[X-Men: First Class]: Pain and Wrath Are the Singers
Title: Pain and Wrath Are the Singers
Fandom: X Men: First Class
Summary: Everything is so still.
Notes: Post-beach impressionistic weird death-fic. BECAUSE I HAD TO OKAY I've been side-eying this fandom for a while, and will probably never write anything in it again, but this was in my head and it just kind of happened? And weirdness aside I maybe like some of it. I actually blame this on my friend at college with whom I am RPing Erik/Charles post-movie.
Erik? Charles says, simultaneously out loud and in his head, the effect a strange kind of echo, and then it is so quiet in his head and in the world. Everything is so still, hanging, suspended-
The missiles hit the water and burst like balloons. He feels every one break. He can feel the ships shifting and moving like restless metal birds in the water. He can feel the metal of the sub and the airplane creaking under the pressure of their weight. All of this.
He can’t feel Charles. A moment ago, Charles was right there, in his head (he was always doing that, always) and- it must be the helmet, and then Erik remembers that he isn’t wearing it, clawed it off his head because Charles, because-
There are traces of blood on Charles’ lips. Under the red, they are slightly blue. The bullet is lying on the sand, and Erik can feel that too, can feel every piece of its slightly crumpled shape. But he can’t feel Charles.
Everything is so still.
Oh god, someone says. Oh god. It sounds like Sean.
Professor? They don’t know what death looks like. After all this, they still don’t know. Erik is almost sorry for them. Almost. So still.
The ships out in the water are like cans. He could reach out and crush them all, sink them to the bottom of the sea. Kill every man on board as if it’d change anything. It won’t.
(Raven - no, Mystique - is probably going to cry.)
It’s Moira he hears first. You killed him, she says, you bastard, you- and Erik crushes the gun she is starting to lift without even looking up. Crushes the submarine, too. It’s quiet again. Good. Good.
It’s over, he says. Charles is limp. He will be heavier like this. You can all leave now.
He puts the helmet back on and stands with Charles in his arms, and realizes that they are staring at him. Moira is kneeling on the sand, turning slowly blue from the chain around her neck choking her, and no one else is moving. Erik lets her go. They are staring.
Raven - no, Mystique - has her hands over her mouth. Quivers, slightly. Is this what you wanted? Summers says, harshly. Erik doesn’t even look at him. The others - Azazel’s name he knows, and Angel, the other he doesn’t really care - are watching as well.
I think it’s time we left, he says, don’t you?
**
They go to Westchester, with Azazel's help. It seems best. To Erik, anyway, and no one else is arguing. Everyone else trails along, seeming bewildered, lost. Erik sets Charles on a couch once inside, and checks his pocket automatically for his coin.
It isn’t there, and it takes him a moment to remember that Shaw is dead.
Only a couple hours ago, that was so terribly important.
There are a lot of things that seemed important a couple hours ago, Erik realizes. Peace was never an option. It still isn’t. Well, perhaps it is for Charles. That’s what they say, isn’t it? Rest in peace. He’s at peace.
No.
It’s not that I don’t trust you, Charles, he’d said, and no, it kind of is, Erik never really trusted Charles. Never trusted anyone, but Charles most of all, because it’s always the ones close to you that go and-
Go and die.
Charles was always too kind, too trusting. That was what killed him.
(No, and it was like Charles was still there, helmet sealing in his thoughts and it was like Charles was still there. No, you killed me, my friend.)
He checks his other pocket. There is a crumpled, misshapen bullet. Hardly any blood on it at all. Interesting, Erik thinks. Slips it back into his pocket. He sits down next to Charles and waits.
(He can feel the guns turning in the water. Tell me I’m wrong.)
Why wouldn’t you just listen, he says, quietly.
I wouldn’t listen, he almost hears. You wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t let it go. You still won’t.
Erik? That was his last word, Erik? like he had the answers to some indefinable question. Charles was always the one with the answers. All Erik has ever had was questions. He should have answered that, though. I’m here.
Alles ist gut.
He runs his thumb over the bullet in his pocket. It’s smoother than he’d expect.
He wonders what the bullet that killed his mother would feel like. Just like this?
Just like this.
(The coat rack folds neatly into itself. Erik doesn’t even notice.)
**
It’s Raven (Mystique) who comes to find him, eventually. Stops in the doorway and says Erik. Stops. Magneto? Stops. Erik. What are we going to do? She doesn’t look at her brother. Her eyes are red rimmed. She’s blonde again. He imagines hearing her thoughts. He knew me like this. I should look like this.
He can’t even see you.
Erik looks at Charles, as if in defiance. He hasn’t changed, it doesn’t seem. (Still can’t feel him. Leaves the helmet on so he can pretend that he could if he wanted to. Pretending this is all his choice.)
Has anyone killed each other? He asks, slightly surprised by the level quality of his voice.
Not yet, she says, and her voice doesn’t quiver this time. Everyone’s…everyone’s keeping to themselves.
Erik almost wishes they would try to kill each other. It would give him something to do. There’s a great hostile world out there and he suddenly doesn’t really care at all. We should probably bury him, he says, instead of voicing any of that. Mystique (Raven? Like this, she looks like Raven) flinches. She glances away.
She seems lost. Confused. Soon she’ll be angry. He could channel that anger into something. As he has always channeled his. He could convince her that there is meaning. As he convinced himself.
There is no meaning. Charles’ eyes, wide and slightly puzzled. Erik?
Do you know what his wishes were? Erik asks, in the face of her silence. His voice is still so calm. Raven shakes her head.
He never talked about it.
Ah. He pauses. I suppose we’ll have to decide for ourselves.
For a moment, he expects her to scream. Expects her to ask how he can be so calm. Expects her to accuse him as Moira did, you did this, you did this. (His own thoughts.) She nods, barely, and turns away.
**
Erik falls asleep somewhere near morning. He dreams of standing in a wasteland of death and metal, Charles sitting on the ground and looking at him, tired and ashamed. You never learn, he says. This was supposed to be a lesson. Now look what you’ve done.
You weren’t there, Erik accuses. What else was I supposed to do?
I don’t know, Charles allows. But I was hoping something else. It hurts awfully to die. Wouldn’t have done it if I’d known you’d just waste it.
Erik wakes up before the sun rises. His mouth tastes sour and there’s a faint smell of decay starting to permeate the air. He stands and goes outside and looks at the satellite dish, which looks back at him like a reminder, or a challenge.
Between rage and serenity.
He’s not sure what he feels right now. Just to see, he stretches out his hand.
The dish turns. It feels much easier this time. Perhaps he learned his lesson after all.
Erik’s nails are biting into his palms. His jaw is starting to ache from gritting his teeth so hard. The sun will rise in a couple hours. He is still so very aware of all the metal in the world (and all the space in his head, roaring and wide and empty like a river at the bottom of a chasm).
He stands with his hands locked behind his back and waits, and the dish spins, shrieking metal-on-metal, like a weathervane in a slow wind.
**
They bury him in silence, under a tree. Shaw’s band remains behind. Erik thinks they don’t really know what to do with themselves. They might be useful later, so that’s good.
The other have changed out of their uniforms. Erik hasn’t. Erik stands back slightly from the grave and watches McCoy and Summers lower him down. Summers is making hiccuping noises and trying not to cry too loudly. Raven is still blonde, still wide-eyed, still quiet.
Everything so quiet.
The coffin thumps down. It’s Sean who looks at Erik and for a moment looks like he’s going to say something, expression twisting with anger-
Then it’s gone. He drops his gaze. Erik wonders what he saw. (There are mirrors in the house. He hasn’t looked in one yet. Isn’t sure what he expects will happen when he does.)
What are we going to do? Raven asks, voice cracking. They look at him, and then look away like they can pretend they didn’t. Erik ignores them, looks at the hole in the ground.
I can stop the bullet. You know I can stop it.
For a moment, it hurts.
For a moment, he lets it.
He pushes it away, locks it down. There’s a whole world out there, and no reason now not to burn it to the ground.
Alles ist gut.
Everything is still. Erik slides his hand into his pocket. The bullet feels a little warm. Like blood. Like bathwater. Like memories. Like skin.
Fandom: X Men: First Class
Summary: Everything is so still.
Notes: Post-beach impressionistic weird death-fic. BECAUSE I HAD TO OKAY I've been side-eying this fandom for a while, and will probably never write anything in it again, but this was in my head and it just kind of happened? And weirdness aside I maybe like some of it. I actually blame this on my friend at college with whom I am RPing Erik/Charles post-movie.
Erik? Charles says, simultaneously out loud and in his head, the effect a strange kind of echo, and then it is so quiet in his head and in the world. Everything is so still, hanging, suspended-
The missiles hit the water and burst like balloons. He feels every one break. He can feel the ships shifting and moving like restless metal birds in the water. He can feel the metal of the sub and the airplane creaking under the pressure of their weight. All of this.
He can’t feel Charles. A moment ago, Charles was right there, in his head (he was always doing that, always) and- it must be the helmet, and then Erik remembers that he isn’t wearing it, clawed it off his head because Charles, because-
There are traces of blood on Charles’ lips. Under the red, they are slightly blue. The bullet is lying on the sand, and Erik can feel that too, can feel every piece of its slightly crumpled shape. But he can’t feel Charles.
Everything is so still.
Oh god, someone says. Oh god. It sounds like Sean.
Professor? They don’t know what death looks like. After all this, they still don’t know. Erik is almost sorry for them. Almost. So still.
The ships out in the water are like cans. He could reach out and crush them all, sink them to the bottom of the sea. Kill every man on board as if it’d change anything. It won’t.
(Raven - no, Mystique - is probably going to cry.)
It’s Moira he hears first. You killed him, she says, you bastard, you- and Erik crushes the gun she is starting to lift without even looking up. Crushes the submarine, too. It’s quiet again. Good. Good.
It’s over, he says. Charles is limp. He will be heavier like this. You can all leave now.
He puts the helmet back on and stands with Charles in his arms, and realizes that they are staring at him. Moira is kneeling on the sand, turning slowly blue from the chain around her neck choking her, and no one else is moving. Erik lets her go. They are staring.
Raven - no, Mystique - has her hands over her mouth. Quivers, slightly. Is this what you wanted? Summers says, harshly. Erik doesn’t even look at him. The others - Azazel’s name he knows, and Angel, the other he doesn’t really care - are watching as well.
I think it’s time we left, he says, don’t you?
**
They go to Westchester, with Azazel's help. It seems best. To Erik, anyway, and no one else is arguing. Everyone else trails along, seeming bewildered, lost. Erik sets Charles on a couch once inside, and checks his pocket automatically for his coin.
It isn’t there, and it takes him a moment to remember that Shaw is dead.
Only a couple hours ago, that was so terribly important.
There are a lot of things that seemed important a couple hours ago, Erik realizes. Peace was never an option. It still isn’t. Well, perhaps it is for Charles. That’s what they say, isn’t it? Rest in peace. He’s at peace.
No.
It’s not that I don’t trust you, Charles, he’d said, and no, it kind of is, Erik never really trusted Charles. Never trusted anyone, but Charles most of all, because it’s always the ones close to you that go and-
Go and die.
Charles was always too kind, too trusting. That was what killed him.
(No, and it was like Charles was still there, helmet sealing in his thoughts and it was like Charles was still there. No, you killed me, my friend.)
He checks his other pocket. There is a crumpled, misshapen bullet. Hardly any blood on it at all. Interesting, Erik thinks. Slips it back into his pocket. He sits down next to Charles and waits.
(He can feel the guns turning in the water. Tell me I’m wrong.)
Why wouldn’t you just listen, he says, quietly.
I wouldn’t listen, he almost hears. You wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t let it go. You still won’t.
Erik? That was his last word, Erik? like he had the answers to some indefinable question. Charles was always the one with the answers. All Erik has ever had was questions. He should have answered that, though. I’m here.
Alles ist gut.
He runs his thumb over the bullet in his pocket. It’s smoother than he’d expect.
He wonders what the bullet that killed his mother would feel like. Just like this?
Just like this.
(The coat rack folds neatly into itself. Erik doesn’t even notice.)
**
It’s Raven (Mystique) who comes to find him, eventually. Stops in the doorway and says Erik. Stops. Magneto? Stops. Erik. What are we going to do? She doesn’t look at her brother. Her eyes are red rimmed. She’s blonde again. He imagines hearing her thoughts. He knew me like this. I should look like this.
He can’t even see you.
Erik looks at Charles, as if in defiance. He hasn’t changed, it doesn’t seem. (Still can’t feel him. Leaves the helmet on so he can pretend that he could if he wanted to. Pretending this is all his choice.)
Has anyone killed each other? He asks, slightly surprised by the level quality of his voice.
Not yet, she says, and her voice doesn’t quiver this time. Everyone’s…everyone’s keeping to themselves.
Erik almost wishes they would try to kill each other. It would give him something to do. There’s a great hostile world out there and he suddenly doesn’t really care at all. We should probably bury him, he says, instead of voicing any of that. Mystique (Raven? Like this, she looks like Raven) flinches. She glances away.
She seems lost. Confused. Soon she’ll be angry. He could channel that anger into something. As he has always channeled his. He could convince her that there is meaning. As he convinced himself.
There is no meaning. Charles’ eyes, wide and slightly puzzled. Erik?
Do you know what his wishes were? Erik asks, in the face of her silence. His voice is still so calm. Raven shakes her head.
He never talked about it.
Ah. He pauses. I suppose we’ll have to decide for ourselves.
For a moment, he expects her to scream. Expects her to ask how he can be so calm. Expects her to accuse him as Moira did, you did this, you did this. (His own thoughts.) She nods, barely, and turns away.
**
Erik falls asleep somewhere near morning. He dreams of standing in a wasteland of death and metal, Charles sitting on the ground and looking at him, tired and ashamed. You never learn, he says. This was supposed to be a lesson. Now look what you’ve done.
You weren’t there, Erik accuses. What else was I supposed to do?
I don’t know, Charles allows. But I was hoping something else. It hurts awfully to die. Wouldn’t have done it if I’d known you’d just waste it.
Erik wakes up before the sun rises. His mouth tastes sour and there’s a faint smell of decay starting to permeate the air. He stands and goes outside and looks at the satellite dish, which looks back at him like a reminder, or a challenge.
Between rage and serenity.
He’s not sure what he feels right now. Just to see, he stretches out his hand.
The dish turns. It feels much easier this time. Perhaps he learned his lesson after all.
Erik’s nails are biting into his palms. His jaw is starting to ache from gritting his teeth so hard. The sun will rise in a couple hours. He is still so very aware of all the metal in the world (and all the space in his head, roaring and wide and empty like a river at the bottom of a chasm).
He stands with his hands locked behind his back and waits, and the dish spins, shrieking metal-on-metal, like a weathervane in a slow wind.
**
They bury him in silence, under a tree. Shaw’s band remains behind. Erik thinks they don’t really know what to do with themselves. They might be useful later, so that’s good.
The other have changed out of their uniforms. Erik hasn’t. Erik stands back slightly from the grave and watches McCoy and Summers lower him down. Summers is making hiccuping noises and trying not to cry too loudly. Raven is still blonde, still wide-eyed, still quiet.
Everything so quiet.
The coffin thumps down. It’s Sean who looks at Erik and for a moment looks like he’s going to say something, expression twisting with anger-
Then it’s gone. He drops his gaze. Erik wonders what he saw. (There are mirrors in the house. He hasn’t looked in one yet. Isn’t sure what he expects will happen when he does.)
What are we going to do? Raven asks, voice cracking. They look at him, and then look away like they can pretend they didn’t. Erik ignores them, looks at the hole in the ground.
I can stop the bullet. You know I can stop it.
For a moment, it hurts.
For a moment, he lets it.
He pushes it away, locks it down. There’s a whole world out there, and no reason now not to burn it to the ground.
Alles ist gut.
Everything is still. Erik slides his hand into his pocket. The bullet feels a little warm. Like blood. Like bathwater. Like memories. Like skin.