Work Text:
Hot sand, sharp pain, heartache, numbness.
Hot tears, damp hair, bloody hands, numbness.
Can’t breathe, can’t speak, no thoughts, numbness.
So much pain…
It hurts…
Blue, red, black, gone, so lost, numbness.
Can’t see, can’t hear, can’t feel, numbness.
Can’t see her…
Can’t see him…
Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, numbness.
Heavy, tired, hot, sore, broken heart, numbness.
Hot…
Sand…
Sand, sand, sand, sand, sand, sand, numbness.
Voices, tears, slipping down, ocean blue, numbness.
Warm, heavy, bloody hands, hot sand, numbness.
Silence…
Silence…
Can’t breathe.
Numb, numb, numbness.
~~~
Charles wakes with a start; heart pounding in his chest, white-hot pain searing up his spine. He gasps and bringing a hand up to his face, feels tears already drying on his skin. For a moment, he forgets what had happened, but soon his telepathy–elasticated brain bounces back to remind him of what he’d forgotten. Sand crunches underneath his molars as he tightens his jaw and a familiar metallic taste sits heavy on his tongue. His mind is cold and empty, and he’s quickly filled with the deepest sense of dread as black tendrils wrap around his thoughts, around his senses, squeezing and constricting, pulsing and twisting. Taking a ragged breath, Charles tries to remind himself that it was in fact, a dream. He knows it was a dream, of course, he knows, but it felt so real. So, so real. Charles also knows that due to his telepathy, his brain has the rather inconvenient ability to dream incredibly vividly; which has owed him no favours thus far, and has rather caused him many years of tormented sleep or untreatable insomnia. However, he’s survived this far, through everything he has, so how is this the dream that gets him so worked up? The darkness’ hold on his brain is getting tighter and he’s struggling to find reason amongst the endless blackness. He tells himself that he can’t let his mind get the better of him; that he’s in control of his telepathy, but the darkness is all-consuming, pulling tighter and tighter. Blinking, he exhales and focuses on lifting the fog from his ever-present mind.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, twist.
He shakily inhales again.
Squeeze, strangle, twist.
His lungs tighten, and he gasps again.
Wringing, gripping, twisting.
Forcing his eyes shut, he tries to regain focus, knuckles grasping at the collar of his shirt. Blood, pulsing, hot, churning, seething, boiling; spilling over the edge, pressure building behind his eyes. All reason, rationality and essence of Professor Charles F. Xavier is rapidly dissipating, being sucked through a black hole and spaghettified on the way out. Charles feels himself being eaten alive by his own, stupid mind. Nevertheless, a fragment of his unperturbed self begins to count to ten.
One, two, three. Ba dum, ba dum, ba dum.
One, two, three, four. Ba dum, ba dum, ba dum.
One, two, three, four, five. Ba dum, ba dum, ba dum.
Idiot. Ba dum, ba dum, ba dum. Worthless . Numb
He gasps again, battling his subconscious from the inside, out.
“Charles?” A voice whispers from his left, but he cannot move, he cannot speak.
Suddenly the voice grows louder and more panicked. He faintly hears his name again, but this time he’s not sure where from.
Panic. Ba dum, ba dum, ba dum.
One, two, three, four, five, six. Ba dum, ba dum, ba dum
A warm hand comes up to his shoulder, to his face; stroking his cheek, smoothing out the creases. Fingers rub gentle, soothing circles, and the voice becomes clearer - whispering, reassuring. He sees a twinkle of light and follows it.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Ba dum, ba dum, ba dum.
A deep humming fills his ears, ironing out the tension in his forehead, around his nose, and above his lips, loosening the black tendrils’ constricting grip. His lungs begin to fill with more air and the red hot pulsing behind his eyes begins to cool.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Ba dum ba dum.
The voice is almost clear now, and he recognises it; Erik . Baritone and whisky smooth, golden, and weighted. The low-octaves slowly dissipate the inky-blanket smothering his thoughts and he can hear again.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, Ba dum, ba dum.
Charles forces his eyes open, letting them adjust to the darkness and he sighs.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Ba dum.
Slowly but surely, with each breath, his mind properly clears, with only the rush of adrenaline and his aching lungs remaining as evidence. His eyes focus on Erik above him, his hand still gently rubbing circles on Charles’ tear-streaked cheek. He smiles at him and Charles feels himself sigh with pure and utter exhaustion. He’s still not used to this level of patience, and it’ll definitely take him some time yet to get used to it, but he knows Erik will wait for him.
“There you are,” Erik hums softly, moving to comb Charles’ hair instead. “I thought I lost you for a minute there, Charles.”
His still blurry mind flicks back to his dream on the beach; the heat, the pain, the bullet that went straight into his spine. A flash of blue, Raven, heavy, bloody hands. It all felt so horribly real, too real. He’s too old for this, his telepathy cannot be controlling his life, let alone his sleep. He supposes he should mention this to Hank…
“My dear, I’m right here.” He half-smiles in return while pulling himself into a more practical, upright position. Erik watches him carefully, his hands falling to Charles’ shoulders.
“Charles. I’ve never seen you this bad. I would be lying if I told you it didn’t frighten me.” Now it’s Erik's turn for worry to crease his perfect face. Charles’ doesn't like it one bit and decidedly attempts to ease them out with his own fingertips.
“Nightmare. Although your hyper-efficient deduction abilities have most definitely worked that out by now,” Erik’s brow creases further. “I don’t know what to tell you, Erik. I wouldn’t worry about it, I apologise for disturbing your sleep.” Charles leans over to plant a kiss on Erik's forehead before a swift dodge prevents him from doing so. He feels a wave of anger and frustration seep into his mind that isn’t his own and it makes his throat catch; he doesn’t need to properly dig around in Erik’s head to know he’s not impressed with Charles’ less-than-artful avoidance tactics.
“Nope, we are not doing this tonight, I’m not letting you weasel your way out of this conversation. I need you to talk to me, really tell me what happened; I could feel your thoughts in my head, Charles.” His gaze softened, “please?”
He doesn’t want Erik to see him like this, to see him this vulnerable. He’s meant to be the stable one, the understanding one. He shouldn’t need coaxing out of his shell and he certainly doesn’t need protecting, or helping for that matter. However, he knows he wants it. And God does he want it if it comes from Erik. Sweet, hardened but patient Erik.
Charles clears his throat, and flicks his eyes up to meet Erik’s, “Do you mind if I…” He waves his fingers in the air in motion towards his head, “it would be easier for the both of us.” Erik nods, pointedly maintaining eye contact with Charles.
Charles lets his memories seep into Erik’s head and hears the other’s breath hitch. Charles ‘mind, and consequently Erik’s, is filled with memories of hot sand, sharp pain, heartache and eternal numbness. They both feel the splitting pain of a bullet and a heart breaking in two. He can taste the metal on his lips again and the sand in his mouth. Birds call and bombs fire. Screams and cries of agony rattle through their bones and all at once, the connection is severed and the pair collapse in a pile on the bedsheets.
Gasping for air Charles’ begins to feel himself slip back into that endless nothing, the tightness in his chest crawling back from the shadows.
Twisting.
“Shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. It’s okay, we’re here, it’s not real, it didn’t happen.” Erik is planting kisses over Charles’ face and raking his hands excessively through his hair, “My friend, my love, it’s okay,” He projects his last thought as directly as he can to Charles’, “ You’re okay .”
Once again, the darkness loosens its grip and he can breathe and think again. Erik is still holding him and peppering him with Kisses; Charles just smiles against the feeling. He owes so much to Erik and he doesn’t even know it. Before he can lament on it, emotion overwhelms him and he pulls Erik down for a kiss. Skin on skin, flesh on flesh and oh so real. Chaste but brimming with emotion, Erik’s lips are soft and sweet unlike his hardened exterior and even harder gaze. Although they’ve done this more times than even Charles could possibly count, he still revels in the feeling.
Pulling away, Charles just hopelessly stares at Erik's face. For a man who couldn’t stop talking if he tried, Erik’s pure existence makes Charles completely speechless. “I hope you know how utterly smitten I am with you, my friend,” Erik just grins in response.” completely and utterly, in case you didn’t already know.”