Unbroken
Title: Unbroken
Author: Skull_Bearer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,986
Warnings: None
Summary: Sequel to Of Needles, Wars and Hands of Time and Stability, a Search For, All Friends and Kingdom Come, A Moment and Rage, Fear. Serenity and All Fall Down. A D/s world where Erik and Charles spend their lives believing the other to be dead.
Unbroken
Every breath hurts. Each step jars his broken arm. Erik holds it against his chest, hunched over. It isn’t far. Five steps and he collapses next to Charles. Charles drags his eyes off Shaw’s crumpled body and looks at him. Smiles. Under the blood his eyes are bright and his mouth is sweet. Erik’s hand trembles, reaching out to sweep clotted hair out of his face. Charles catches his hand in his, presses it to his cheek. “It’s okay.”
It’s okay. It’s okay. Okayokayokay. He echoes in Erik’s mind, warm and there.
Erik closes his eyes; something inside him unknots and tears burn. He can’t hold him, and instead just huddles close, burying his face in the crook of Charles’ neck. Charles’ arms come up around him.
Shhh, I’m here. Charles nuzzles his hair, kisses the crown of his head. You’ve got me. We’re safe.
Got you. Erik repeats blankly. He lifts his head and meets Charles’ lips. Sweet. Tender and sweet. He tastes of sweat and tears and blood from the cut on his head. It shocks Erik out of the grey limbo, he reaches out and cups Charles’s cheek, brushes the strands of hair out of the way.
Charles closes his eyes, a great bloody lump just above his left brow. He winces when Erik touches it. Opens his eyes. “How’s your arm?”
“Broken.” In several places probably. “Your legs?”
Charles looks down at his legs, a little helplessly. One leg is bent at an unnatural angle, blood staining his suit where the bone broken skin. He laughs, doubled over and trembling.
“Charles?” Erik runs his good hand down his back. He reaches through the bond - it feels so good- and buries himself in Charles’ mind. Charles.
“I’m sorry.” Charles rubs his eyes. “Just- broken. Both of us.”
I don’t care. “We’re alive.” He hadn’t dared imagine that far.
Charles tries to pulls himself away from the doorway. Behind him, the mirror room is streaked here and there with blood where Charles had had to drag himself along the floor after hitting the stand. The mirrors reflect the red over and over.
Together, they manage to pull themselves away from the room, and huddle against the wall behind one of Shaw’s armchairs. The submarine is completely silent, the lights dimming slightly, then brightening as backup generators come online. Half the ceiling’s come down and a bookcase from an upper room has landed on the sofa. Three feet away, Shaw is bleeding face down on the carpet.
I’m sorry. Charles closes his eyes and tucks his head under Erik’s chin. He’s calmer, hysteria backing down. That room, he engineered it so that no telepathy or- anything else- could get through. A safe place for him. No one would go in willingly.
Erik nods, dropping his head back against the wall behind them. Deep breaths, calm. Nothing feels real just yet. His arm is beginning to hurt very badly.
“Here.” Charles touches the side of his head, and the pain stops. Blocked off the receptors. He smiles. “I did the same, so I can’t feel my legs.”
“Good.” Erik runs his good hand over Charles’ shoulders and back, checking for any other injuries. The place where Shaw touched his chest is burnt through to the metal plating Erik had ordered Hank include. Charles smiles at him, brilliantly. Thank you.
Erik pauses, braces his hand on Charles’ chest, again seeing Shaw spin around, one hand reaching out to push two fingers and untold amounts of power into Charles’ chest. His hands shake. Charles pushes himself forward and hugs him, mindful of his broken arm. I’m fine. Thanks to you. Shh, love, I’m fine.
Erik pulls out the metal from the walls and starts trying to splint his arm together, somehow finding determination despite the exhaustion. Don’t. Charles touches his shoulder, You’ll hurt yourself. He isn’t a doctor, and neither is Charles. They need to get to a hospital.
They need us outside. Erik glares at him. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this.
Images of those other times, times where Erik was hurt but hospitals were out of the question. They aren’t now, and we’ve be more of a hindrance than a help out there. He can’t walk, and anything they could do to help they can do just as well from in here.
“Tell them Shaw’s dead.” Erik’s voice is hoarse, vivid red marks standing out on his throat like some perverse kind of collar. “You said they’re only following him out of fear, tell them he’s dead.”
Charles closes his eyes; he can barely believe it himself. It’s over. Finally, at last, the nightmare is over. They’ll be able to go home and rest and heal and he’ll have his winter with Erik, isn’t that worth a few broken bones? It’s done. He shouts, so loudly the men on the ships can probably hear him. Shaw’s dead. Go home. There’s nothing more here.
The responses come as a tidal wave; Charles winces and clutches the side of his head. Angel is screaming denial. Moira sends him a clumsy mental hug. Raven demands to know if he’s okay. Sean shouting ‘go team’. Darwin laughing weakly, kneeling next to Alex. Hank growling at the teleporter and the Nameless Man who are - god - more relieved than they are. The men on the ships-
The men on the ships.
Even at this distance, Charles can feel their nameless, shouting fear of what they’ve seen. A weapon which can raise a submarine, suits which allow people to fly. Energy weapons which can tear a beach apart. No discernable sides. Orders to destroy at once. Beside Charles Erik jumps to his feet, stumbling and falling over when his arm - without Charles to deaden it - jars hot glass shards of pain. He can feel it too, the missiles, the ships pulling in range to launch. There’s enough firepower on those ships to turn most of the island into a glass crater.
Charles almost laughs, helpless. It seems as though Shaw will have his war after all. If opening fire on a communist allied nation with a thousand rockets isn’t a pretext for war, nothing will be. Never mind that some of these ships are Soviet, they will claim the beach as their victory, and that it was the American rockets that laid waste to the following ten kilometres.
Charles. Charles opens his eyes. Erik is kneeling down in front of him, shaking slightly, holding his own arm so tightly his knuckles are white. Make them leave. Get rid of them.
Charles stares. “I can’t. Maybe if I had Cerebro, but at this range, there’s so many-“
You can. Erik looks at him steadily; each word of his thoughts cast of the same unbreakable metal that saved Charles’ life. You stopped Shaw. You stopped the ship. You can stop them. He lets go of his arm and cup’s Charles’ face. You showed me how to do this. You have to do this. Or we all die.
There’s no time. Charles can feel the others start to panic. They’ve seen the ships too. Moira is screaming into the Blackbird’s microphone, to no response. Darwin is trying to get as many of them as possible into the water, out to sea and underwater to escape the firestorm. Angel is screaming at the ship, ready to fly off and go down fighting - asShawwouldhavewanted- the teleporter and the Nameless man holding each other, hesitating - theyarelikeustakethemwithus- and Raven - oh, Raven - she’s running to get to the submarine, trying to get to them at all costs.
Charles closes his eyes, tries to remember the feeling in Cerebro, the world opening up around him. He can do this. He’s reached across continents, he can do a few miles. Erik’s lips meet his, hot, demanding, steadying. His hand on Charles’ neck, pressing in against the collar. Peace. Calm. Control.
Obey me.
Rage and serenity.
He goes to the captains first. A mental net spanning the whole sea, he can feel their minds, the weight of command, the ten thousand ways of hiding fear, authority like a cloak around them, given by all those around them. No. Stop. These are not your orders. Your orders are to leave. The ship has been stopped. Your role is done. Go home. You saw nothing in this place.
The communications officers. The constant fear, to repeat messages exactly and hope not to be blames for their contents, alert for any signal. Radio is dead. Switch it off. Throw the switches and forget you ever did so. You had no orders to kill anyone. You reported the ship was stopped and they ordered you to go home. You saw nothing in this place.
The gunnery officers, their fingers on the buttons to launch the rockets. You will not fire. There is nothing to fire on. You were joking, or carrying out an exercise. It is done. You are going home now. You saw nothing in this place.
Those steering Turn the ship. Just so. Leave now. Those were your orders. You saw nothing in this place.
There was nothing. You saw nothing. You heard nothing. There was nothing in this place. Shouted out, implanted in, through the ships top to bottom, he can’t afford to miss one. One missile fired will kill them all and start Shaw’s war.
I’d catch them. Erik’s voice is a whisper in his own ear. Somewhere, far in the distance, Charles is aware of his own body, slumped against the submarine wall with Erik kneeling by him. I’d catch them and throw them back, it’s okay.
My friend. A thousand miles away, Charles feels himself smile. You can’t even stand.
Charles’s eyes move behind closed lids, flicker, blink, and finally open slowly, like waking up from a deep sleep. His body more than the still shell it had been for the last few minutes. Far away, beyond the beach, Erik can feel the pull as the warships withdraw.
“I have no idea where I just sent them.” Charles gives a weak grin. “For all I know they’ll try to sail to their hometowns.”
“It was perfect.” Erik sits down beside Charles, wincing as the broken bones grind together. Charles frowns, and the pain fade, less than before, still there but bearable. “You are-“ the laugh hurts his throat “- better at this than I am. You should be the Dominant.”
Charles smiles, closes his eyes again and rests his head on Erik’s shoulder. You were the one who gave the order. I will always obey you. You are the only one who can do this.
The door suddenly bursts open. Charles jumps so hard his legs jar. He hadn’t remembered to numb them and the pain is blinding. Raven is running so fast she doesn’t see Shaw until she almost trips over him. She skids to a halt, looking down at the crumpled body and the red pool soaked into the rich carpet, the up and finally sees them. “Charles! We have to go, the ships are about to fire-“
It’s easier to speak in her mind, talking is too much effort. It’s fine. We got rid of them; they’re leaving as we speak.
Raven hesitates, but seeing both of them relatively calm is enough to satisfy her. Her shoulders slump, she exhales, and looks back down at Shaw. “That’s him?”
It’s rhetorical, but Charles nods anyway. Raven walks over and kicks the body over. They all flinch, all for different reasons. Erik because there’s still far too much of Shaw in that face, Raven because there isn’t any, and Charles because he did this. He drove Shaw to mutilate his own face until he is bare recognisable. The eyes bloody burst pits, skin rent open so deep
bone is visible here and there. Bottom lip almost torn off completely, revealing the grinning teeth of a skull.
Raven shudders, and looks away. “Are you two okay?” Her eyes land on Charles’ legs, Erik’s arm “What happened?”
Erik jerks his head at Shaw. Raven winces. “Can you walk?”
Charles shakes his head. Raven glances at Erik for permission, he nods. “We’re not getting out otherwise.”
Raven takes on her fighting form, seven feet tall and covered in muscle. She picks Charles up as though he weighs nothing. Only Erik’s pride is stopping him for asking for the same. Whatever he might have said, Charles was right, standing takes more out of him than he cares to admit.
Raising the submarine, saving the plane, fighting Shaw, that would be enough on its own. But it’s the bruised feeling inside his head that finished him. The raw place where the bond was ripped out and suddenly replaced, the sight he resigns himself to seeing a thousand time in his nightmares, of Shaw turning to Charles, light wreathing his fingers.
Erik shakes his head to clear the images out. He pushes the door open, leaning for a moment against the frame, deep breath, come on. Not much further. He leads them out of the submarine.
Outside is unnervingly still. Darwin, Sean and Alex are sitting in the surf, warily watching the ships drift away, tense and ready to run if they return. Darwin’s arms around Alex’ waist, ready to carry him if necessary. Moira and Hank are further up the beach, facing the Nameless man, the teleporter and Angel. Hank’s teeth are bared, Moira is pointing her gun at them.
And she might be on their side, but Erik has had enough with human threats today. The gun falls to pieces in her hands and the energy it takes just to do that makes Erik stumble. They all turn to look at them.
“Charles!” Moira looks so relieved Erik almost forgives her for the gun. She runs up to them.
Charles is smiling, I’m fine amended to I’ll be fine.
Erik looks back as what were Shaw’s people. They look at each other, none wanting to be the first to approach the one- they assume- who killed Shaw. Finally, the red demon approaches, the teleporter. He looks at Erik, taking in his broken arm and torn clothes. “He’s dead?” His accent is heavy and Russian.
Erik nods. “You can see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
The teleporter shakes his head. “He would have been glad it was you. He often spoke of you.”
Erik snorts, and has to bite back manic laughter. Shaw would have been disgusted that it was Charles who killed him.
The weak, snivelling, dependant Submissive. Who killed him.
Erik can’t help it; he throws back his head and laughs. He couldn’t believe it until now. He’s free. For the first time in twenty years, he’s finally free.
Erik doesn’t correct their assumption. Let them believe it. It’s safer this way. He’s the obvious choice; Dominant and visibly powerful. They can accept him as Shaw’s successor as they never would Charles. Let him be the figurehead, the decoy. Let him draw their fire. Let them never know that Charles is more powerful than any of them could dream of being.
Charles hesitates at the implications he feels, circling Erik’s thoughts. Then he looks out at the disappearing ships, remembers the fear, the distrust. It could happen again. It might not. With humanity there are no guarantees. They gave their lives in the facility, and nearly destroyed them all in their fear here. There is no way to know. But Erik is right in one thing; this is not a risk they can take.
I’ll keep us safe. He doesn’t know if the thought is his or Erik’s. Always. Maybe if Hank built another Cerebro it would be much easier, make the CIA forget there ever were mutants, cover their tracks and disappear completely. Erik smiles, warm approval. Together.
“Guys?” Sean is standing, up to his knees in surf. “How are we getting out of here?”
Erik looks at the teleporter. “We need to leave.” In the absence of their leader, he seems to have to adopted as his successor. The man nods, outwardly calm, but inside he’s a storm of desperation for anywhere to go. Shaw had been the only one who’d accepted them, and any price had been worth paying to escape the murderous world beyond. If these people would take them, they’d go.
Moira looks at him, then back at Charles. “Are you sure?”
Charles nods, it’s fine. He won’t forget that this man had been willing to murder dozens of people, and allow his own Submissive to be mutilated, to pay Shaw’s price. But right now, they need him.
Darwin pulls Alex up, one arm around his shoulders - Charles isn’t the only one with broken bones - and Sean follows them up the beach. The teleporter- Azazel, if he’s with them now, Charles had better get used to using his name - takes the Nameless man’s hand, and hold the other out to Angel.
She doesn’t move, crossing her arms across her chest. Azazel shrugs, brushing her off as though she were a fly, and takes Moira’s hand instead.
Please come. It physically hurts to speak to her like this, but Charles won’t look away again. I’m sorry. It isn’t what you think. You are welcome here. You belong with us.
“I know where I belong.” It’s pride, Charles realises, amazed, she’s somehow twisted up her own pain and loss and created pride from it. She’s proud of who she is and what she’s done, and she is not about to leave it behind and go with someone who had to fight to look her in the face. “It’s not with you.” She turns away.
Her wings are translucent in the setting sun, almost invisible as she takes to the air. Go well. I’m sorry. Charles doesn’t know if she hears him.
Author: Skull_Bearer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,986
Warnings: None
Summary: Sequel to Of Needles, Wars and Hands of Time and Stability, a Search For, All Friends and Kingdom Come, A Moment and Rage, Fear. Serenity and All Fall Down. A D/s world where Erik and Charles spend their lives believing the other to be dead.
Unbroken
Every breath hurts. Each step jars his broken arm. Erik holds it against his chest, hunched over. It isn’t far. Five steps and he collapses next to Charles. Charles drags his eyes off Shaw’s crumpled body and looks at him. Smiles. Under the blood his eyes are bright and his mouth is sweet. Erik’s hand trembles, reaching out to sweep clotted hair out of his face. Charles catches his hand in his, presses it to his cheek. “It’s okay.”
It’s okay. It’s okay. Okayokayokay. He echoes in Erik’s mind, warm and there.
Erik closes his eyes; something inside him unknots and tears burn. He can’t hold him, and instead just huddles close, burying his face in the crook of Charles’ neck. Charles’ arms come up around him.
Shhh, I’m here. Charles nuzzles his hair, kisses the crown of his head. You’ve got me. We’re safe.
Got you. Erik repeats blankly. He lifts his head and meets Charles’ lips. Sweet. Tender and sweet. He tastes of sweat and tears and blood from the cut on his head. It shocks Erik out of the grey limbo, he reaches out and cups Charles’s cheek, brushes the strands of hair out of the way.
Charles closes his eyes, a great bloody lump just above his left brow. He winces when Erik touches it. Opens his eyes. “How’s your arm?”
“Broken.” In several places probably. “Your legs?”
Charles looks down at his legs, a little helplessly. One leg is bent at an unnatural angle, blood staining his suit where the bone broken skin. He laughs, doubled over and trembling.
“Charles?” Erik runs his good hand down his back. He reaches through the bond - it feels so good- and buries himself in Charles’ mind. Charles.
“I’m sorry.” Charles rubs his eyes. “Just- broken. Both of us.”
I don’t care. “We’re alive.” He hadn’t dared imagine that far.
Charles tries to pulls himself away from the doorway. Behind him, the mirror room is streaked here and there with blood where Charles had had to drag himself along the floor after hitting the stand. The mirrors reflect the red over and over.
Together, they manage to pull themselves away from the room, and huddle against the wall behind one of Shaw’s armchairs. The submarine is completely silent, the lights dimming slightly, then brightening as backup generators come online. Half the ceiling’s come down and a bookcase from an upper room has landed on the sofa. Three feet away, Shaw is bleeding face down on the carpet.
I’m sorry. Charles closes his eyes and tucks his head under Erik’s chin. He’s calmer, hysteria backing down. That room, he engineered it so that no telepathy or- anything else- could get through. A safe place for him. No one would go in willingly.
Erik nods, dropping his head back against the wall behind them. Deep breaths, calm. Nothing feels real just yet. His arm is beginning to hurt very badly.
“Here.” Charles touches the side of his head, and the pain stops. Blocked off the receptors. He smiles. “I did the same, so I can’t feel my legs.”
“Good.” Erik runs his good hand over Charles’ shoulders and back, checking for any other injuries. The place where Shaw touched his chest is burnt through to the metal plating Erik had ordered Hank include. Charles smiles at him, brilliantly. Thank you.
Erik pauses, braces his hand on Charles’ chest, again seeing Shaw spin around, one hand reaching out to push two fingers and untold amounts of power into Charles’ chest. His hands shake. Charles pushes himself forward and hugs him, mindful of his broken arm. I’m fine. Thanks to you. Shh, love, I’m fine.
Erik pulls out the metal from the walls and starts trying to splint his arm together, somehow finding determination despite the exhaustion. Don’t. Charles touches his shoulder, You’ll hurt yourself. He isn’t a doctor, and neither is Charles. They need to get to a hospital.
They need us outside. Erik glares at him. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this.
Images of those other times, times where Erik was hurt but hospitals were out of the question. They aren’t now, and we’ve be more of a hindrance than a help out there. He can’t walk, and anything they could do to help they can do just as well from in here.
“Tell them Shaw’s dead.” Erik’s voice is hoarse, vivid red marks standing out on his throat like some perverse kind of collar. “You said they’re only following him out of fear, tell them he’s dead.”
Charles closes his eyes; he can barely believe it himself. It’s over. Finally, at last, the nightmare is over. They’ll be able to go home and rest and heal and he’ll have his winter with Erik, isn’t that worth a few broken bones? It’s done. He shouts, so loudly the men on the ships can probably hear him. Shaw’s dead. Go home. There’s nothing more here.
The responses come as a tidal wave; Charles winces and clutches the side of his head. Angel is screaming denial. Moira sends him a clumsy mental hug. Raven demands to know if he’s okay. Sean shouting ‘go team’. Darwin laughing weakly, kneeling next to Alex. Hank growling at the teleporter and the Nameless Man who are - god - more relieved than they are. The men on the ships-
The men on the ships.
Even at this distance, Charles can feel their nameless, shouting fear of what they’ve seen. A weapon which can raise a submarine, suits which allow people to fly. Energy weapons which can tear a beach apart. No discernable sides. Orders to destroy at once. Beside Charles Erik jumps to his feet, stumbling and falling over when his arm - without Charles to deaden it - jars hot glass shards of pain. He can feel it too, the missiles, the ships pulling in range to launch. There’s enough firepower on those ships to turn most of the island into a glass crater.
Charles almost laughs, helpless. It seems as though Shaw will have his war after all. If opening fire on a communist allied nation with a thousand rockets isn’t a pretext for war, nothing will be. Never mind that some of these ships are Soviet, they will claim the beach as their victory, and that it was the American rockets that laid waste to the following ten kilometres.
Charles. Charles opens his eyes. Erik is kneeling down in front of him, shaking slightly, holding his own arm so tightly his knuckles are white. Make them leave. Get rid of them.
Charles stares. “I can’t. Maybe if I had Cerebro, but at this range, there’s so many-“
You can. Erik looks at him steadily; each word of his thoughts cast of the same unbreakable metal that saved Charles’ life. You stopped Shaw. You stopped the ship. You can stop them. He lets go of his arm and cup’s Charles’ face. You showed me how to do this. You have to do this. Or we all die.
There’s no time. Charles can feel the others start to panic. They’ve seen the ships too. Moira is screaming into the Blackbird’s microphone, to no response. Darwin is trying to get as many of them as possible into the water, out to sea and underwater to escape the firestorm. Angel is screaming at the ship, ready to fly off and go down fighting - asShawwouldhavewanted- the teleporter and the Nameless man holding each other, hesitating - theyarelikeustakethemwithus- and Raven - oh, Raven - she’s running to get to the submarine, trying to get to them at all costs.
Charles closes his eyes, tries to remember the feeling in Cerebro, the world opening up around him. He can do this. He’s reached across continents, he can do a few miles. Erik’s lips meet his, hot, demanding, steadying. His hand on Charles’ neck, pressing in against the collar. Peace. Calm. Control.
Obey me.
Rage and serenity.
He goes to the captains first. A mental net spanning the whole sea, he can feel their minds, the weight of command, the ten thousand ways of hiding fear, authority like a cloak around them, given by all those around them. No. Stop. These are not your orders. Your orders are to leave. The ship has been stopped. Your role is done. Go home. You saw nothing in this place.
The communications officers. The constant fear, to repeat messages exactly and hope not to be blames for their contents, alert for any signal. Radio is dead. Switch it off. Throw the switches and forget you ever did so. You had no orders to kill anyone. You reported the ship was stopped and they ordered you to go home. You saw nothing in this place.
The gunnery officers, their fingers on the buttons to launch the rockets. You will not fire. There is nothing to fire on. You were joking, or carrying out an exercise. It is done. You are going home now. You saw nothing in this place.
Those steering Turn the ship. Just so. Leave now. Those were your orders. You saw nothing in this place.
There was nothing. You saw nothing. You heard nothing. There was nothing in this place. Shouted out, implanted in, through the ships top to bottom, he can’t afford to miss one. One missile fired will kill them all and start Shaw’s war.
I’d catch them. Erik’s voice is a whisper in his own ear. Somewhere, far in the distance, Charles is aware of his own body, slumped against the submarine wall with Erik kneeling by him. I’d catch them and throw them back, it’s okay.
My friend. A thousand miles away, Charles feels himself smile. You can’t even stand.
Charles’s eyes move behind closed lids, flicker, blink, and finally open slowly, like waking up from a deep sleep. His body more than the still shell it had been for the last few minutes. Far away, beyond the beach, Erik can feel the pull as the warships withdraw.
“I have no idea where I just sent them.” Charles gives a weak grin. “For all I know they’ll try to sail to their hometowns.”
“It was perfect.” Erik sits down beside Charles, wincing as the broken bones grind together. Charles frowns, and the pain fade, less than before, still there but bearable. “You are-“ the laugh hurts his throat “- better at this than I am. You should be the Dominant.”
Charles smiles, closes his eyes again and rests his head on Erik’s shoulder. You were the one who gave the order. I will always obey you. You are the only one who can do this.
The door suddenly bursts open. Charles jumps so hard his legs jar. He hadn’t remembered to numb them and the pain is blinding. Raven is running so fast she doesn’t see Shaw until she almost trips over him. She skids to a halt, looking down at the crumpled body and the red pool soaked into the rich carpet, the up and finally sees them. “Charles! We have to go, the ships are about to fire-“
It’s easier to speak in her mind, talking is too much effort. It’s fine. We got rid of them; they’re leaving as we speak.
Raven hesitates, but seeing both of them relatively calm is enough to satisfy her. Her shoulders slump, she exhales, and looks back down at Shaw. “That’s him?”
It’s rhetorical, but Charles nods anyway. Raven walks over and kicks the body over. They all flinch, all for different reasons. Erik because there’s still far too much of Shaw in that face, Raven because there isn’t any, and Charles because he did this. He drove Shaw to mutilate his own face until he is bare recognisable. The eyes bloody burst pits, skin rent open so deep
bone is visible here and there. Bottom lip almost torn off completely, revealing the grinning teeth of a skull.
Raven shudders, and looks away. “Are you two okay?” Her eyes land on Charles’ legs, Erik’s arm “What happened?”
Erik jerks his head at Shaw. Raven winces. “Can you walk?”
Charles shakes his head. Raven glances at Erik for permission, he nods. “We’re not getting out otherwise.”
Raven takes on her fighting form, seven feet tall and covered in muscle. She picks Charles up as though he weighs nothing. Only Erik’s pride is stopping him for asking for the same. Whatever he might have said, Charles was right, standing takes more out of him than he cares to admit.
Raising the submarine, saving the plane, fighting Shaw, that would be enough on its own. But it’s the bruised feeling inside his head that finished him. The raw place where the bond was ripped out and suddenly replaced, the sight he resigns himself to seeing a thousand time in his nightmares, of Shaw turning to Charles, light wreathing his fingers.
Erik shakes his head to clear the images out. He pushes the door open, leaning for a moment against the frame, deep breath, come on. Not much further. He leads them out of the submarine.
Outside is unnervingly still. Darwin, Sean and Alex are sitting in the surf, warily watching the ships drift away, tense and ready to run if they return. Darwin’s arms around Alex’ waist, ready to carry him if necessary. Moira and Hank are further up the beach, facing the Nameless man, the teleporter and Angel. Hank’s teeth are bared, Moira is pointing her gun at them.
And she might be on their side, but Erik has had enough with human threats today. The gun falls to pieces in her hands and the energy it takes just to do that makes Erik stumble. They all turn to look at them.
“Charles!” Moira looks so relieved Erik almost forgives her for the gun. She runs up to them.
Charles is smiling, I’m fine amended to I’ll be fine.
Erik looks back as what were Shaw’s people. They look at each other, none wanting to be the first to approach the one- they assume- who killed Shaw. Finally, the red demon approaches, the teleporter. He looks at Erik, taking in his broken arm and torn clothes. “He’s dead?” His accent is heavy and Russian.
Erik nods. “You can see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
The teleporter shakes his head. “He would have been glad it was you. He often spoke of you.”
Erik snorts, and has to bite back manic laughter. Shaw would have been disgusted that it was Charles who killed him.
The weak, snivelling, dependant Submissive. Who killed him.
Erik can’t help it; he throws back his head and laughs. He couldn’t believe it until now. He’s free. For the first time in twenty years, he’s finally free.
Erik doesn’t correct their assumption. Let them believe it. It’s safer this way. He’s the obvious choice; Dominant and visibly powerful. They can accept him as Shaw’s successor as they never would Charles. Let him be the figurehead, the decoy. Let him draw their fire. Let them never know that Charles is more powerful than any of them could dream of being.
Charles hesitates at the implications he feels, circling Erik’s thoughts. Then he looks out at the disappearing ships, remembers the fear, the distrust. It could happen again. It might not. With humanity there are no guarantees. They gave their lives in the facility, and nearly destroyed them all in their fear here. There is no way to know. But Erik is right in one thing; this is not a risk they can take.
I’ll keep us safe. He doesn’t know if the thought is his or Erik’s. Always. Maybe if Hank built another Cerebro it would be much easier, make the CIA forget there ever were mutants, cover their tracks and disappear completely. Erik smiles, warm approval. Together.
“Guys?” Sean is standing, up to his knees in surf. “How are we getting out of here?”
Erik looks at the teleporter. “We need to leave.” In the absence of their leader, he seems to have to adopted as his successor. The man nods, outwardly calm, but inside he’s a storm of desperation for anywhere to go. Shaw had been the only one who’d accepted them, and any price had been worth paying to escape the murderous world beyond. If these people would take them, they’d go.
Moira looks at him, then back at Charles. “Are you sure?”
Charles nods, it’s fine. He won’t forget that this man had been willing to murder dozens of people, and allow his own Submissive to be mutilated, to pay Shaw’s price. But right now, they need him.
Darwin pulls Alex up, one arm around his shoulders - Charles isn’t the only one with broken bones - and Sean follows them up the beach. The teleporter- Azazel, if he’s with them now, Charles had better get used to using his name - takes the Nameless man’s hand, and hold the other out to Angel.
She doesn’t move, crossing her arms across her chest. Azazel shrugs, brushing her off as though she were a fly, and takes Moira’s hand instead.
Please come. It physically hurts to speak to her like this, but Charles won’t look away again. I’m sorry. It isn’t what you think. You are welcome here. You belong with us.
“I know where I belong.” It’s pride, Charles realises, amazed, she’s somehow twisted up her own pain and loss and created pride from it. She’s proud of who she is and what she’s done, and she is not about to leave it behind and go with someone who had to fight to look her in the face. “It’s not with you.” She turns away.
Her wings are translucent in the setting sun, almost invisible as she takes to the air. Go well. I’m sorry. Charles doesn’t know if she hears him.