Fic - "While the World Burns"
Title: While the World Burns
Author: colonel_bastard
Characters/Fandom: Charles, Erik. X-Men: First Class.
Word Count: 1,640
Rating: PG-13
Summary: They're together. Nothing else matters, not even the end of the world.
Warnings: Character death.
Notes: Written for this exquisite piece of art by perishing-twinkie on deviantART. There's such a strong sense of story in the picture, a moment of such incredible weight and significance--- this is my humble attempt to capture a bit of that story in words. For those who like a little mood music with their reading, I ended up listening to the Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana many times while writing this. As for the whens and wheres of this fic, I took my cue from the mushroom cloud in the background of the art and just imagined a vague nuclear crisis scenario, with Charles and Erik both winding up at ground zero in an attempt to prevent it. In case you couldn't guess from the title, that doesn't go so well.
The force of the blast throws Charles to the ground, his wheelchair flipped like a coin, his body skidding to a bruised halt a short distance away. He twists to watch the thick white column of smoke being dragged up into the sky. It’s too late now. The bomb has launched. A thousand miles away, red warning sirens are screaming in a Russian control room as the retaliatory missiles take to the air. They’ll be here in minutes. It’s the day they all feared. It’s the end of the world.
Xavier rolls onto his belly and starts to crawl, elbow over elbow, each useless leg feeling like it weighs a ton. There’s nowhere he can go, nowhere on earth where he’ll be safe--- but he’s not trying to escape. He just wants to try. If this is the end--- and it is the end--- then he refuses to die on his back like a cripple. He’ll keep going until the last breath is ripped from his lungs. As the seconds slip away, he sinks into a strange, numb limbo, too tired and too hurt to think of anything but moving forward. He just has to keep moving forward. That’s how he lived, and that’s how he’ll die.
He’s lost all track of time when a hand suddenly catches at his shoulder, yanking him from his eerie reverie with an aggressive attempt to flip him onto his side. No! he projects viciously, a command so dagger-sharp that it should trigger an instant retreat from his assailant. But the connection never lands. It’s as if the attacker exists in a void, and all at once Charles realizes who it must be. He allows himself to be rolled onto his back and looks up in amazement at the agonized face of Erik Lensherr, framed in shadow by the sharp angles of his helmet.
“How did you find me?” Charles wonders, convinced that he must be dreaming, that he must already be dead.
But Erik looks too wrecked, too raw, for this to be anything but reality.
“I don’t know,” he rasps, “but I’m not leaving you here.”
He drops to one knee and shoves an arm under Xavier’s shoulders, the other under his knees, pulling him up and into a tight grip. He takes a moment to gather himself. Then, with Charles holding fast, Lensherr somehow, incredibly, hauls himself up to his feet and starts walking. There’s a faint roar building in the distance, the howl of sirens, the whistle of rockets. Charles clutches onto Erik with all of his strength, his hands fisting in the dense material of his cape. He can feel that Erik’s arms are shaking.
A streak of motion at the pinnacle of the sky catches his attention. There it is, just reaching the apex of its arcing trajectory--- the rocket that will kill them both. It crests, almost seems to hesitate, and then begins its inexorable descent. All the way from Russia and it got here so quickly. Charles didn’t think it would be this fast. He isn’t ready. As the missile slices down towards the earth, his fingers curl like claws into Erik’s back, a shrill whine of terror escaping between his clenched teeth. It’s so fast, it shouldn’t be so fast---
Erik abruptly stops and pivots on his heel, turning to face the rocket, turning Charles away from it.
“Don’t look,” he commands hoarsely. “You don’t need to see it.”
So Charles looks at him. Erik bares his teeth, his body tensing with one last, tremendous effort--- and the bomb comes down too soon, colliding not with them but with their horizon.
There’s a moment of unbearable stillness. Then the first shockwave reaches them, a blast of hot wind that rips at their skin and clothing and tears the landscape apart around them. The air is filled with whirling ash, suffused with a faint orange glow that slowly begins to grow brighter. The mushroom cloud is pulling in on itself before it unleashes the true bulk of its fury. They have less than a minute before they are consumed by a wall of fire.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. How long ago was it that they sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and looked out at a future that seemed so full of promise? Feels like a century, but then again, that summer lasted a lifetime unto itself, the time spun long and lazy by the feeling of completion. Just a few short months, and yet they fill so much of Charles’s memory. He defines himself by those days, by the peace, by the profundity of a life with Erik in it. He has never felt so whole, not before, not since. In the long and lonely years to come, he would draw his strength from the memory of that perfect balance, and from the hope that he might one day find it again.
Erik has changed. The years have cut lines into his face that weren’t there before, creases that betray the strain of the path he chose, the worry and the weariness that have aged him before his time. He seems smaller, weaker than Charles ever remembered him, though it seems impossible that he could have changed so dramatically as to be almost unrecognizable. Then Xavier realizes--- it’s the helmet. He can no longer feel Erik. He can only look at him, and what he sees nearly breaks his heart all over again.
“Oh God,” Erik whispers. “There’s no time.”
Charles can feel tears burning in his eyes. He wonders if Erik can see them, or if they’re masked by the heat and the haze. With trembling hands, he reaches up and takes hold of the one barrier left standing between them. Even now he expects Erik to resist, but Lensherr doesn’t even make a flicker of movement to stop him, and as the helmet lifts away the void suddenly evaporates. Suddenly, Erik is there. Charles can feel his presence become tangible, solid, close enough to touch. It’s like stepping into the light after years of darkness. It takes his breath away, and he freezes in place, the helmet still suspended over the crown of Erik’s head. Lensherr’s arms are no longer shaking. In unspoken agreement, they lean towards each other until their foreheads touch in a gesture that, for them, has always been more intimate than a kiss. Charles looks up into those ancient, familiar eyes--- and loses himself.
The helmet slips from his liquid grasp, falling away into silence. He opens his mind as Erik opens his, and they rush towards each other like rivers leaping into a mutual sea, the rest of the world vanishing in the deluge. They hold nothing back. Images and phrases blur into an intense, inexpressible essence, an overwhelming sensation of trustlovestrength that fills Charles to the point of bursting. He threads his fingers into Erik’s hair, his eyes closed as he melts down the remaining pieces of his heart and pours them out in one last golden, glorious acclamation.
Erik Erik Erik you’re here Erik Erik I’m so glad Erik don’t let me go Erik don’t ever let me go again Erik stay with me Erik Erik Erik I want my last thought to be your name.
Lensherr releases a harsh sob, and his arms tighten into a grip that has become powerful beyond measure. His voice rings out like a bell in Xavier’s mind.
Charles I won’t let you go Charles I promise Charles oh God Charles I’m sorry I’m so sorry Charles I’ll never let you go Charles I’ll stay I’ll stay I’ll stay until the end.
As his face grows radiant in the approaching light, Erik moans, “I never should have left.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Charles reassures him, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here. Nothing else matters.”
They kiss for the last time, Xavier’s arms winding adoringly around that proud, stubborn neck. He can feel the heat building at his back as the wave draws near. Another mushroom cloud blooms in his peripheral vision. He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he does, he suddenly sees a faint pinpoint of light in the distance. It’s a faraway beacon that he has only seen once before, a long, long time ago--- the brightest corner of Erik’s memory system. Last time he went looking for it, but this time he senses that it’s calling to him, that Lensherr is beckoning him in. Recalling the warmth and safety of that place, he reaches out for one final moment of tranquility.
But this, too, has changed. Charles does not find himself in a warm and cozy kitchen, lighting candles in quiet contentment. Instead he’s suddenly adrift in a vast, freezing ocean, the night sky overhead littered with stars, the water so cold that it burns. Two men are treading to stay afloat in the choppy waves.
“I thought I was alone.”
“You’re not alone. Erik, you’re not alone.”
Lensherr breathes a sigh against the corner of Charles’s mouth.
“Yes,” he murmurs. “You are my strength.”
And Charles buries his face against the crook of his neck, his mind focusing in on his last and most precious comfort.
Erik Erik Erik Erik Erik.
I’m here, Charles.
And the world ends.
_______
Author: colonel_bastard
Characters/Fandom: Charles, Erik. X-Men: First Class.
Word Count: 1,640
Rating: PG-13
Summary: They're together. Nothing else matters, not even the end of the world.
Warnings: Character death.
Notes: Written for this exquisite piece of art by perishing-twinkie on deviantART. There's such a strong sense of story in the picture, a moment of such incredible weight and significance--- this is my humble attempt to capture a bit of that story in words. For those who like a little mood music with their reading, I ended up listening to the Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana many times while writing this. As for the whens and wheres of this fic, I took my cue from the mushroom cloud in the background of the art and just imagined a vague nuclear crisis scenario, with Charles and Erik both winding up at ground zero in an attempt to prevent it. In case you couldn't guess from the title, that doesn't go so well.
The force of the blast throws Charles to the ground, his wheelchair flipped like a coin, his body skidding to a bruised halt a short distance away. He twists to watch the thick white column of smoke being dragged up into the sky. It’s too late now. The bomb has launched. A thousand miles away, red warning sirens are screaming in a Russian control room as the retaliatory missiles take to the air. They’ll be here in minutes. It’s the day they all feared. It’s the end of the world.
Xavier rolls onto his belly and starts to crawl, elbow over elbow, each useless leg feeling like it weighs a ton. There’s nowhere he can go, nowhere on earth where he’ll be safe--- but he’s not trying to escape. He just wants to try. If this is the end--- and it is the end--- then he refuses to die on his back like a cripple. He’ll keep going until the last breath is ripped from his lungs. As the seconds slip away, he sinks into a strange, numb limbo, too tired and too hurt to think of anything but moving forward. He just has to keep moving forward. That’s how he lived, and that’s how he’ll die.
He’s lost all track of time when a hand suddenly catches at his shoulder, yanking him from his eerie reverie with an aggressive attempt to flip him onto his side. No! he projects viciously, a command so dagger-sharp that it should trigger an instant retreat from his assailant. But the connection never lands. It’s as if the attacker exists in a void, and all at once Charles realizes who it must be. He allows himself to be rolled onto his back and looks up in amazement at the agonized face of Erik Lensherr, framed in shadow by the sharp angles of his helmet.
“How did you find me?” Charles wonders, convinced that he must be dreaming, that he must already be dead.
But Erik looks too wrecked, too raw, for this to be anything but reality.
“I don’t know,” he rasps, “but I’m not leaving you here.”
He drops to one knee and shoves an arm under Xavier’s shoulders, the other under his knees, pulling him up and into a tight grip. He takes a moment to gather himself. Then, with Charles holding fast, Lensherr somehow, incredibly, hauls himself up to his feet and starts walking. There’s a faint roar building in the distance, the howl of sirens, the whistle of rockets. Charles clutches onto Erik with all of his strength, his hands fisting in the dense material of his cape. He can feel that Erik’s arms are shaking.
A streak of motion at the pinnacle of the sky catches his attention. There it is, just reaching the apex of its arcing trajectory--- the rocket that will kill them both. It crests, almost seems to hesitate, and then begins its inexorable descent. All the way from Russia and it got here so quickly. Charles didn’t think it would be this fast. He isn’t ready. As the missile slices down towards the earth, his fingers curl like claws into Erik’s back, a shrill whine of terror escaping between his clenched teeth. It’s so fast, it shouldn’t be so fast---
Erik abruptly stops and pivots on his heel, turning to face the rocket, turning Charles away from it.
“Don’t look,” he commands hoarsely. “You don’t need to see it.”
So Charles looks at him. Erik bares his teeth, his body tensing with one last, tremendous effort--- and the bomb comes down too soon, colliding not with them but with their horizon.
There’s a moment of unbearable stillness. Then the first shockwave reaches them, a blast of hot wind that rips at their skin and clothing and tears the landscape apart around them. The air is filled with whirling ash, suffused with a faint orange glow that slowly begins to grow brighter. The mushroom cloud is pulling in on itself before it unleashes the true bulk of its fury. They have less than a minute before they are consumed by a wall of fire.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. How long ago was it that they sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and looked out at a future that seemed so full of promise? Feels like a century, but then again, that summer lasted a lifetime unto itself, the time spun long and lazy by the feeling of completion. Just a few short months, and yet they fill so much of Charles’s memory. He defines himself by those days, by the peace, by the profundity of a life with Erik in it. He has never felt so whole, not before, not since. In the long and lonely years to come, he would draw his strength from the memory of that perfect balance, and from the hope that he might one day find it again.
Erik has changed. The years have cut lines into his face that weren’t there before, creases that betray the strain of the path he chose, the worry and the weariness that have aged him before his time. He seems smaller, weaker than Charles ever remembered him, though it seems impossible that he could have changed so dramatically as to be almost unrecognizable. Then Xavier realizes--- it’s the helmet. He can no longer feel Erik. He can only look at him, and what he sees nearly breaks his heart all over again.
“Oh God,” Erik whispers. “There’s no time.”
Charles can feel tears burning in his eyes. He wonders if Erik can see them, or if they’re masked by the heat and the haze. With trembling hands, he reaches up and takes hold of the one barrier left standing between them. Even now he expects Erik to resist, but Lensherr doesn’t even make a flicker of movement to stop him, and as the helmet lifts away the void suddenly evaporates. Suddenly, Erik is there. Charles can feel his presence become tangible, solid, close enough to touch. It’s like stepping into the light after years of darkness. It takes his breath away, and he freezes in place, the helmet still suspended over the crown of Erik’s head. Lensherr’s arms are no longer shaking. In unspoken agreement, they lean towards each other until their foreheads touch in a gesture that, for them, has always been more intimate than a kiss. Charles looks up into those ancient, familiar eyes--- and loses himself.
The helmet slips from his liquid grasp, falling away into silence. He opens his mind as Erik opens his, and they rush towards each other like rivers leaping into a mutual sea, the rest of the world vanishing in the deluge. They hold nothing back. Images and phrases blur into an intense, inexpressible essence, an overwhelming sensation of trustlovestrength that fills Charles to the point of bursting. He threads his fingers into Erik’s hair, his eyes closed as he melts down the remaining pieces of his heart and pours them out in one last golden, glorious acclamation.
Erik Erik Erik you’re here Erik Erik I’m so glad Erik don’t let me go Erik don’t ever let me go again Erik stay with me Erik Erik Erik I want my last thought to be your name.
Lensherr releases a harsh sob, and his arms tighten into a grip that has become powerful beyond measure. His voice rings out like a bell in Xavier’s mind.
Charles I won’t let you go Charles I promise Charles oh God Charles I’m sorry I’m so sorry Charles I’ll never let you go Charles I’ll stay I’ll stay I’ll stay until the end.
As his face grows radiant in the approaching light, Erik moans, “I never should have left.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Charles reassures him, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here. Nothing else matters.”
They kiss for the last time, Xavier’s arms winding adoringly around that proud, stubborn neck. He can feel the heat building at his back as the wave draws near. Another mushroom cloud blooms in his peripheral vision. He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he does, he suddenly sees a faint pinpoint of light in the distance. It’s a faraway beacon that he has only seen once before, a long, long time ago--- the brightest corner of Erik’s memory system. Last time he went looking for it, but this time he senses that it’s calling to him, that Lensherr is beckoning him in. Recalling the warmth and safety of that place, he reaches out for one final moment of tranquility.
But this, too, has changed. Charles does not find himself in a warm and cozy kitchen, lighting candles in quiet contentment. Instead he’s suddenly adrift in a vast, freezing ocean, the night sky overhead littered with stars, the water so cold that it burns. Two men are treading to stay afloat in the choppy waves.
“I thought I was alone.”
“You’re not alone. Erik, you’re not alone.”
Lensherr breathes a sigh against the corner of Charles’s mouth.
“Yes,” he murmurs. “You are my strength.”
And Charles buries his face against the crook of his neck, his mind focusing in on his last and most precious comfort.
Erik Erik Erik Erik Erik.
I’m here, Charles.
And the world ends.
_______