Chapter Text
Charles?
Magnus… I— Apologies, I was simply… checking in.
You know there is no need for apologies for that… not with you, old friend.
Well, I won’t say I didn't suspect that that would be the case. I don’t want to intrude on your thoughts when I’m not wanted.
Charles, I must be giving you too much credit. I thought you were smart enough to know you’re always a welcome presence in my mind. And if not your intelligence (which we now know we can’t count on), then your telepathy should’ve more than indicated my thoughts on the matter.
God. Charles could practically hear the smirk in Magneto’s tone. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone else—though it was obvious to anyone— how much he missed his old friend. How much he cared for him. It wasn’t uncommon for him to simply be present in Magnus’ mind, and he knew Magnus never minded. Charles sat out in the garden in front of the mansion, trying not to let his mind wander too much over to his friend’s, no matter how tempting the thought was. He often worried about Magnus. He knew he was with the brotherhood, but he feared that Magnus didn’t have anyone he could truly feel friendly with, anyone he could truly confide in. Charles felt fortunate to be surrounded by his X-Men, people he felt comfortable around, people he could confide in (even if he didn't always choose to do so).
“Professor, I was looking for you.” Charles turned to find Scott fumbling awkwardly with the zipper of his jacket.
“Scott. Is something the matter?” He tried not to stare too pointedly at Scott’s awkward fiddling, but it was rather present.
“Oh, um, no. Just wanted to say hi. And that I kinda cooked lunch for everyone. If you wanted to join, that is. Nothing fancy, just some chicken and vegetables.” The corner of Scott’s mouth twitched slightly. “And Gambit made… beignets…”
“Quite. Thank you, Scott, I do believe I will join—” Charles stopped suddenly. A sudden, sharp feeling of emptiness jumped to the front of his mind, as if something were missing. Something nagging, familiar, comforting. He couldn’t quite identify what, though he felt as though he should be able to.
Scott’s brow furrowed. “Everything alright, Professor?”
“I—” Charles closed his eyes, in a small attempt to ground his mind. “I’m not sure. I felt— well, regardless. I’m not sure what it was. Probably just a migraine coming on.”
“Oh, yea. I get that.” Scott attempted a chuckle, but it came out more as a small, strangled sigh. “Shall we go in?” He spoke quickly, as if trying to cover up the small embarrassment that had just occurred.
“Indeed.” Charles tried to brush off the feeling from before. Despite his best efforts, it lingered, echoed, like a painful sear after touching a hot tray from the oven.
Charles settled in at the table in front of a plate full of food. He watched his team interacting with each other: Gambit and Rogue shooting glances at each other, while obviously playing footsie, Scott preplanning what the last bite of his meal would be (as if it wasn’t the same each time, it was just a matter of getting to it), Logan shoveling food into his mouth like no tomorrow, Morph cracking jokes causing Logan to choke, Storm and Jean chatting excitedly about some sort of new mutant concern while Beast listened politely, Jubilee giggling at something on her phone. All was as it should be. Except for the same nagging feeling at the back of the professor’s head. Then. Pain. Sudden, sharp, pain. Charles let out a small gasp, eyes widening in horror.
“Professor? What’s wrong?” Scott stood immediately, rushing to his side.
Pain. Humiliation. Despair. Grief. Magnus.
“I… I believe my old friend is in need of help.” Charles sat up suddenly, eyes set, determined.
Cold. Damp. Laughter. Pain. Familiarity. Darkness. Magnus opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the sudden, dull, rushing pain that flooded his head. He tried to remember what happened, where he was, what was going on, but it was a blank. He could hear echoing laughter. His arms and legs felt tired and heavy as he tried to move them (to no avail). He could feel chains at the end of his arms. Metal chains. The fools. He would be free in seconds. But he felt… nothing. Nothing moved. Nothing changed. He was still there, chained, sitting on the cold, damp floor, shirts and pants torn, blood and sweat dripping from somewhere on his face, some sort of… things… splotched against his clothes. And, of course, a blinking collar around his neck, explaining his inability to bend the metal. An odd scent of rotting food greeted him suddenly, explaining the odd splotches on his clothes, face and hair. His eyes eventually adjusted to the dimly lit cellar he was in, and he could make out many faces, pointing, jeering, laughing. At him.
“Fuckin’ mutie!”
“The hell you gonna do now, huh?”
A heavily rotted tomato splotched against his face. Magnus closed his eyes, letting out a small sigh. So this is what he was to be subjected to. For… an indefinite amount of time. Unable to move, chains too low for him to stand properly (not that he would, based off of his sheer exhaustion), head throbbing from the damn collar choking him. He shifted ever so slightly, and felt his knee land in a small pool of blood. He tried to make a small vow in his mind that he wouldn’t give them all the satisfaction in seeing him cry. He’d been through worse, much, worse. He would get through this. Somehow. He would. His thoughts were smashed through by the sound of common humans laughing. Laughing at him, once powerful mutant, now chained up for everyone to freely point, jeer, degrade. How long would he be subjected to this torturous humiliation? Did they not just want to kill him? Wipe him from existence? Of course not. Magnus knew life would never be that kind to him.