Fic: Iridescent | part one: wisdom (x) cont'd
part one
4.
He got back to the mansion just before dusk, as the sun was sliding away and the trees, budding with life, rattled in the wind.
It was almost Gothic, in a way, like an old story wreathed in beautiful nature while the world itself was rotting.
Poetic, Erik thought, and creaked open the door.
Naturally, the children were waiting for him.
It was bizarre, how quiet and intense they were. Erik had seen them this way exactly twice; once right after Cuba, and then again when the Brotherhood had been declared terrorists, alive-or-dead bounties attached to its members.
It never boded well.
“So?” Raven broke the silence first, her eyes flinty and yellow and hard.
Erik blinked, slowly hung up his coat and hat, sent the briefcase floating down the hall towards his study.
“He is alive,” he said slowly, carefully. His English felt frayed-he’d never done well in this language, especially when he was upset.
“Is he okay? Did they hurt him?”
“I didn’t see any serious injuries,” Erik said, evading the first part of the question. “He appeared well enough, considering."
“Considering?” Alex’s voice was as neutral as it had ever been, his eyes sharp, wary.
Mein Gott, Erik thought. He has grown.
“He’s in federal custody, in a telepath-proof box,” Erik said flatly. “I don’t know how well he’s doing. He was coherent enough to talk to me, and he knew where he was and what was going on, but I-”
He cut off abruptly, unsure of what he had meant to say.
Couldn’t read him like I used to be able to. Didn’t know him well enough to understand what he’s thinking.
“A telepath-proof box?” Raven jumped in, concern shimmering on her face. Flashes of others rippled through her hands. “Does it-does it hurt him?”
Erik shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s cut off-no one’s thoughts but his own. I don’t know what that’ll do to him.”
The shapeshifter’s face darkened, unreadable, and Hank shifted around her protectively. Funny how that had happened, since Cuba, since he’d discovered his true shape.
“He’s never been without it,” Raven said. “He told me so. He’s been able to hear everyone’s minds since he could walk, he’s never been without it.”
Erik didn’t look away. He couldn’t.
“What has the Brotherhood been doing since Cuba?” he asked quietly.
Raven drew back, confused.
“I don’t-”
“Tell me,” Erik said, and let his old steel slip into his voice. “Tell me exactly what Charles and his people have been doing since last October.”
Raven didn’t meet his eyes. “Fought the Friends of Humanity,” she whispered. “Avenged mutant casualties.”
“Blew up a building,” Erik said, counting off on his fingers. “Beat people in the streets. Sent the media threatening letters. Murdered people, in some cases.”
“They deserved it,” Raven blurted. “All the people Char-the Brotherhood’s hurt, they deserved it, they hurt us first-”
“We cannot think like that anymore,” Erik said. “Charles led the Brotherhood in terrorist activities. He killed people.”
“You killed people,” Raven shot back. “The Nazis, Shaw, you killed them because they killed your people. How is that any different?”
Erik gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to have this conversation. “Look what happened because of it,” he said. “Look what’s become of my vendetta. I killed Shaw, and as a result I almost started World War Three.”
Raven set her mouth in a thin, angry line. “But you were right,” she insisted. “You weren’t trying to hurt anyone, you just wanted to-”
“You’re not getting the point,” he snapped. “Charles has killed humans. Killed them, and publicly, too. He’s made no effort to hide it. Do you understand what that looks like to them?”
Under her skin, Raven was the color of ash. “It looks like an act of war,” she said hoarsely. “Like mutants are trying to-But they attacked us first!”
Erik shrugged. “So?” he said. “It doesn’t matter. War is war, and we cannot survive one, not right now. Think, Raven. There are several thousand mutants in the world, probably more, and over three billion humans. We aren’t organized. We aren’t connected. We are, at best, several small groups trying to hold back a flood. We can’t win.”
He turned his head, looked her in the eye. “We’ll die, or watch our people die,” he said softly, gently. “Charles wants to help us, I believe that. He wants mutants to be safe, so we can survive, and grow. But he’s going about it the wrong way.”
“He’s going to get us killed,” Alex said, and he looked just as tired as Erik felt.
Raven held Erik’s gaze, her eyes vivid and sad. “Don’t,” she whispered. “I know what you’re-I know what you’re saying, just-Don’t. Please.”
Erik did. “I’m going to be in my study,” he said. “Go train. Spar each other. Fight the emotion out, so you don’t blow up later. It-it’ll be alright, Raven. Just… go, for a little while.”
One by one, each student left, shuffling downstairs towards the basement. Raven met his eyes, and so did Alex, but Hank and Sean wouldn’t. Sean’s was more out of respect, Erik knew, and uncertainty, but Hank’s… Hank’s seemed conflicted, somehow, and their teacher-still odd, that word. It felt wrong, somehow, like it belonged to someone else-felt his instincts stir.
“Hank,” he said quietly, as the blue-furred young man passed. “Come see me later.”
Hank nodded and walked quickly away, joining Raven, hesitantly, comfortingly brushing her shoulder.
Erik watched them go, and slowly turned around and wheeled himself into his study.
Through the small window, he could see the grounds, and the satellite dish looming in the distance. The trees rattled in the wind.
He smiled, humorlessly, and tried to think of anything but Charles, locked in a gleaming cage.
5.
“You wanted to see me?” Hank shifted from foot to clawed foot, leaning in the shadow of the doorway.
Erik looked up tiredly, beckoned him in. “You’re leaving,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
Hank stiffened. “You know?”
The professor offered him a small grin. “You’ve done well keeping it from the others. But I used to run for a living, Hank. I know the signs.”
The younger mutant shifted rebelliously, the fur bristling on his shoulders.
“I won’t stop you,” Erik said softly, and Hank startled, blinking behind his glasses.
“Really?”
“Really. If you truly want to go, forcing you to stay will only make you bitter. Besides,” he added, with a slight, twisting grin, “it’s natural for a young man to want to wander. It will be good for you, to find people who can match your intelligence and interests.”
Fur spiked anxiously on Hank’s shoulders. “Even looking like this?”
“Even looking like that,” Erik said, sharper than he’d meant to. “You’re intelligent, and brave, and there is nothing wrong with you. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Hank blinked, shoulders tense. “Raven’s been telling me that for months now,” he admitted dully.
Erik snorted. “You should listen to her. She knows what she’s talking about.”
The scientist shrugged. “I guess.”
“So will you leave?”
Hank blinked again, half-turned away. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I want to-I want to rejoin the research field. Maybe I can help the government understand mutants better, you know? Before some bigoted idiot writes our genetic code off as a mistake or something.”
Erik nodded. “An admirable goal. You’ll do well.”
“Before I go, do you want me to rebuild Cerebro?” Hank asked, suddenly, and Erik tried not to twitch, unsettled. He remembered his conversation with the Board months previously, and how eager they’d been to have Cerebro under their power.
“No,” he said.
“Are you sure? If you find a telepath, it could be useful.”
“No.”
Hank held up furry paws. “Alright,” he said. “I get it. No Cerebro.” He backed out, pausing at the door. “Thanks,” he muttered. “And could you, um, not tell Raven? I’ll tell her, when I’m ready to go.”
Ah, young love. Erik dipped his head. “I won’t tell.”
“Thanks,” Hank whispered, and left.
Alone again, Erik rubbed his forehead, trying to soothe out the frustrated creases. I can feel my hair turning gray, he thought wryly, and tried to focus, shifting through piles and piles of paper.
One sheet was the singular most important piece of paper in the mansion; a list of maybe thirty possible recruits, young mutants just discovering their powers and the prejudice that came with it.
These children, thirty out of the hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of mutant children out there in the world, were the future of his school.
And he couldn’t take all thirty of them. The list was to determine which ones he could take, based on their powers, family life, and means. The ones with the most dangerous powers, bad family situations, and no means of controlling said powers would come first. Then the rest of them, later, as the school grew.
It felt… big. He wasn’t a teacher. Three years ago, his only goal in life had been hunting down the man who murdered his mother, and now he was thinking of raising children.
He almost laughed. Charles was much better with kids.
Charles.
His chest was tight.
He wondered how Charles was doing, in his shining, seamless prison. Not well, probably. Stripped of his power, alone, probably half-mad with pain and fury and loss.
The lights flickered out suddenly, and Erik blinked, releasing his ability. The lamp on his desk warped, cracking, and plunged his study into darkness.
He couldn’t see the list anymore.
Charles.
Was it right to leave him there? Alone, power cut from him?
Charles wouldn’t leave you, something whispered. If the tables were turned, he wouldn’t leave you…
No, Erik thought dully. I suppose he wouldn’t.
He mechanically fixed the lamp, and light flared back into existence. He stared at it, and ran a hand through his hair.
Well, he thought, already moving out to call for the children. I guess I’m breaking into the CIA.
***
“Let’s go,” Raven said instantly, bolting to her feet.
“Sit down,” Alex snapped, his eyes fixed on Erik. “This is a bad idea.”
“How can you say that?” the shapeshifter hissed, livid eyes flashing. “He’s Charles. We’re not going to hurt anyone; we’re just going to go in, get him, and leave.”
“He could hurt people, though,” Alex argued back. “He’s not exactly a friendly guy anymore, in case you haven’t noticed. The Brotherhood’s killed people, Raven. Charles can’t kill anyone where he is.”
Raven turned to Erik, searching.
“I want to free him,” Erik said quietly. “No one deserves to be locked away, alone, stripped of their powers. And I’ve convinced the government to punish the Friends of Humanity for their anti-mutant acts. That should reduce Brotherhood strikes; they’re all retaliatory, anyway.” For now.
“I’m with the Prof,” Sean said, and his face was uncharacteristically sober and fierce. “Charles was our friend, guys. He taught us how to use our powers. He’s not evil. He’s not some comic book supervillian, trying to spread death and shit. He just wants us to be safe.”
Alex’s expression was sour, and he looked Erik up and down.
“We should do it,” Hank chimed in. His claws dug into the table wood, but he was mostly composed. “We owe it to him, just this once.”
Don’t, Alex’s eyes said, but he sighed. “You’re right,” he admitted grudgingly. “We do owe him. Without him, we’d still be a bunch of angry, scared kids running around blowing shit up, right?”
Erik leaned back. They all agreed with him, then. They were going to get Charles.
“You have a new jet, yes?”
Hank nodded eagerly. “I improved it from the last one significantly, actually. It functions on a-”
“Not now,” Erik cut him off. “Later, perhaps. Will it fly?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” Magneto nodded, dragging a hand through his hair. “Very good.”
“What’s the plan?” Alex kept watching his professor, eyes sharp and searching.
“I need you to create a distraction,” Erik said. “In the back, preferably, so they all leave the front of the building alone. I can slip in while they’re busy dealing with you all and free Charles. Then we can meet at the plane and get away before the CIA realizes what’s happened.
“And we can always blame it on the Brotherhood,” he added, catching Alex’s narrowed eyes and opened mouth.
The blonde mutant nodded, rolling his eyes as if to say you’re going to kill me one of these days you crazy old man, I fucking know it.
Erik was actually sort of touched.
“Sounds like a plan,” Raven said, standing again. “Should we suit up?”
Erik nodded. “Go. I’ll meet you in the hangar in twenty.”
The young mutants nodded and shot out of the kitchen, scrambling to get to their battle suits. Only Alex stayed behind, his face thoughtful.
“You’ll be okay?” he said gruffly.
Erik resisted the urge to sigh. “Yes. I have been doing this for a while, you know.”
Alex stared at him, and Erik couldn’t help but remember doctors, and hospital rooms, and the sinking feeling in his gut as he realized he didn’t have the use of his legs, not anymore.
He forced it away.
“Go suit up,” he told Alex, not unkindly. “I’m alright.”
“If you say so,” Havok muttered, and gave him one last long, studying glance before following the others.
That boy, Erik thought, turning his mind to the task at hand. He needed to get in, get Charles, and get out, hopefully without any injuries.
He could do this.
Maybe.
He made his way down to the hangar, and waited.
6.
Virginia smelled like springtime, and Erik blew warmth into his fingers and waited. On the far side of the complex, he heard faint, rumbling explosions and even fainter screaming; the children were at work.
He hoped they’d be alright. They had been, on the missions they’d done so far. They were good, and careful, and under explicit orders to hide themselves as much as possible while flinging destruction far and wide.
They’d be okay.
From his vantage point, Erik watched as the guards ran off down the hallways one by one, summoned by their fellows. Red light glowed dimly in the distance, followed by a tremendous bang.
Alex.
Soon there was only one nervous, shifty-eyed guard watching the front left, and Erik grinned to himself. Excellent.
He pulled, tugging on the strings of his power, and a paperweight clubbed the guard in the back of the head. He crumbled soundlessly, and Erik slid through the open doors, letting his metal-sense grow and expand.
There were a few more guards between him and Charles’s room. The masses were at the opposite end of the base, trying to deal with his students. Along the way, caches of weapons rattled and electricity pulsed, calling out to him, available, if he wanted it.
He smiled. He’d missed this, sneaking in places, hearing the metal, his constant, truest ally, call out to him, singing a blood-song. He missed the hunt, and the kill, and his fingers itched.
No, he told himself. Those days are behind me.
He began to move, carefully rolling himself through the complex. With his ability, he opened locked doors with ease, slipping deeper and deeper into the base. Every now and then he paused, to disable a guard or to listen, feeling out the surrounding rooms.
About halfway through, he paused, and frowned.
He felt Shaw’s helmet, and it sang to him.
Without thinking he opened the door and saw it gleaming on a table, burnished in the low light, still faintly shimmery, still dented.
He didn’t want to touch it.
(“my dear friend,” charles whispered in his memory. “i’m so sorry.”
he can taste cuba in his mouth, and feel the hot sand beneath his fingers, and a burning pain in his back, and then nothing.)
Erik quietly picked up the helmet, cradling it in his lap, and moved on.
***
Stryker was afraid.
There were mutants in his base.
The western side was under siege, pounded by sonic waves and red, glowing, burning sunlight, and something huge lurked in the shadows and men ran from corridors screaming of a changeling.
Mutants were in his base, and Lehnsherr was to blame, Stryker knew it.
Never trust a mutant. He’d given Lehnsherr what he wanted; immunity for himself and a guarantee that the government wouldn’t pass anti-mutant bills and they’d treat the Friends just like the Brotherhood.
It was absurd. As if humans-even some of the crazier ones that populated the Friends-were as dangerous as a mutant!
No one in the Friends could shoot fire, or bend metal, or rip thoughts and memories from a mind. At worst the Friends could shoot someone. Big freaking deal. Shootings happened all the time, and the public didn’t care.
But mutants, mutants-!
Stryker slammed on a helmet and walked quickly down the hall.
Lehnsherr’s people were coming for X. There was no other explanation for it. Lehnsherr and X had been friends, this much was obvious, and now Lehnsherr was covering for his buddy. Simple.
Stryker wouldn’t let it happen.
He quickly punched in the codes and unlocked X’s cell door. “Hey,” he snapped, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. “Up, up, I’m moving you-”
X hit him, hard, around the middle, and they went down.
Stryker’s breath whoosed out of him and he gasped, struggling, flailing out and punching the mutant in the jaw.
X snarled, scrambling, and kneed the human in his large gut. Stryker grunted, clawing at X’s face, and his hands came away bloody but that didn’t seem to stop the telepath at all-
He’s trying to get my helmet off! Stryker realized, and horrible, cold fear settled in his gut. He fought harder, clawing and kicking, shouting at the top of his lungs.
But the guards were gone, off trying to stop the onslaught to the western wing.
No one was close by. Stryker was on his own.
“No!” he gasped, clawing, punching. He tried to bite, and X growled, punched his face aside, his fingers grasping at the helmet-
Stryker howled, raking his fingers down X’s neck, and the mutant shouted, pain twisting his face, and he tugged-
The helmet came free.
Stryker had time to scream, as a hundred thousand fingers tore into his mind, and a single word rose above the howling storm-
DIE
And Stryker did.
7.
He stopped in front of the smooth metal door, and cradled the helmet in his hands. He shouldn’t. Charles had been alone in there for days now, with only his own thoughts for company. Another mind was exactly what he needed, to help him calm down, relax, settle into himself again.
And yet-
And yet.
He couldn’t forget bullets, and his own hands shaking, rising against his will. He didn’t want to forget.
He turned Shaw’s helmet over and over in his hands, and the metal hummed, familiar. He traced the dent, and the scratches, and the gritty sand still wedges in the seams. The pads of his fingers ached, remembering the feel of sand.
He didn’t know what to do.
Go in without the helmet, and win Charles’s trust but run the risk of Cuba happening again, or go in with it on and destroy his trust (probably forever) but make sure Cuba didn’t happen?
Erik closed his eyes, and breathed. As much as Charles might need him now, without the helmet, the rest of the base, and by default the children, needed him shielded, so his power was his own.
And the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, no matter how much he cared for the few.
The helmet, cool and smooth and heavy in his hands, fit onto his head like it was meant to be there, and he fought the urge to scratch the numbers off his arm.
Erik reached out, and crumpled the door like paper.
Nothing moved.
Cautiously, Erik wheeled himself into the cell, hands outstretched, and rattled the walls gently.
“Charles,” he said softly, and scanned the darkness.
“Erik.” Charles was crouched against the wall, face drawn and pale. His hands shook, and scratches decorated his face, matted with half-dried blood. His fingertips were torn, and beside him was a dead body, and Erik’s chest hurt.
“Stryker,” he said, and reeled. He didn’t believe it. Charles had been leading the Brotherhood for months, yes, but he hadn’t personally killed anyone. Never. Charles wasn’t a killer. He was-he was-
And he remembered Cuba, and the feel of missiles hanging in his power, and three thousand lives waiting to die.
And Charles made it happen.
“Why did you kill him?” Erik asked, and worked to keep his voice even. He drifted closer; Stryker’s nose was broken, and his face bruised, but there was no blood. “How did you kill him?”
The telepath offered him a twisted grin, and tapped his forehead. He looked bad; he hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the blood and bruises made him look less like a kindly professor and more like a deranged killer. “He was here,” he whispered, “and I couldn’t read his mind. So I took off the helmet, and got into his head, and he died."
Charles’s breath came in stuttering pants.
“He died, and I didn’t mean to, but he wanted to kill me, you, all of us, I can’t let him, I didn’t let him--”
“Charles,” Erik snapped sharply, reaching out, trying to ground the other man. “Breathe, listen to me. Breathe. You have to breathe.”
“I killed him,” Charles said, eyes wild. “I’ve never-”
“He deserved it,” Erik cut in fiercely. “He was an evil man. He didn’t want peace, he wanted war, and our people to die, and he came to kill you; there’s a gun in his pocket.”
This seemed to calm the telepath, somewhat, and he gazed up at Erik with vivid eyes. “You came back,” he murmured. Another explosion rocked Langley. “You all came back?”
“It isn’t right to leave you here.”
Charles looked away. “Thank you,” he said, standing. His eyes flickered to the helmet, and his expression soured, but he didn’t say anything.
“Wait,” said Erik. “I’m not turning you loose yet. You have to promise me something first.”
Instantly, Charles’s eyes went from grateful to wary. “What?”
“Don’t try and start a war. Don’t fight with the government, unless they explicitly provoke you first.”
“They’re letting our people be slaughtered,” Charles snapped, hands balling into fists. “They’re letting the Friends of Humanity tear us to pieces.”
“I made them swear,” Erik countered, “to treat the Friends as they have treated the Brotherhood. I have it in writing. The government must be fair now; both races will be held accountable.”
Charles’s teeth flashed in a snarl. “How can you stand here and argue with me? You know better than I the evil man is capable of, if he finds a people he wishes to exterminate.”
“There are Nazis,” Erik agreed. “There are people who want us dead, and will stop at nothing to do so. But not all of them are like that! There are those who fight against Nazis too, who save children from death camps and smuggle the imprisoned out in the dead of night.”
“You spent your entire adult life hunting down Nazis! Killing them brutally!”
“But only Nazis,” Erik snapped. “Not innocents. Never innocents. When you start killing the innocent, you’re asking for a war, Charles, and our people can’t afford that.”
“Mutants are strong,” Charles argued. “And more are being born every day. We are the next stage in human evolution. Man cannot stop us if they try.”
“Perhaps not. But they can kill and hurt hundreds of thousands of us, until the day the last human dies. We can coexist. Germans and Jews lived together for centuries before Hitler. Mutants and humans can do the same. But we cannot survive a war. We’re not organized yet. Think, Charles.”
The telepath frowned, lips pressing together, eyes flinty, hard.
“We are, at best, scattered groups,” Erik said, dropping his voice. “Divided. We can’t win, not against all of them.”
“We seem to be at an impasse, again, old friend,” Charles murmured. He leaned back, stepping away from the body.
“Promise me,” Erik said, unyielding, “that you will not kill anyone in this base, and that you won’t attack the humans unless provoked.”
Charles shook his head, hair flopping.
Erik’s eyes slid closed, and he fought down waves of memory-
(running, laughing, playing chess, brushing Charles’s ridiculous hair out of his eyes and leaning in-)
-before opening them to meet his old friend’s eyes. “Promise,” he said. “And I’ll let you go. There’s a parking lot not far from here. I’ll start a car for you, and you can drive back to your Brotherhood. The CIA won’t catch you again.”
“Fine,” Charles said. “I swear I will not kill anyone else here, and I’ll try not to start a war.”
Erik kept his face still, and offered Charles his hand.
The telepath took it, and shook, face unreadable. Erik backed up, letting him pass, and he tried not to watch him go.
Charles paused at the door, gripping the frame with his bloody hands. “Thank you,” he said lowly, and then was gone.
Erik closed his eyes, reached out to the parking lot, and fired up a car. After several minutes, he felt the car begin to move, and then it drove away, farther, farther.
He breathed again.
Charles was out. He was free. The CIA didn’t have him.
I must find the children, he decided, and turned to go.
He stopped, looking at the body again. It wouldn’t do to have the government figure out what happened, after all the trouble they’d gone through to get Charles out.
The metal around the body began to dance, and Erik turned and left, searching for the children.
8.
The car roared, and the streetlights lit the way to Chicago.
Charles Xavier held tightly onto the wheel, and he did not look back. He could still feel Langley, a scattered pulse of minds, and he could just reach-
No, he told himself, and held his thoughts in.
He’d promised Erik. And even though he was furious with the other man, could feel the smooth, hard silence of the helmet, even from this distance, he’d keep that promise.
His hands were tight on the wheel. He was still well within range. It couldn’t hurt to just push a little, here and there. Erik would never know. Hell, he couldn’t know, because he was wearing Sebastian fucking Shaw’s helmet, and Charles couldn’t touch him.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Charles turned, and stared straight ahead. He wouldn’t kill anyone else (but he could-). He’d just tweak, a little, protect Erik and the children. He owed them, after all. They’d chosen to rescue him, when they could’ve easily let him die.
He owed them.
Charles Xavier closed his eyes, reaching back with his power, feeling out the minds of CIA agents. Erik’s face, the children’s faces, swam in their thoughts, and Charles said forget, and they did.
He pulled back into his own mind, and faced the road.
Chicago waited.
***
“Go, go, go,” Erik hissed, nudging the children along with his power, half-dragging them onto the plane and closing the doors behind them.
His ears and metal-sense strained, searching for bullets, for the belt buckles and cufflinks and handcuffs of the CIA.
They’d stopped following him.
Erik frowned, but didn’t test his luck. If the CIA wanted to let him go, he’d take it. He scanned the children quickly, confirming that nothing had been placed on them or himself, and nodded to Hank, clearing them for take off.
The plane roared, firing to life, and the agents stayed put.
And then they were gone, tearing through the air, back to the mansion.
“Did you get him?” Raven asked, once her hands stopped shaking. (Erik hoped it was just adrenaline, and sisterly fear.) “Is he okay? Where is he?”
“He’s alright,” he assured her, peeling the hated helmet from his head. “He’s going to rejoin the Brotherhood. He’s not hurt.”
Raven’s face half-fell, but she nodded grimly. “At least he’s alright.”
Alex leaned forward, eyeing Erik. “Are you alright? You look kind of shaken up, Prof.”
Damn.
“Fine,” Erik said curtly. He hesitated. They’d see the blood on his shirt anyway, once they looked. “I ran into some… complications. I had to use deadly force.”
“Oh,” Raven drew back a little, almost involuntary. Sean shifted, uncomfortable. Hank cut Erik a glance, but refocused on flying.
Only Alex didn’t move, and his eyes were too smart for his own damn good.
“Deadly force,” he said dryly. He knew.
Erik shrugged. Alex knew, then, but the others didn’t have to. “It’s nothing,” he murmured. It wasn’t like they could identify Stryker’s body, or what killed him, now anyway. Erik had made sure of that.
The younger mutant leaned back, eyes hooded, watchful. “If you say so.”
They lapsed into uneasy silence, and the jet tore towards home. Erik closed his eyes.
“They’ll be looking for us now,” he warned. “They know what we look like, and what we can do. We have to be watchful now. You’re no longer children.”
“We know,” Sean said, surprising Erik. His face was soft and hard at the same time, and he didn’t look away. “We understand. We’re with you.”
Something warm stirred in Erik’s chest, and he remembered Magda, and Anya, and what that had felt like, all those years ago. It felt good.
But Erik only nodded, letting his face relax, and he leaned into the jet and waited to see Westchester again.
Charles, he thought warningly, even though they were probably out of range, now. Be safe. Don’t cause a war.
Charles didn’t answer, but then, Erik didn’t expect him to. He simply waited, and prayed he had done the right thing.
part two
4.
He got back to the mansion just before dusk, as the sun was sliding away and the trees, budding with life, rattled in the wind.
It was almost Gothic, in a way, like an old story wreathed in beautiful nature while the world itself was rotting.
Poetic, Erik thought, and creaked open the door.
Naturally, the children were waiting for him.
It was bizarre, how quiet and intense they were. Erik had seen them this way exactly twice; once right after Cuba, and then again when the Brotherhood had been declared terrorists, alive-or-dead bounties attached to its members.
It never boded well.
“So?” Raven broke the silence first, her eyes flinty and yellow and hard.
Erik blinked, slowly hung up his coat and hat, sent the briefcase floating down the hall towards his study.
“He is alive,” he said slowly, carefully. His English felt frayed-he’d never done well in this language, especially when he was upset.
“Is he okay? Did they hurt him?”
“I didn’t see any serious injuries,” Erik said, evading the first part of the question. “He appeared well enough, considering."
“Considering?” Alex’s voice was as neutral as it had ever been, his eyes sharp, wary.
Mein Gott, Erik thought. He has grown.
“He’s in federal custody, in a telepath-proof box,” Erik said flatly. “I don’t know how well he’s doing. He was coherent enough to talk to me, and he knew where he was and what was going on, but I-”
He cut off abruptly, unsure of what he had meant to say.
Couldn’t read him like I used to be able to. Didn’t know him well enough to understand what he’s thinking.
“A telepath-proof box?” Raven jumped in, concern shimmering on her face. Flashes of others rippled through her hands. “Does it-does it hurt him?”
Erik shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s cut off-no one’s thoughts but his own. I don’t know what that’ll do to him.”
The shapeshifter’s face darkened, unreadable, and Hank shifted around her protectively. Funny how that had happened, since Cuba, since he’d discovered his true shape.
“He’s never been without it,” Raven said. “He told me so. He’s been able to hear everyone’s minds since he could walk, he’s never been without it.”
Erik didn’t look away. He couldn’t.
“What has the Brotherhood been doing since Cuba?” he asked quietly.
Raven drew back, confused.
“I don’t-”
“Tell me,” Erik said, and let his old steel slip into his voice. “Tell me exactly what Charles and his people have been doing since last October.”
Raven didn’t meet his eyes. “Fought the Friends of Humanity,” she whispered. “Avenged mutant casualties.”
“Blew up a building,” Erik said, counting off on his fingers. “Beat people in the streets. Sent the media threatening letters. Murdered people, in some cases.”
“They deserved it,” Raven blurted. “All the people Char-the Brotherhood’s hurt, they deserved it, they hurt us first-”
“We cannot think like that anymore,” Erik said. “Charles led the Brotherhood in terrorist activities. He killed people.”
“You killed people,” Raven shot back. “The Nazis, Shaw, you killed them because they killed your people. How is that any different?”
Erik gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to have this conversation. “Look what happened because of it,” he said. “Look what’s become of my vendetta. I killed Shaw, and as a result I almost started World War Three.”
Raven set her mouth in a thin, angry line. “But you were right,” she insisted. “You weren’t trying to hurt anyone, you just wanted to-”
“You’re not getting the point,” he snapped. “Charles has killed humans. Killed them, and publicly, too. He’s made no effort to hide it. Do you understand what that looks like to them?”
Under her skin, Raven was the color of ash. “It looks like an act of war,” she said hoarsely. “Like mutants are trying to-But they attacked us first!”
Erik shrugged. “So?” he said. “It doesn’t matter. War is war, and we cannot survive one, not right now. Think, Raven. There are several thousand mutants in the world, probably more, and over three billion humans. We aren’t organized. We aren’t connected. We are, at best, several small groups trying to hold back a flood. We can’t win.”
He turned his head, looked her in the eye. “We’ll die, or watch our people die,” he said softly, gently. “Charles wants to help us, I believe that. He wants mutants to be safe, so we can survive, and grow. But he’s going about it the wrong way.”
“He’s going to get us killed,” Alex said, and he looked just as tired as Erik felt.
Raven held Erik’s gaze, her eyes vivid and sad. “Don’t,” she whispered. “I know what you’re-I know what you’re saying, just-Don’t. Please.”
Erik did. “I’m going to be in my study,” he said. “Go train. Spar each other. Fight the emotion out, so you don’t blow up later. It-it’ll be alright, Raven. Just… go, for a little while.”
One by one, each student left, shuffling downstairs towards the basement. Raven met his eyes, and so did Alex, but Hank and Sean wouldn’t. Sean’s was more out of respect, Erik knew, and uncertainty, but Hank’s… Hank’s seemed conflicted, somehow, and their teacher-still odd, that word. It felt wrong, somehow, like it belonged to someone else-felt his instincts stir.
“Hank,” he said quietly, as the blue-furred young man passed. “Come see me later.”
Hank nodded and walked quickly away, joining Raven, hesitantly, comfortingly brushing her shoulder.
Erik watched them go, and slowly turned around and wheeled himself into his study.
Through the small window, he could see the grounds, and the satellite dish looming in the distance. The trees rattled in the wind.
He smiled, humorlessly, and tried to think of anything but Charles, locked in a gleaming cage.
5.
“You wanted to see me?” Hank shifted from foot to clawed foot, leaning in the shadow of the doorway.
Erik looked up tiredly, beckoned him in. “You’re leaving,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
Hank stiffened. “You know?”
The professor offered him a small grin. “You’ve done well keeping it from the others. But I used to run for a living, Hank. I know the signs.”
The younger mutant shifted rebelliously, the fur bristling on his shoulders.
“I won’t stop you,” Erik said softly, and Hank startled, blinking behind his glasses.
“Really?”
“Really. If you truly want to go, forcing you to stay will only make you bitter. Besides,” he added, with a slight, twisting grin, “it’s natural for a young man to want to wander. It will be good for you, to find people who can match your intelligence and interests.”
Fur spiked anxiously on Hank’s shoulders. “Even looking like this?”
“Even looking like that,” Erik said, sharper than he’d meant to. “You’re intelligent, and brave, and there is nothing wrong with you. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Hank blinked, shoulders tense. “Raven’s been telling me that for months now,” he admitted dully.
Erik snorted. “You should listen to her. She knows what she’s talking about.”
The scientist shrugged. “I guess.”
“So will you leave?”
Hank blinked again, half-turned away. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I want to-I want to rejoin the research field. Maybe I can help the government understand mutants better, you know? Before some bigoted idiot writes our genetic code off as a mistake or something.”
Erik nodded. “An admirable goal. You’ll do well.”
“Before I go, do you want me to rebuild Cerebro?” Hank asked, suddenly, and Erik tried not to twitch, unsettled. He remembered his conversation with the Board months previously, and how eager they’d been to have Cerebro under their power.
“No,” he said.
“Are you sure? If you find a telepath, it could be useful.”
“No.”
Hank held up furry paws. “Alright,” he said. “I get it. No Cerebro.” He backed out, pausing at the door. “Thanks,” he muttered. “And could you, um, not tell Raven? I’ll tell her, when I’m ready to go.”
Ah, young love. Erik dipped his head. “I won’t tell.”
“Thanks,” Hank whispered, and left.
Alone again, Erik rubbed his forehead, trying to soothe out the frustrated creases. I can feel my hair turning gray, he thought wryly, and tried to focus, shifting through piles and piles of paper.
One sheet was the singular most important piece of paper in the mansion; a list of maybe thirty possible recruits, young mutants just discovering their powers and the prejudice that came with it.
These children, thirty out of the hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of mutant children out there in the world, were the future of his school.
And he couldn’t take all thirty of them. The list was to determine which ones he could take, based on their powers, family life, and means. The ones with the most dangerous powers, bad family situations, and no means of controlling said powers would come first. Then the rest of them, later, as the school grew.
It felt… big. He wasn’t a teacher. Three years ago, his only goal in life had been hunting down the man who murdered his mother, and now he was thinking of raising children.
He almost laughed. Charles was much better with kids.
Charles.
His chest was tight.
He wondered how Charles was doing, in his shining, seamless prison. Not well, probably. Stripped of his power, alone, probably half-mad with pain and fury and loss.
The lights flickered out suddenly, and Erik blinked, releasing his ability. The lamp on his desk warped, cracking, and plunged his study into darkness.
He couldn’t see the list anymore.
Charles.
Was it right to leave him there? Alone, power cut from him?
Charles wouldn’t leave you, something whispered. If the tables were turned, he wouldn’t leave you…
No, Erik thought dully. I suppose he wouldn’t.
He mechanically fixed the lamp, and light flared back into existence. He stared at it, and ran a hand through his hair.
Well, he thought, already moving out to call for the children. I guess I’m breaking into the CIA.
***
“Let’s go,” Raven said instantly, bolting to her feet.
“Sit down,” Alex snapped, his eyes fixed on Erik. “This is a bad idea.”
“How can you say that?” the shapeshifter hissed, livid eyes flashing. “He’s Charles. We’re not going to hurt anyone; we’re just going to go in, get him, and leave.”
“He could hurt people, though,” Alex argued back. “He’s not exactly a friendly guy anymore, in case you haven’t noticed. The Brotherhood’s killed people, Raven. Charles can’t kill anyone where he is.”
Raven turned to Erik, searching.
“I want to free him,” Erik said quietly. “No one deserves to be locked away, alone, stripped of their powers. And I’ve convinced the government to punish the Friends of Humanity for their anti-mutant acts. That should reduce Brotherhood strikes; they’re all retaliatory, anyway.” For now.
“I’m with the Prof,” Sean said, and his face was uncharacteristically sober and fierce. “Charles was our friend, guys. He taught us how to use our powers. He’s not evil. He’s not some comic book supervillian, trying to spread death and shit. He just wants us to be safe.”
Alex’s expression was sour, and he looked Erik up and down.
“We should do it,” Hank chimed in. His claws dug into the table wood, but he was mostly composed. “We owe it to him, just this once.”
Don’t, Alex’s eyes said, but he sighed. “You’re right,” he admitted grudgingly. “We do owe him. Without him, we’d still be a bunch of angry, scared kids running around blowing shit up, right?”
Erik leaned back. They all agreed with him, then. They were going to get Charles.
“You have a new jet, yes?”
Hank nodded eagerly. “I improved it from the last one significantly, actually. It functions on a-”
“Not now,” Erik cut him off. “Later, perhaps. Will it fly?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” Magneto nodded, dragging a hand through his hair. “Very good.”
“What’s the plan?” Alex kept watching his professor, eyes sharp and searching.
“I need you to create a distraction,” Erik said. “In the back, preferably, so they all leave the front of the building alone. I can slip in while they’re busy dealing with you all and free Charles. Then we can meet at the plane and get away before the CIA realizes what’s happened.
“And we can always blame it on the Brotherhood,” he added, catching Alex’s narrowed eyes and opened mouth.
The blonde mutant nodded, rolling his eyes as if to say you’re going to kill me one of these days you crazy old man, I fucking know it.
Erik was actually sort of touched.
“Sounds like a plan,” Raven said, standing again. “Should we suit up?”
Erik nodded. “Go. I’ll meet you in the hangar in twenty.”
The young mutants nodded and shot out of the kitchen, scrambling to get to their battle suits. Only Alex stayed behind, his face thoughtful.
“You’ll be okay?” he said gruffly.
Erik resisted the urge to sigh. “Yes. I have been doing this for a while, you know.”
Alex stared at him, and Erik couldn’t help but remember doctors, and hospital rooms, and the sinking feeling in his gut as he realized he didn’t have the use of his legs, not anymore.
He forced it away.
“Go suit up,” he told Alex, not unkindly. “I’m alright.”
“If you say so,” Havok muttered, and gave him one last long, studying glance before following the others.
That boy, Erik thought, turning his mind to the task at hand. He needed to get in, get Charles, and get out, hopefully without any injuries.
He could do this.
Maybe.
He made his way down to the hangar, and waited.
6.
Virginia smelled like springtime, and Erik blew warmth into his fingers and waited. On the far side of the complex, he heard faint, rumbling explosions and even fainter screaming; the children were at work.
He hoped they’d be alright. They had been, on the missions they’d done so far. They were good, and careful, and under explicit orders to hide themselves as much as possible while flinging destruction far and wide.
They’d be okay.
From his vantage point, Erik watched as the guards ran off down the hallways one by one, summoned by their fellows. Red light glowed dimly in the distance, followed by a tremendous bang.
Alex.
Soon there was only one nervous, shifty-eyed guard watching the front left, and Erik grinned to himself. Excellent.
He pulled, tugging on the strings of his power, and a paperweight clubbed the guard in the back of the head. He crumbled soundlessly, and Erik slid through the open doors, letting his metal-sense grow and expand.
There were a few more guards between him and Charles’s room. The masses were at the opposite end of the base, trying to deal with his students. Along the way, caches of weapons rattled and electricity pulsed, calling out to him, available, if he wanted it.
He smiled. He’d missed this, sneaking in places, hearing the metal, his constant, truest ally, call out to him, singing a blood-song. He missed the hunt, and the kill, and his fingers itched.
No, he told himself. Those days are behind me.
He began to move, carefully rolling himself through the complex. With his ability, he opened locked doors with ease, slipping deeper and deeper into the base. Every now and then he paused, to disable a guard or to listen, feeling out the surrounding rooms.
About halfway through, he paused, and frowned.
He felt Shaw’s helmet, and it sang to him.
Without thinking he opened the door and saw it gleaming on a table, burnished in the low light, still faintly shimmery, still dented.
He didn’t want to touch it.
(“my dear friend,” charles whispered in his memory. “i’m so sorry.”
he can taste cuba in his mouth, and feel the hot sand beneath his fingers, and a burning pain in his back, and then nothing.)
Erik quietly picked up the helmet, cradling it in his lap, and moved on.
***
Stryker was afraid.
There were mutants in his base.
The western side was under siege, pounded by sonic waves and red, glowing, burning sunlight, and something huge lurked in the shadows and men ran from corridors screaming of a changeling.
Mutants were in his base, and Lehnsherr was to blame, Stryker knew it.
Never trust a mutant. He’d given Lehnsherr what he wanted; immunity for himself and a guarantee that the government wouldn’t pass anti-mutant bills and they’d treat the Friends just like the Brotherhood.
It was absurd. As if humans-even some of the crazier ones that populated the Friends-were as dangerous as a mutant!
No one in the Friends could shoot fire, or bend metal, or rip thoughts and memories from a mind. At worst the Friends could shoot someone. Big freaking deal. Shootings happened all the time, and the public didn’t care.
But mutants, mutants-!
Stryker slammed on a helmet and walked quickly down the hall.
Lehnsherr’s people were coming for X. There was no other explanation for it. Lehnsherr and X had been friends, this much was obvious, and now Lehnsherr was covering for his buddy. Simple.
Stryker wouldn’t let it happen.
He quickly punched in the codes and unlocked X’s cell door. “Hey,” he snapped, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. “Up, up, I’m moving you-”
X hit him, hard, around the middle, and they went down.
Stryker’s breath whoosed out of him and he gasped, struggling, flailing out and punching the mutant in the jaw.
X snarled, scrambling, and kneed the human in his large gut. Stryker grunted, clawing at X’s face, and his hands came away bloody but that didn’t seem to stop the telepath at all-
He’s trying to get my helmet off! Stryker realized, and horrible, cold fear settled in his gut. He fought harder, clawing and kicking, shouting at the top of his lungs.
But the guards were gone, off trying to stop the onslaught to the western wing.
No one was close by. Stryker was on his own.
“No!” he gasped, clawing, punching. He tried to bite, and X growled, punched his face aside, his fingers grasping at the helmet-
Stryker howled, raking his fingers down X’s neck, and the mutant shouted, pain twisting his face, and he tugged-
The helmet came free.
Stryker had time to scream, as a hundred thousand fingers tore into his mind, and a single word rose above the howling storm-
DIE
And Stryker did.
7.
He stopped in front of the smooth metal door, and cradled the helmet in his hands. He shouldn’t. Charles had been alone in there for days now, with only his own thoughts for company. Another mind was exactly what he needed, to help him calm down, relax, settle into himself again.
And yet-
And yet.
He couldn’t forget bullets, and his own hands shaking, rising against his will. He didn’t want to forget.
He turned Shaw’s helmet over and over in his hands, and the metal hummed, familiar. He traced the dent, and the scratches, and the gritty sand still wedges in the seams. The pads of his fingers ached, remembering the feel of sand.
He didn’t know what to do.
Go in without the helmet, and win Charles’s trust but run the risk of Cuba happening again, or go in with it on and destroy his trust (probably forever) but make sure Cuba didn’t happen?
Erik closed his eyes, and breathed. As much as Charles might need him now, without the helmet, the rest of the base, and by default the children, needed him shielded, so his power was his own.
And the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, no matter how much he cared for the few.
The helmet, cool and smooth and heavy in his hands, fit onto his head like it was meant to be there, and he fought the urge to scratch the numbers off his arm.
Erik reached out, and crumpled the door like paper.
Nothing moved.
Cautiously, Erik wheeled himself into the cell, hands outstretched, and rattled the walls gently.
“Charles,” he said softly, and scanned the darkness.
“Erik.” Charles was crouched against the wall, face drawn and pale. His hands shook, and scratches decorated his face, matted with half-dried blood. His fingertips were torn, and beside him was a dead body, and Erik’s chest hurt.
“Stryker,” he said, and reeled. He didn’t believe it. Charles had been leading the Brotherhood for months, yes, but he hadn’t personally killed anyone. Never. Charles wasn’t a killer. He was-he was-
And he remembered Cuba, and the feel of missiles hanging in his power, and three thousand lives waiting to die.
And Charles made it happen.
“Why did you kill him?” Erik asked, and worked to keep his voice even. He drifted closer; Stryker’s nose was broken, and his face bruised, but there was no blood. “How did you kill him?”
The telepath offered him a twisted grin, and tapped his forehead. He looked bad; he hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the blood and bruises made him look less like a kindly professor and more like a deranged killer. “He was here,” he whispered, “and I couldn’t read his mind. So I took off the helmet, and got into his head, and he died."
Charles’s breath came in stuttering pants.
“He died, and I didn’t mean to, but he wanted to kill me, you, all of us, I can’t let him, I didn’t let him--”
“Charles,” Erik snapped sharply, reaching out, trying to ground the other man. “Breathe, listen to me. Breathe. You have to breathe.”
“I killed him,” Charles said, eyes wild. “I’ve never-”
“He deserved it,” Erik cut in fiercely. “He was an evil man. He didn’t want peace, he wanted war, and our people to die, and he came to kill you; there’s a gun in his pocket.”
This seemed to calm the telepath, somewhat, and he gazed up at Erik with vivid eyes. “You came back,” he murmured. Another explosion rocked Langley. “You all came back?”
“It isn’t right to leave you here.”
Charles looked away. “Thank you,” he said, standing. His eyes flickered to the helmet, and his expression soured, but he didn’t say anything.
“Wait,” said Erik. “I’m not turning you loose yet. You have to promise me something first.”
Instantly, Charles’s eyes went from grateful to wary. “What?”
“Don’t try and start a war. Don’t fight with the government, unless they explicitly provoke you first.”
“They’re letting our people be slaughtered,” Charles snapped, hands balling into fists. “They’re letting the Friends of Humanity tear us to pieces.”
“I made them swear,” Erik countered, “to treat the Friends as they have treated the Brotherhood. I have it in writing. The government must be fair now; both races will be held accountable.”
Charles’s teeth flashed in a snarl. “How can you stand here and argue with me? You know better than I the evil man is capable of, if he finds a people he wishes to exterminate.”
“There are Nazis,” Erik agreed. “There are people who want us dead, and will stop at nothing to do so. But not all of them are like that! There are those who fight against Nazis too, who save children from death camps and smuggle the imprisoned out in the dead of night.”
“You spent your entire adult life hunting down Nazis! Killing them brutally!”
“But only Nazis,” Erik snapped. “Not innocents. Never innocents. When you start killing the innocent, you’re asking for a war, Charles, and our people can’t afford that.”
“Mutants are strong,” Charles argued. “And more are being born every day. We are the next stage in human evolution. Man cannot stop us if they try.”
“Perhaps not. But they can kill and hurt hundreds of thousands of us, until the day the last human dies. We can coexist. Germans and Jews lived together for centuries before Hitler. Mutants and humans can do the same. But we cannot survive a war. We’re not organized yet. Think, Charles.”
The telepath frowned, lips pressing together, eyes flinty, hard.
“We are, at best, scattered groups,” Erik said, dropping his voice. “Divided. We can’t win, not against all of them.”
“We seem to be at an impasse, again, old friend,” Charles murmured. He leaned back, stepping away from the body.
“Promise me,” Erik said, unyielding, “that you will not kill anyone in this base, and that you won’t attack the humans unless provoked.”
Charles shook his head, hair flopping.
Erik’s eyes slid closed, and he fought down waves of memory-
(running, laughing, playing chess, brushing Charles’s ridiculous hair out of his eyes and leaning in-)
-before opening them to meet his old friend’s eyes. “Promise,” he said. “And I’ll let you go. There’s a parking lot not far from here. I’ll start a car for you, and you can drive back to your Brotherhood. The CIA won’t catch you again.”
“Fine,” Charles said. “I swear I will not kill anyone else here, and I’ll try not to start a war.”
Erik kept his face still, and offered Charles his hand.
The telepath took it, and shook, face unreadable. Erik backed up, letting him pass, and he tried not to watch him go.
Charles paused at the door, gripping the frame with his bloody hands. “Thank you,” he said lowly, and then was gone.
Erik closed his eyes, reached out to the parking lot, and fired up a car. After several minutes, he felt the car begin to move, and then it drove away, farther, farther.
He breathed again.
Charles was out. He was free. The CIA didn’t have him.
I must find the children, he decided, and turned to go.
He stopped, looking at the body again. It wouldn’t do to have the government figure out what happened, after all the trouble they’d gone through to get Charles out.
The metal around the body began to dance, and Erik turned and left, searching for the children.
8.
The car roared, and the streetlights lit the way to Chicago.
Charles Xavier held tightly onto the wheel, and he did not look back. He could still feel Langley, a scattered pulse of minds, and he could just reach-
No, he told himself, and held his thoughts in.
He’d promised Erik. And even though he was furious with the other man, could feel the smooth, hard silence of the helmet, even from this distance, he’d keep that promise.
His hands were tight on the wheel. He was still well within range. It couldn’t hurt to just push a little, here and there. Erik would never know. Hell, he couldn’t know, because he was wearing Sebastian fucking Shaw’s helmet, and Charles couldn’t touch him.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Charles turned, and stared straight ahead. He wouldn’t kill anyone else (but he could-). He’d just tweak, a little, protect Erik and the children. He owed them, after all. They’d chosen to rescue him, when they could’ve easily let him die.
He owed them.
Charles Xavier closed his eyes, reaching back with his power, feeling out the minds of CIA agents. Erik’s face, the children’s faces, swam in their thoughts, and Charles said forget, and they did.
He pulled back into his own mind, and faced the road.
Chicago waited.
***
“Go, go, go,” Erik hissed, nudging the children along with his power, half-dragging them onto the plane and closing the doors behind them.
His ears and metal-sense strained, searching for bullets, for the belt buckles and cufflinks and handcuffs of the CIA.
They’d stopped following him.
Erik frowned, but didn’t test his luck. If the CIA wanted to let him go, he’d take it. He scanned the children quickly, confirming that nothing had been placed on them or himself, and nodded to Hank, clearing them for take off.
The plane roared, firing to life, and the agents stayed put.
And then they were gone, tearing through the air, back to the mansion.
“Did you get him?” Raven asked, once her hands stopped shaking. (Erik hoped it was just adrenaline, and sisterly fear.) “Is he okay? Where is he?”
“He’s alright,” he assured her, peeling the hated helmet from his head. “He’s going to rejoin the Brotherhood. He’s not hurt.”
Raven’s face half-fell, but she nodded grimly. “At least he’s alright.”
Alex leaned forward, eyeing Erik. “Are you alright? You look kind of shaken up, Prof.”
Damn.
“Fine,” Erik said curtly. He hesitated. They’d see the blood on his shirt anyway, once they looked. “I ran into some… complications. I had to use deadly force.”
“Oh,” Raven drew back a little, almost involuntary. Sean shifted, uncomfortable. Hank cut Erik a glance, but refocused on flying.
Only Alex didn’t move, and his eyes were too smart for his own damn good.
“Deadly force,” he said dryly. He knew.
Erik shrugged. Alex knew, then, but the others didn’t have to. “It’s nothing,” he murmured. It wasn’t like they could identify Stryker’s body, or what killed him, now anyway. Erik had made sure of that.
The younger mutant leaned back, eyes hooded, watchful. “If you say so.”
They lapsed into uneasy silence, and the jet tore towards home. Erik closed his eyes.
“They’ll be looking for us now,” he warned. “They know what we look like, and what we can do. We have to be watchful now. You’re no longer children.”
“We know,” Sean said, surprising Erik. His face was soft and hard at the same time, and he didn’t look away. “We understand. We’re with you.”
Something warm stirred in Erik’s chest, and he remembered Magda, and Anya, and what that had felt like, all those years ago. It felt good.
But Erik only nodded, letting his face relax, and he leaned into the jet and waited to see Westchester again.
Charles, he thought warningly, even though they were probably out of range, now. Be safe. Don’t cause a war.
Charles didn’t answer, but then, Erik didn’t expect him to. He simply waited, and prayed he had done the right thing.
part two