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There was many things wrong with the scene in front of Charles but three stood out to him the most.
First being that he and Erik were in the same vicinity and were not actively trying to bring each other to ruin. It had been a long time since they had been together amicably, if the circumstance had been different, Charles may have even enjoyed this change in dynamic.
Second was that he could feel his legs. He could feel the ground under his feet and his hand brush his thigh. He could walk through the sandy beach away from Erik and towards the figure in the distance. He could stretch, and run, and be free from the confines of his wheelchair. This he did allow himself to enjoy. It had been so long since he had felt such freedom so he allowed himself the pleasure to walk towards the figure despite the fact that they faced away from him.
It was this figure that broke the illusion for him. In his mind he could justify him and Erik getting along, despite their history together, Charles could see a day in the very, very distant future that they would see eye to eye, at least on some matters, again. And the motion in his legs was explained by that experimental serum that Hank had been working on. The possibility of his legs being restored fully was such a far fetched idea after all.
But seeing her again was unexplainable.
Charles had held his wife in his arms when she died. Even through the excruciating pain of losing his legs, he held her. The same shrapnel that paralyzed him had lodged himself into her heart.
It took Charles months to come to the realisation that Erik did not mean to harm her, but by then he was long gone. Eventually, everyone began to move on with their lives. Hank was the only one left by Charles' side; Charles had spent many nights wondering why Hank stayed, he was a shell of a man without her by his side.
By the time he approached, Charles was so captivated by her presence that he didn't notice the sound of the seagulls had stopped or the smell of the salty ocean had had faded into nothing. It was only him and her left in their own little slice of paradise.
"Hello my love," He tentatively said, willing himself to move closer but finding that his legs would once again refuse to respond to his command.
"Charles." She acknowledged, her back still to him. From this distance Charles could see the intricacies of the lace of her white dress. When she was alive she never tended to wear anything so delicate, not even on her wedding day.
"You're not supposed to be here." He whispered, still stuck motionless before him. "You... you died."
"You let me die." She turned around, and for the first time since Charles buried her did he look at her once beautiful face. But now it was covered in blood cuts he could only assume were made by loose flying shrapnel. The front of her dress was only ripped and stained. She still looked like an angel, only now she looked like she had fallen from Heaven. "Why didn't you save me?"
Charles went to speak, but couldn't find the words. Or the breath. He almost began to choke but the oxygen eventually rushed back into his lungs. This peace of mercy was accompanied by God or whatever higher power in play taking away his ability to stand. Charles felt himself crumpled to the ground, once again paralysed. He thought back to the oddness of Erik's presence and whipped his head behind him to find the man but only saw black.
When his head turned back to his wife, he was greeted by the same oblivion. He tried to move forward but he couldn't move. He crumpled to the ground again and closed his eyes, hoping that he darkness would consume him like it did to his wife. But it didn't.
When he opened them again, he was greeted by the same wooden walls he knew all too well. The clock on his bedside table stuck three a.m precisely. Charles just shifted to his side, knowing that sleep would not come for him again, at least not any time soon.