[fic] In which Charles actually has a twin brother, who now wants to kick Erik's ass (3/?)
Title: In which Charles actually has a twin brother, who now wants to kick Erik's ass (3/?)
Pairing: Charles/Erik (eventually)
Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 3064
Warnings: explicit language
Summary: Wesley didn’t want much out of life, but what he wanted the most was for Charles and Raven to be safe and happy. So he was rightfully displeased when he heard the message left on his emergency line, and by someone distinctly not Charles or Raven. (XMFC/Wanted crossover)
Notes: I just loved the idea of Charles and Wesley being twins and Wesley flipping out when he finds out someone hurt his brother, and suddenly, I couldn't resist writing this.
It isn't beta'd because I didn't want to trouble her with this just yet with everything else I've piled on her. Also, I'm not quite sure where this is all headed, but we'll see. I'm aiming for a fix-it, but that's if Wesley will ever let Erik within a mile's radius of Charles...
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Chapter 3 - Wesley
Charles woke a few hours later, around the time actual visiting hours started. While the doctor and nurses stopped by to talk with Charles and do whatever they needed to do to check on him, Wesley slipped out to get the both of them food that didn’t taste like cardboard.
He returned with a bag of Chinese takeout to find his brother in the middle of discussion with Agent MacTaggert and the two boys-Alex and Sean, he recalled from Charles’ memories.
The doctor had allowed for the bed to be raised, so Charles could finally sit up properly to talk to his visitors. Charles looked significantly brighter, breaking off from his conversation with the others to beam at Wesley. The smile wasn’t entirely forced, and the brush of Charles’ mind against his was definitely happier than before. The small ball of anxiety in Wesley’s gut unraveled a bit.
“Wesley, come meet Moira and the boys properly this time,” Charles greeted him. “And you brought food! Thank you for that. I can’t remember the last time I ate.”
It was actually right before Cuba, which Wesley knew because Charles knew, but he wasn’t intent on bringing that up. Instead, he shot Charles a return smile and crossed the room, stepping around the others so that he could set the bag of food on the nightstand. He perched himself on the bed, right next to Charles, who automatically shifted himself closer.
“Wesley, this is Moira, Alex and Sean. Hank, unfortunately, can’t join us, as you know. He’s at the hotel just down the street from here, I’m told. And everyone, this is Wesley, my dearest twin brother,” Charles introduced.
“Yeah, I’d say nice to meet ya, but not the best circumstances here,” Wesley said, giving them a nod in greeting anyway.
The other three mumbled their greetings before the redhead Sean said, “So how come you didn’t tell us about him, Professor? I mean, he’s your brother.”
“You weren’t mentioned in any files I have either,” MacTaggert added, looking directly at Wesley.
Wesley snorted. “My life is easier if the CIA doesn’t know I exist,” he remarked. He paused, and then leaned forward and added with just a hint of menace, “So if I find out word about me gets back to the CIA, I know who to find, don’t I?”
MacTaggert stiffened, eyes narrowing and her hand twitching for her gun. She had good instincts; he’d give her that-at least when she wasn’t trying to shoot bullets at a man who controlled metal.
“Wesley, please, Moira is a friend. There’s no need to be hostile.”
“You know why I’m being hostile, Charles,” Wesley snapped.
Charles flinched and Wesley instantly regretted his words. He squeezed Charles’ hand, projecting his apology to him.
“Why weren’t you around to help us?” Alex demanded.
Wesley huffed, but Charles answered for him, “I didn’t think I’d have to trouble him. Wesley was in Europe, and he has his own troubles to deal with.”
“If I had known who you were up against, I would have been there in a heartbeat.” Wesley shot his brother a glare; Charles just blithely shrugged. “But like Charles said, Shaw wasn’t the only bad guy out there.”
MacTaggert seemed to pick up on the hint, but then Sean asked, “So, what’s your superpowers then? If Professor is a mutant, you’re one too, right?”
Wesley couldn’t help be amused at Charles’ new nickname, and Charles poked at him inside his head. Wesley just mentally prodded him back.
“Enhanced speed, strength, endurance, and…” He eyed the CIA agent for a moment before adding, “I’m good with guns.”
“Oh, honestly, Wesley, Moira isn’t going to turn you in. Are you, Moira?” Charles asked, turning those big blue eyes of his at the woman, and it didn’t surprise Wesley one bit to see the agent, a moment tense, simply melt into compliance. He’d been subjected to those eyes many times before, and they were deadly.
Amusement trickled into his head from Charles, who’d clearly heard his thoughts.
Really now, Wes, I hardly think ‘deadly’ is an apt description.
Yes, it is, you manipulative little-
Charles’ laughter echoed in his head, and Wesley was so relieved to hear the sound of it that he didn’t bother finished the thought. It’d been too long since he’d heard Charles laugh, even if it was only in his head.
MacTaggert eyed Wesley warily before wording carefully, “I have been given no clear evidence that you plan on being a danger to the American public or the CIA. Besides, I don’t think I would get very far if I tried.”
Wesley inclined his head in acceptance. “Trust me, lady-or not-I’m one of the good guys here,” he said wryly.
“So what do you exactly mean by ‘good with guns’?” Alex asked. He’d crossed his arms during the course of the conversation and was now eyeing Wesley with part-caution and part-interest. The redhead next to him didn’t even bother hiding his curiosity.
“Let’s not talk about firearms now, shall we? We’re in a hospital, after all,” Charles interjected, voice markedly cheerful.
Wesley didn’t need to be a telepath to sense the sudden guilt in the two boys, their thoughts headed for Charles’ unfeeling legs, no doubt.
“Moira, have you received any word from your superiors?” Charles said hurriedly, diverting their attentions away from his legs.
MacTaggert shook her head and said, “No, they’re all still dealing with what Cuba means for international relations. I haven’t reported anything to them just yet.”
“All right. Then we should be in the clear for now,” Charles said.
“I’ll talk to the director, Charles. He needs to know that the government made a mistake,” the agent said.
“Good luck with that,” Wesley scoffed. “They were shoot missiles at you too, you know? One agent doesn’t mean a thing to the government when it thinks it’s being threatened by mutants.”
“Yes, I recall that.” MacTaggert glared at him. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”
“Of course not. Like I said, good luck with that.”
Charles prodded him in the side.
Please stop antagonizing her. Charles gave him a stern look. Wesley shrugged, and Charles sighed before looking back at MacTaggert and said, “For now, it might be best not to report in just yet. They might recall you to the agency, and I still rather need your help, after all.”
After scarfing down his half of the food, Wesley left Charles to entertain Moira and the two boys, satisfied that Charles would be all right on his own for a while. Instead, he found a payphone outside the hospital and called Pekwarsky.
“Wesley, is your brother well?” the old man asked shortly after the call connected.
Wesley wasn’t surprised. He’d introduced Pekwarsky to Charles before, and like everyone who met Charles, the man had gotten along well with him.
“Not good. The doctor says his spinal cord is damaged. Can the wax fix it?”
There was a pause that had Wesley clenching his fists.
Pekwarsky then said, “It would have been best if he’d been placed in the wax immediately after the injury. Spinal injuries are not…easily treatable, but we can try. There exists a special formula of wax. I’ve only seen it used twice in my lifetime. I suspect it will help, though I cannot predict the extent.”
“Hey, I’ll take whatever I can get. As long as Charles can walk again,” Wesley replied.
“Then, I will head over on the soonest flight to Miami.”
Wesley sighed in relief and smiled to himself. “Thanks, old man.”
“Goodbye, Wesley. I‘ll see you and your brother tomorrow.”
After the call ended, Wesley stuck a few more coins into the payphone and debated who would be the best to call for information.
The Fraternity had operated with an enormous network of sources to gather information on Fate’s assignments-even if Sloan had abused it by fabricating targets and turning the Fraternity into a petty hit squad. Word had eventually gotten around that Wesley had cleaned out the Fraternity and taken control, but the network had stayed intact, since Wesley continuing working under Fate’s orders.
He eventually dialed the number for the Broker, the source he usually contacted for information in the States. He trusted the Broker enough to not ask questions or pass on anything to others. He always tried to keep Raven and Charles out of his occupation, even working under an alias to keep the Xavier name clean, like their father had.
“Mr. Gibson, what can I do for you?”
“I need you to track some people down, as soon as possible. They might change locations soon.”
“And have I ever failed you before? Give me the details, and I’ll find them.”
Wesley stopped by the apartment he had in the city, one of the many safehouses his father had left for him scattered across the States, to change and pick up a set of clothes for Charles, before returning to the hospital. MacTaggert and the two boys were gone, and Charles had somehow gotten a hold of the paperback Wesley had snatched up from somewhere to pass the time waiting for Charles to wake.
“I haven’t read a good fiction novel in years,” Charles remarked in lieu of a greeting, setting the book aside. “Though I’m rather surprised you’d read Bond. You have a similar work environment after all-outside of the class and the intrigue and whatnot.”
“Yeah, I wish. I have to make my job interesting. I just kill people; I can do from two miles away. It’s boring.”
“Yes, of course. Boring,” Charles said, sounding like he was rolling his eyes but was too dignified to actually do so.
Wesley ignored him, setting the clothes he’d brought for him at the foot of the bed.
“Oh, and I finally convinced Moira and the others to go on up to Westchester. Moira doesn’t seem to find you reliable.” Charles sounded so put out about it that Wesley couldn’t help but reach out and ruffle his brother’s hair. Charles batted his hand away with a brief glare.
“As long as she doesn’t report me to the CIA, I really don’t care about her opinion of me.”
Charles sighed as Wesley sat down next to him.
“You might not care, but I do.”
Wesley just shrugged before asking, “The doctor letting you leave, or will we have to convince him?”
“He tried to have me stay for rehabilitation, but I told him I’d go to a hospital closer to home. We have to sign some forms, but I can leave tomorrow morning.”
Charles’ hands were twisting the sheets in his lap. Wesley stilled them before taking hold of one of them in his.
“I can’t promise everything will be okay, Charlie.” Wesley said. “But I’ll do everything I can to make things better. Pekwarsky has a special wax that he thinks might help. He’ll be here tomorrow, and we’ll get you into it straight away.”
Charles ducked his head and bit his bottom lip, but nodded. Wesley slung an arm around his shoulders, and Charles melted instantly against him, closed his eyes and rested his head on Wesley’s shoulder like he used to do when they were kids.
Wesley knew Charles’ legs weren’t the only things bothering his brother. It wasn’t even Raven leaving. It was fucking Lehnsherr.
Wesley had seen Charles’ memories, experienced what his brother had felt. He knew exactly how Charles felt about Lehnsherr, and he hated it.
He used to wonder if, because of Charles’ telepathy, Charles would never find someone who would…match him, if Charles would be stuck forever without someone else to connect with. As much as Wesley loved having his brother beside him, he had wanted Charles to have a happy life-a lifelong companion, kids, a dog, that whole lot-even if Charles’ ambitions for mutantkind made the thought near impossible.
But now, there was Erik fucking Lehnsherr, and of course Charles had to choose the most difficult person in the world to fall for. And even if it hurt Charles now, there was no fucking way Wesley was going to let Lehnsherr near Charles again, not when Charles could be hurt again, and Lehnsherr would hurt Charles again, no doubt about it.
You’re thinking too loudly. It’s giving me a headache, Charles’ voice slipped into his head.
Sorry.
Wesley calmed himself down, pushing all thoughts of the present away. He instead thought about the places he’d traveled to in the years since being pulled from college by the Fraternity, focusing on the aspects he knew Charles liked-the rolling plains in the Midwest, the sweeping architecture in Rome, the majestic mountains in Switzerland. Charles didn’t fall asleep, but seemed content to rest against him silently and take in the scenery in Wesley’s mind.
Getting Charles out of the hospital the next morning went smoother than Wesley would have expected. Soon, they were taking a taxi across the city to Wesley’s apartment.
Once they had arrived, Charles paused in his wheelchair just outside the building.
It seems Mr. Pekwarsky is already here.
Good. The sooner we can get you into the wax, the better.
There wasn’t a lift in the apartment building, and he and Charles eyed the stairs for a moment before Wesley scooped Charles up without warning, one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees. Charles, he noted absently, was a bit too light for his liking.
“Wesley!” Charles yelped, wrapping his arms around Wesley’s neck.
“Not like I can get you upstairs any other way. Relax, the apartment’s on the second floor.”
Wesley began the trek up the stairs.
“You could have at least asked or warned me beforehand. Honestly, that was offensive!” Charles chided him.
Wesley paused, before continued up the stairs again and said carefully, “I’m sorry. I just want to hurry and get you better.”
Charles deflated with a sigh, indignation gone in a second.
“I know. Thank you, Wesley.”
“Nothing to thank, Charles. You’re my brother,” Wesley easily answered.
They had reached the second floor landing, and Wesley wondered for a moment how he’d open the door without have to set Charles down. Then, Pekwarsky opened the door to the apartment, no doubt having been alerted by Charles.
After a quick exchange in greetings, the old man stepped back to let them in. Wesley wasted no time, making a beeline for the bathroom. Charles eyed their surroundings warily, and Wesley could admit that the apartment was not the most pleasant of places, claustrophobic and dusty since he hadn’t been in Miami in a while. He rarely used this safehouse for anything more than sleeping. Charles refrained from making any comments though; Wesley had already shared many of his trips to him, and this apartment wasn’t even close to being the worst of the places he’d ever stayed in.
Pekwarsky followed right behind them. Wesley set Charles down on the lowered toilet lid, and within minutes, the tub was filled with water and the wax added in, Charles watching on with quiet interest.
Wesley wasn’t surprised; he rarely let Charles see him use the wax because it would bother Charles that Wesley was injured in the first place.
After Wesley had first stumbled home after killing Sloan-home at that time a family townhouse near Harvard instead of Charles’ flat in Oxford-and after the fuss and mild hysteria had been over and done with, Charles had boggled at what the wax could do, had expounded on what wonders it could bring to the medical field, but Wesley had rejected the idea. The wax was a Fraternity trade secret, and questions would be asked if the wax was introduced to the public. The resulting fight had lasted for about an hour, until Charles conceded that he’d rather not have Wesley arrested for murder-even if he didn’t necessarily like what Wesley did for a living.
“During immersion, it’s best if you are asleep the whole time. Would you like something to help you sleep?” Pekwarsky asked. Seeing Charles’ hesitance, he then added, “It will only make you drowsy, nothing more.”
“Yes, all right, please.”
With a nod, Pekwasky left the bathroom.
After shrugging off his jacket, Wesley helped Charles out of his clothes and into the wax without any protests for propriety from his brother. Charles was silent as he adjusted his legs in the tub, sitting back so the water went up to nearly his jaw and silent when the old man returned with a cup of whatever medicine would help him sleep.
Wesley sat himself down on the floor by the tub as Charles downed the medicine. The effects were almost immediate, Charles blinking to keep awake a little longer and unconsciously projecting his sleepiness into the room.
I hope this works, Wesley thought to Charles.
If he believed in a God, he would have prayed, but he believed in Fate, and a higher power that talked to him through a loom and only about who to kill was hardly something to pray to for Charles.
Charles reached out and held Wesley’s hand.
I hope so too. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m out, Charles sent to Wesley, his voice soft and drowsy.
Charles’ eyes slid shut and his grip on Wesley’s hand slackened before Wesley could reply. Wesley moved Charles’ hand back into the water.
Wesley didn’t leave Charles’ side for an hour, watching his brother sleep as the wax hardened on the water’s surface. The wax smelled different from what he was used to, something strongly herbal instead of just plain watery wax. Part of the special formula, he figured.
When he finally got up from the floor and left the room, he found Pekwarsky sitting on the old futon in the living room. From the old man, he learned that the Broker had called the apartment in the early morning, and Pekwarsky passed along the Broker’s information.
Ironically, Lehnsherr and his followers were apparently hiding out in Chicago. Wesley had only gone back to Chicago once since destroying the textile factory, but Chicago was a good place as any to confront the man-and shout at Raven.
Wesley changed clothes, gathered what he might need, and, after making sure Pekwarsky would keep an eye on Charles, was soon off to catch a plane.
Chapter 4 - Erik
Pairing: Charles/Erik (eventually)
Rating: PG-13
Chapter word count: 3064
Warnings: explicit language
Summary: Wesley didn’t want much out of life, but what he wanted the most was for Charles and Raven to be safe and happy. So he was rightfully displeased when he heard the message left on his emergency line, and by someone distinctly not Charles or Raven. (XMFC/Wanted crossover)
Notes: I just loved the idea of Charles and Wesley being twins and Wesley flipping out when he finds out someone hurt his brother, and suddenly, I couldn't resist writing this.
It isn't beta'd because I didn't want to trouble her with this just yet with everything else I've piled on her. Also, I'm not quite sure where this is all headed, but we'll see. I'm aiming for a fix-it, but that's if Wesley will ever let Erik within a mile's radius of Charles...
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Chapter 3 - Wesley
Charles woke a few hours later, around the time actual visiting hours started. While the doctor and nurses stopped by to talk with Charles and do whatever they needed to do to check on him, Wesley slipped out to get the both of them food that didn’t taste like cardboard.
He returned with a bag of Chinese takeout to find his brother in the middle of discussion with Agent MacTaggert and the two boys-Alex and Sean, he recalled from Charles’ memories.
The doctor had allowed for the bed to be raised, so Charles could finally sit up properly to talk to his visitors. Charles looked significantly brighter, breaking off from his conversation with the others to beam at Wesley. The smile wasn’t entirely forced, and the brush of Charles’ mind against his was definitely happier than before. The small ball of anxiety in Wesley’s gut unraveled a bit.
“Wesley, come meet Moira and the boys properly this time,” Charles greeted him. “And you brought food! Thank you for that. I can’t remember the last time I ate.”
It was actually right before Cuba, which Wesley knew because Charles knew, but he wasn’t intent on bringing that up. Instead, he shot Charles a return smile and crossed the room, stepping around the others so that he could set the bag of food on the nightstand. He perched himself on the bed, right next to Charles, who automatically shifted himself closer.
“Wesley, this is Moira, Alex and Sean. Hank, unfortunately, can’t join us, as you know. He’s at the hotel just down the street from here, I’m told. And everyone, this is Wesley, my dearest twin brother,” Charles introduced.
“Yeah, I’d say nice to meet ya, but not the best circumstances here,” Wesley said, giving them a nod in greeting anyway.
The other three mumbled their greetings before the redhead Sean said, “So how come you didn’t tell us about him, Professor? I mean, he’s your brother.”
“You weren’t mentioned in any files I have either,” MacTaggert added, looking directly at Wesley.
Wesley snorted. “My life is easier if the CIA doesn’t know I exist,” he remarked. He paused, and then leaned forward and added with just a hint of menace, “So if I find out word about me gets back to the CIA, I know who to find, don’t I?”
MacTaggert stiffened, eyes narrowing and her hand twitching for her gun. She had good instincts; he’d give her that-at least when she wasn’t trying to shoot bullets at a man who controlled metal.
“Wesley, please, Moira is a friend. There’s no need to be hostile.”
“You know why I’m being hostile, Charles,” Wesley snapped.
Charles flinched and Wesley instantly regretted his words. He squeezed Charles’ hand, projecting his apology to him.
“Why weren’t you around to help us?” Alex demanded.
Wesley huffed, but Charles answered for him, “I didn’t think I’d have to trouble him. Wesley was in Europe, and he has his own troubles to deal with.”
“If I had known who you were up against, I would have been there in a heartbeat.” Wesley shot his brother a glare; Charles just blithely shrugged. “But like Charles said, Shaw wasn’t the only bad guy out there.”
MacTaggert seemed to pick up on the hint, but then Sean asked, “So, what’s your superpowers then? If Professor is a mutant, you’re one too, right?”
Wesley couldn’t help be amused at Charles’ new nickname, and Charles poked at him inside his head. Wesley just mentally prodded him back.
“Enhanced speed, strength, endurance, and…” He eyed the CIA agent for a moment before adding, “I’m good with guns.”
“Oh, honestly, Wesley, Moira isn’t going to turn you in. Are you, Moira?” Charles asked, turning those big blue eyes of his at the woman, and it didn’t surprise Wesley one bit to see the agent, a moment tense, simply melt into compliance. He’d been subjected to those eyes many times before, and they were deadly.
Amusement trickled into his head from Charles, who’d clearly heard his thoughts.
Really now, Wes, I hardly think ‘deadly’ is an apt description.
Yes, it is, you manipulative little-
Charles’ laughter echoed in his head, and Wesley was so relieved to hear the sound of it that he didn’t bother finished the thought. It’d been too long since he’d heard Charles laugh, even if it was only in his head.
MacTaggert eyed Wesley warily before wording carefully, “I have been given no clear evidence that you plan on being a danger to the American public or the CIA. Besides, I don’t think I would get very far if I tried.”
Wesley inclined his head in acceptance. “Trust me, lady-or not-I’m one of the good guys here,” he said wryly.
“So what do you exactly mean by ‘good with guns’?” Alex asked. He’d crossed his arms during the course of the conversation and was now eyeing Wesley with part-caution and part-interest. The redhead next to him didn’t even bother hiding his curiosity.
“Let’s not talk about firearms now, shall we? We’re in a hospital, after all,” Charles interjected, voice markedly cheerful.
Wesley didn’t need to be a telepath to sense the sudden guilt in the two boys, their thoughts headed for Charles’ unfeeling legs, no doubt.
“Moira, have you received any word from your superiors?” Charles said hurriedly, diverting their attentions away from his legs.
MacTaggert shook her head and said, “No, they’re all still dealing with what Cuba means for international relations. I haven’t reported anything to them just yet.”
“All right. Then we should be in the clear for now,” Charles said.
“I’ll talk to the director, Charles. He needs to know that the government made a mistake,” the agent said.
“Good luck with that,” Wesley scoffed. “They were shoot missiles at you too, you know? One agent doesn’t mean a thing to the government when it thinks it’s being threatened by mutants.”
“Yes, I recall that.” MacTaggert glared at him. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”
“Of course not. Like I said, good luck with that.”
Charles prodded him in the side.
Please stop antagonizing her. Charles gave him a stern look. Wesley shrugged, and Charles sighed before looking back at MacTaggert and said, “For now, it might be best not to report in just yet. They might recall you to the agency, and I still rather need your help, after all.”
After scarfing down his half of the food, Wesley left Charles to entertain Moira and the two boys, satisfied that Charles would be all right on his own for a while. Instead, he found a payphone outside the hospital and called Pekwarsky.
“Wesley, is your brother well?” the old man asked shortly after the call connected.
Wesley wasn’t surprised. He’d introduced Pekwarsky to Charles before, and like everyone who met Charles, the man had gotten along well with him.
“Not good. The doctor says his spinal cord is damaged. Can the wax fix it?”
There was a pause that had Wesley clenching his fists.
Pekwarsky then said, “It would have been best if he’d been placed in the wax immediately after the injury. Spinal injuries are not…easily treatable, but we can try. There exists a special formula of wax. I’ve only seen it used twice in my lifetime. I suspect it will help, though I cannot predict the extent.”
“Hey, I’ll take whatever I can get. As long as Charles can walk again,” Wesley replied.
“Then, I will head over on the soonest flight to Miami.”
Wesley sighed in relief and smiled to himself. “Thanks, old man.”
“Goodbye, Wesley. I‘ll see you and your brother tomorrow.”
After the call ended, Wesley stuck a few more coins into the payphone and debated who would be the best to call for information.
The Fraternity had operated with an enormous network of sources to gather information on Fate’s assignments-even if Sloan had abused it by fabricating targets and turning the Fraternity into a petty hit squad. Word had eventually gotten around that Wesley had cleaned out the Fraternity and taken control, but the network had stayed intact, since Wesley continuing working under Fate’s orders.
He eventually dialed the number for the Broker, the source he usually contacted for information in the States. He trusted the Broker enough to not ask questions or pass on anything to others. He always tried to keep Raven and Charles out of his occupation, even working under an alias to keep the Xavier name clean, like their father had.
“Mr. Gibson, what can I do for you?”
“I need you to track some people down, as soon as possible. They might change locations soon.”
“And have I ever failed you before? Give me the details, and I’ll find them.”
Wesley stopped by the apartment he had in the city, one of the many safehouses his father had left for him scattered across the States, to change and pick up a set of clothes for Charles, before returning to the hospital. MacTaggert and the two boys were gone, and Charles had somehow gotten a hold of the paperback Wesley had snatched up from somewhere to pass the time waiting for Charles to wake.
“I haven’t read a good fiction novel in years,” Charles remarked in lieu of a greeting, setting the book aside. “Though I’m rather surprised you’d read Bond. You have a similar work environment after all-outside of the class and the intrigue and whatnot.”
“Yeah, I wish. I have to make my job interesting. I just kill people; I can do from two miles away. It’s boring.”
“Yes, of course. Boring,” Charles said, sounding like he was rolling his eyes but was too dignified to actually do so.
Wesley ignored him, setting the clothes he’d brought for him at the foot of the bed.
“Oh, and I finally convinced Moira and the others to go on up to Westchester. Moira doesn’t seem to find you reliable.” Charles sounded so put out about it that Wesley couldn’t help but reach out and ruffle his brother’s hair. Charles batted his hand away with a brief glare.
“As long as she doesn’t report me to the CIA, I really don’t care about her opinion of me.”
Charles sighed as Wesley sat down next to him.
“You might not care, but I do.”
Wesley just shrugged before asking, “The doctor letting you leave, or will we have to convince him?”
“He tried to have me stay for rehabilitation, but I told him I’d go to a hospital closer to home. We have to sign some forms, but I can leave tomorrow morning.”
Charles’ hands were twisting the sheets in his lap. Wesley stilled them before taking hold of one of them in his.
“I can’t promise everything will be okay, Charlie.” Wesley said. “But I’ll do everything I can to make things better. Pekwarsky has a special wax that he thinks might help. He’ll be here tomorrow, and we’ll get you into it straight away.”
Charles ducked his head and bit his bottom lip, but nodded. Wesley slung an arm around his shoulders, and Charles melted instantly against him, closed his eyes and rested his head on Wesley’s shoulder like he used to do when they were kids.
Wesley knew Charles’ legs weren’t the only things bothering his brother. It wasn’t even Raven leaving. It was fucking Lehnsherr.
Wesley had seen Charles’ memories, experienced what his brother had felt. He knew exactly how Charles felt about Lehnsherr, and he hated it.
He used to wonder if, because of Charles’ telepathy, Charles would never find someone who would…match him, if Charles would be stuck forever without someone else to connect with. As much as Wesley loved having his brother beside him, he had wanted Charles to have a happy life-a lifelong companion, kids, a dog, that whole lot-even if Charles’ ambitions for mutantkind made the thought near impossible.
But now, there was Erik fucking Lehnsherr, and of course Charles had to choose the most difficult person in the world to fall for. And even if it hurt Charles now, there was no fucking way Wesley was going to let Lehnsherr near Charles again, not when Charles could be hurt again, and Lehnsherr would hurt Charles again, no doubt about it.
You’re thinking too loudly. It’s giving me a headache, Charles’ voice slipped into his head.
Sorry.
Wesley calmed himself down, pushing all thoughts of the present away. He instead thought about the places he’d traveled to in the years since being pulled from college by the Fraternity, focusing on the aspects he knew Charles liked-the rolling plains in the Midwest, the sweeping architecture in Rome, the majestic mountains in Switzerland. Charles didn’t fall asleep, but seemed content to rest against him silently and take in the scenery in Wesley’s mind.
Getting Charles out of the hospital the next morning went smoother than Wesley would have expected. Soon, they were taking a taxi across the city to Wesley’s apartment.
Once they had arrived, Charles paused in his wheelchair just outside the building.
It seems Mr. Pekwarsky is already here.
Good. The sooner we can get you into the wax, the better.
There wasn’t a lift in the apartment building, and he and Charles eyed the stairs for a moment before Wesley scooped Charles up without warning, one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees. Charles, he noted absently, was a bit too light for his liking.
“Wesley!” Charles yelped, wrapping his arms around Wesley’s neck.
“Not like I can get you upstairs any other way. Relax, the apartment’s on the second floor.”
Wesley began the trek up the stairs.
“You could have at least asked or warned me beforehand. Honestly, that was offensive!” Charles chided him.
Wesley paused, before continued up the stairs again and said carefully, “I’m sorry. I just want to hurry and get you better.”
Charles deflated with a sigh, indignation gone in a second.
“I know. Thank you, Wesley.”
“Nothing to thank, Charles. You’re my brother,” Wesley easily answered.
They had reached the second floor landing, and Wesley wondered for a moment how he’d open the door without have to set Charles down. Then, Pekwarsky opened the door to the apartment, no doubt having been alerted by Charles.
After a quick exchange in greetings, the old man stepped back to let them in. Wesley wasted no time, making a beeline for the bathroom. Charles eyed their surroundings warily, and Wesley could admit that the apartment was not the most pleasant of places, claustrophobic and dusty since he hadn’t been in Miami in a while. He rarely used this safehouse for anything more than sleeping. Charles refrained from making any comments though; Wesley had already shared many of his trips to him, and this apartment wasn’t even close to being the worst of the places he’d ever stayed in.
Pekwarsky followed right behind them. Wesley set Charles down on the lowered toilet lid, and within minutes, the tub was filled with water and the wax added in, Charles watching on with quiet interest.
Wesley wasn’t surprised; he rarely let Charles see him use the wax because it would bother Charles that Wesley was injured in the first place.
After Wesley had first stumbled home after killing Sloan-home at that time a family townhouse near Harvard instead of Charles’ flat in Oxford-and after the fuss and mild hysteria had been over and done with, Charles had boggled at what the wax could do, had expounded on what wonders it could bring to the medical field, but Wesley had rejected the idea. The wax was a Fraternity trade secret, and questions would be asked if the wax was introduced to the public. The resulting fight had lasted for about an hour, until Charles conceded that he’d rather not have Wesley arrested for murder-even if he didn’t necessarily like what Wesley did for a living.
“During immersion, it’s best if you are asleep the whole time. Would you like something to help you sleep?” Pekwarsky asked. Seeing Charles’ hesitance, he then added, “It will only make you drowsy, nothing more.”
“Yes, all right, please.”
With a nod, Pekwasky left the bathroom.
After shrugging off his jacket, Wesley helped Charles out of his clothes and into the wax without any protests for propriety from his brother. Charles was silent as he adjusted his legs in the tub, sitting back so the water went up to nearly his jaw and silent when the old man returned with a cup of whatever medicine would help him sleep.
Wesley sat himself down on the floor by the tub as Charles downed the medicine. The effects were almost immediate, Charles blinking to keep awake a little longer and unconsciously projecting his sleepiness into the room.
I hope this works, Wesley thought to Charles.
If he believed in a God, he would have prayed, but he believed in Fate, and a higher power that talked to him through a loom and only about who to kill was hardly something to pray to for Charles.
Charles reached out and held Wesley’s hand.
I hope so too. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m out, Charles sent to Wesley, his voice soft and drowsy.
Charles’ eyes slid shut and his grip on Wesley’s hand slackened before Wesley could reply. Wesley moved Charles’ hand back into the water.
Wesley didn’t leave Charles’ side for an hour, watching his brother sleep as the wax hardened on the water’s surface. The wax smelled different from what he was used to, something strongly herbal instead of just plain watery wax. Part of the special formula, he figured.
When he finally got up from the floor and left the room, he found Pekwarsky sitting on the old futon in the living room. From the old man, he learned that the Broker had called the apartment in the early morning, and Pekwarsky passed along the Broker’s information.
Ironically, Lehnsherr and his followers were apparently hiding out in Chicago. Wesley had only gone back to Chicago once since destroying the textile factory, but Chicago was a good place as any to confront the man-and shout at Raven.
Wesley changed clothes, gathered what he might need, and, after making sure Pekwarsky would keep an eye on Charles, was soon off to catch a plane.
Chapter 4 - Erik