matter of factly as he moved to sit beside his son on the couch.
“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to be asleep,” Peter shrugged, as if that were somehow a valid defence.
“Perhaps,” Erik mused, before the ghost of a smirk passed his features as he added, “But you see, I have this thing called an ‘injured child’ in my care-“
-A burst of laughter exploded out of the boy beside him-
“-and no matter what I do, said child insists on endangering himself despite how many times he is instructed to simply rest,” Erik continued with a strange mix of exasperation and fondness. Something he had only ever felt in the presence of his chaotic son.
“Please pops, give me a little bit of credit. I’m 27!” Peter huffed in faux offence. “I may be injured, but I ain’t no child.”
You shall always be my child, Erik thought warmly, before nudging Peter’s knee with his own and saying “Nevertheless, you should be resting. In the medical wing too preferably.”
Rolling his head back with a groan, Peter complained, “But it’s so boring down there man. There’s absolutely nothing to do, and time just drags on forever and ever- and trust me, for a guy who already feels time drag as it is I can tell you it’s a nightmare-“
Erik just made himself comfortable as he listened to his son ramble on about the severe boredom he had been forced to endure over the past few days. It was tempting to remind the speedster that his foot was only in a cast because he had ignored Hank’s earlier advice to rest his sprained ankle and gotten himself more injured in the process, but Erik knew the words would fall on deaf ears. Peter could be as stubborn as a mule when he wanted to. A trait Erik had not so proudly passed on, it seemed.
But deep down -underneath the menial complaints and over-confident façade- Erik could see Peter’s true struggle, which was his inability to run.
Speed was not just a power or a trick to Peter, it was his entire life. It defined him- gave him purpose. It was his weapon and his shield, leaving him practically invulnerable to anything that dared to threaten him or those he loved. Without his swiftness, he was defenceless. And Erik knew how awful that could feel- remembering those ten long years trapped at the bottom of the Pentagon, or the years he had spent trying to hide and restrain his gifts long after that. So detached from his true identity… from the power that could have saved his loved ones had he just been fast enough-
Erik quickly shook the thoughts away, turning his attention from the family he’d lost and back onto the family he still had. One look at those warm, dark eyes and that bright, mischievous smile again immediately reminded Erik of how lucky he was to have Peter in his life. Two survivors of a family that had only known hardship and pain and grief- but somehow through it all, they found each other. It didn’t right the wrongs of the past or return all that was stolen from them, but it was enough.
They were enough…
And when Peter’s ramblings were eventually slowed by the occasional yawn or scrub of his eyes, Erik took it as his sign to intervene. “If you insist on evading your bed downstairs, then will you at least attempt to sleep here?”
“What? Dude, no- I’m not even tired,” Peter bemoaned tiredly. “But hey, if you need to get some shut eye old man I completely understand, what with those aching bones and all-“
“Pietro.”
With the call of his birth name and the stern furrow of his father’s brow, Peter’s smirk quickly dropped with a displeased huff. A sign of defeat, if you would. One that Erik couldn’t help but celebrate with a coy smile of his own.
But always the one to have the last word, Peter rolled his eyes and threw a pillow at his father’s chest, saying dryly “If you’re gonna force me to sleep, at least be a decent pillow, yeah?”
Erik didn’t offer a reply, just raised his brow inquisitively and watched the boy lie down along the couch with his clunky cast stretched out and his head resting easily on his father’s cushioned leg. Neither of them said a word. Neither of them wanted to either; content to sit in the silence of familiarity. It didn’t take long for Peter to get himself comfortable, but sleep was clearly still out of reach judging by the little tremors and twitches that passed along the speedster’s hands and fingers. The residual instinct to move -be quick, be vigilant- now keeping him awake.
Noticing his struggle, Erik felt an old instinct of his own spark to life as he gently pulled a blanket off the arm rest and laid it over his restless son. It stilled the shuddering for a short while, but despite Peter’s clear attempts to subdue it, that pent up energy returned before long. So, with a careful turn of his wrist, Erik switched on the power to the record player sitting in the corner of the living room and lowered the needle down onto whatever vinyl Charles had last left on the turntable.
Gentle, soothing melodies echoed faintly into the air, and Erik felt his worries ease as Peter’s shifting and twitching soon settled against his side.
‘Although some people say he's just a crazy guy,
To me he means a million other things.
For he's the one who taught this happy heart of mine to fly.
He wears a pair of silver wings.’
Glancing down at his son through the dim glow of the hallway light, Erik felt his heart bloom with fondness at the sight of Peter’s peaceful expression and his wild nest of silver strands. All mutations both great and small were a wonder in Erik’s eye, but his son’s hair was undoubtedly his favourite. As bright as Peter’s spirit; as soft as his generous heart. It suited him to perfection, despite the doubts and concerns that plagued the young mutant so.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, Erik ghosted his fingertips over the waves of his son’s hair, admiring their silky touch. It wasn’t often that Peter let him or anyone else touch it -at least not after the whole ordeal with Apocalypse the year before- but it was a scar they were slowly working to heal. The fact that Peter hadn’t smacked his hand away by now meant he was neither nervous nor uncomfortable by the gesture, and Erik took it as permission to gently comb his fingers through those heavenly silver waves, soothing them both more than they could ever know.
‘But when I'm left alone and we are far apart,
I sometimes wonder what tomorrow brings.’
Closing his eyes for a heartbeat, Erik soaked in the warmth that had coiled around his bones in a soothing embrace. Promising a host of things he had only ever caught glimpses of in his dark past; safety and belonging, and serenity and love. Things he never thought he deserved…
Things that his beloved Pietro had given him anyway.
'For I adore that crazy guy who taught my happy heart,
To wear a pair of silver wings…'