wedonot | FIFTY SIX ✖ SPAM/VIDEO

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FIFTY SIX ✖ SPAM/VIDEO

[Spam for Erik]

[He could remember dying. He'd known he'd already lost way too much blood, and his too smart for his own good brain was reminding him that it can take only minutes to bleed out after severing the right artery, and from the amount of blood, he could tell the damage was bad. Really bad.

Shaw had been looking down at him, shaking his head and smiling almost apologetically, patronizing, like Charles was just a child who had done something almost endearing, but against the rules all the same, and thus punishment had to be dealt out. They'd exchanged words - not really the poignant last words Charles would have liked to be remembered for, if he had to die - and Shaw had just clucked his tongue and shook his head before almost shrugging and turning away, like it didn't matter anymore.]

"Well, I suppose now it can't hurt."

[He'd pulled the helmet off, and Charles couldn't help it, his mind was too weak, he couldn't control the impulse to reach out to it, and suddenly he could hear everything, and he wanted to scream, but he didn't have the energy. It was awful, it was too much, he could see too many things, Shaw's visions of the future, with him as king of a desolate wasteland, in the White House of all places, and snatches of things he'd done, talking to the kids, calmly destroying the CIA agents at the base, killing Darwin, and worse things, things he'd done before Cuba, during the war, at one of the camps, torturing a mutant child after shooting his mother in front of him, trying to force him into using his gift by any means necessary, and he couldn't hold back a strangled grunt that would have been a scream if he wasn't bleeding to death and choking on his own blood.

Everything had started fading, his vision getting spotty, and it was strange, but he could hear something, something talking to him, asking what wouldn't he do to reverse this, to stop this all from happening, it's a person - a man? - but Shaw and Azazel and Angel and the other man didn't seem to notice him, and he's telling him about an opportunity, and yes, yes, Charles didn't care what it was, he just wanted to fix this, he just wanted this to have never happened, he just wanted everyone to be safe-

He could remember all that. But he wasn't dead. He was still breathing, and although he ached all over, it didn't hurt anymore, and he grimaced and tried to force his eyes open, squinting against the brightness, slowly pushing himself to a sitting position and trying to inspect the damage.

Except... there wasn't really any. There was blood all over the front of the gray jumpsuit he'd been issued by the CIA, staining the fabric a rusty black, but there was no sign of the wound, like it just never happened, except the evidence of it was all over him. He could still remember what it felt like, the hot line of pain through his abdomen as the blade had gone in, punching through the protective material like it was nothing, and then slowly dragging out again before his knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor. There was dried blood on his chin, too, smeared on his lips, but he could breathe freely again, the wet feeling of blood in his lungs long gone even as he felt panic start to rise in his chest.

And suddenly he realized that he recognized this place, this room. It was a room at the mansion, somewhere he hadn't been since he left for Oxford, somewhere he honestly wouldn't have been sorry never see again, except it looked lived in. Like he'd been living here, or someone had just dropped his things off and expected him to be staying here.

What the hell was happening?]

Moira? [It was barely more than a mumble as he tried to scrub the blood off his chin, slowly pushing himself to his feet and fighting dizziness.] Moira?

[No response. He couldn't feel her mind, either, or the minds of anyone else familiar, not Raven or the other recruits, or any of the agents they'd worked with, or Shaw and his followers. He stumbled over to the door, pulling it open and saw-

Well. Not the hallways of the mansion, that's for sure.]

Moira!

[He's panicking, he knows he's panicking, and once he calms down, he'll remember having made a deal with the Admiral, but right now calm feels very far away, and the conversation with the Admiral maybe just like a hallucination, and so he runs down the hall and up the stairs, finally tearing open the door to the deck and seeing-

Stars. He's in space. Open space, and he couldn't tell if he'd forgotten how to breathe or if he was just hyperventilating as he staggers out and away from the door, completely failing at coping at all with what he was seeing.

He'd died. Azazel had killed him, Shaw had won, and this - whatever this was - was the afterlife, and he sucked in a gasp of air that sounded more like a miserable sob than anything else, because this meant that everything, everything was gone.]

[Public]

[Charles doesn't manage to post anything to the network until around midday, and when he does, he's at least showered and changed his clothes, but he still looks exhausted and a little in shock. There are dark bags under his eyes, and he looks pale and less well put together than usual. His hair's a little mussed, and he's wearing a gray t-shirt instead of his usual button up shirts and sweaters. He can barely seem to manage a smile for the camera, and his voice is tired and deliberate.]

My name is Charles Xavier, and I suppose I've been taken on by the Admiral to work here as a warden for the time being. If anyone has any advice or words of wisdom, I would appreciate hearing them.

[He looks like he's maybe considering saying something else, but instead just reaches over to turn off the feed.]

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[Erik was a simple man, and he led a simple life, and he had tried to continue that here. He kept his mutation secret, for the most part - he was more open about it here than he had ever been at home, and sometimes that thrilled him, but sometimes it terrified him. There wasn't much work he could do with it, not like at home where he'd built houses and done it so easily. But he liked working, he liked using his hands and sweating during the day, and feeling like he'd accomplished something when he went home.

Magda and Anya weren't here - well, the ones he had been used to, anyway - and there wasn't exactly anyone to go home to, but it was still nice to work under the sun, however fake it might be.

He'd taken to working in the garden, occasionally, because though it wasn't back breaking work, it was still getting his hands dirty and seeing some profit of his labor at the end of the day. He was just leaving the greenhouse when the newcomer burst onto the scene. Erik hung back, watching that panic, wary - people lash out when they're afraid - but he knows the signs of hyperventilation, so he starts forward, holding out a hand and waving slightly to get Charles' attention.]

Hey, it's all right. Are you okay?

[His attention snapped to the newcomer, and he can immediately tell that he's wary - people lash out when they're afraid - and he'd been working in the garden, and Charles couldn't sense a threat, so he struggled to find his voice.]

I- [He didn't know what to say. He was covered in dried blood, he was in space, he'd died and the world had probably been launched into Armageddon.] No. No, I have to-

[He shakes his head, taking in another few deep breaths before trying to start again, focusing on the more important part, because he didn't know if she was okay, even though he knew, he knew-]

Is there a woman named Moira here? Moira MacTaggert?

Edited 2013-04-20 23:01 (UTC)

I'm afraid I don't know a Moira. [His accent is heavier than normal, German, but his English is fluent enough. The blood, though, that makes his eyebrows draw together, because he hadn't entirely noticed it at first - or at least, hadn't realized the extent.]

My God, man - what happened to you?

[He puts a hand out to catch himself against the wall, suddenly feeling like his knees might give out.]

I think- [His voice catches, and he might have been embarrassed under different circumstances, but right now it barely even registers.] I think I died. Someone, someone told me if I came here, I could- Oh my God, everyone's dead.

[Erik reaches out automatically, grabbing for Charles' shoulder and arm to keep him steady and upright. He's distantly hoping he isn't about to be vomitted on, but given that much blood, it's a very vague concern.]

You're all right now. You made a deal with the Admiral? You're a warden? [He falls silent, a little relieved, but still concerned; he doesn't know what to do, or how to help.] Look, my name's Erik Lensherr - let me help get you to the infirmary. You look like you should be sitting, anyway.

[He shakes his head quickly, because he doesn't want to go to the infirmary, and he knows he should probably be sitting down right now, but he's not sure he wants to, he doesn't really know what he wants right now, but he doesn't pull away from the steadying hold because he's not overly eager to fall on his ass, either.] I'm fine, I'm not hurt, and I'm not going to throw up on you, it's- Erik?

[He stops suddenly, staring, eyes wide and shocked, because he knows that name, he'd heard it before just moments before he'd got here.] You're-

[Any hope of control is so long gone at this point that he's half in the other man's mind and half projecting what had happened, what he'd seen, and he reaches out to grab hold of Erik's shoulder, like he's reassuring himself that he was real, or trying to stop himself from drowning.]

Oh my God, you're Erik. I'm so- I'm- [He can't get anything else out, because he's hyperventilating or crying or both, because everyone's dead, Shaw won, everyone's dead because he couldn't stop him-]

[How did he know, he wonders, how had he said exactly what Erik was thinking? But that thought fades when his name stands out, and bewilderment crosses his face. Then horror, as he realizes that his thoughts are not his own, that the things he's seeing are not his memories, they're something else, something more, something horrifying and familiar, something he thought long, long buried.

He lets go of Charles and half backs away as Charles grabs him, going stiff and alarmed, and he doesn't know if he should run or stay or knock him out or help him.

Schmidt. Herr Doktor. He wants to scream. He whispers, instead.]

Who are you?

[He lets go, stumbles back, and slides down to the floor when his back hits the wall, pressing the palms of his hands to his temples and just trying to breathe, because he feels like the world is crashing down around him again, and he needs to just breathe.]

My name [He finally grates out, trying to force himself to stay calm, for his mind to untangle itself from Erik's before he did any more damage.] Is Charles Xavier. I'm like you, I'm a telepath, I can... I can hear people's thoughts. I was recruited by the CIA in Oxford to try and help them track down a dangerous mutant who was calling himself Sebastian Shaw. He, [Breathe, just breathe.] he wanted to take over the world, create some sort of utopia for people like us with him as the leader, by starting a nuclear war between the United States and Soviet Union. We tried to stop him.

[Tried. Tried, because they'd failed, it was over, everyone - Raven, Moira, the kids, everyone - had to be dead. He scrubbed his hand over his eyes, trying to focus, taking a deep, shuddering breath and trying to talk about it as clinically as possible even though he just wanted to scream.] One of his followers grabbed me and brought me on board the submarine with their nuclear reactor. He tried to convince me to join him, said we were all brothers- [But he could remember what he'd done to Darwin, he'd seen it, and he chokes, forcing himself to calm down, push the memories back.]

He had this helmet - I don't know what it was made out of, but it blocked my telepathy - so I couldn't do anything to stop him. I told him I wouldn't help him, and the man who brought me to the submarine stabbed me. Shaw left me to bleed to death on the floor, but he took the helmet off because he knew I couldn't overpower him, and I couldn't help it, I saw- I saw what he did to you.

[He finally looks up again, dropping his hands from his temples and stares up at the other man with wide, watery eyes, panic and fear and genuine empathy all written out plainly in his expression.]

I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Erik.

[His mouth is open, and the horror hasn't left his face. His chest is tight, his chest hurts, and he has to fight a sharp gag reflex when Charles starts apologizing, has to look away and cover his mouth, and he feels so dizzy, feels the wait of all that's happened, and he sits hard, legs half bent, half stretched in front of him. For a long, long moment he stares at Charles without seeing him.]

I thought - [no] - I hoped he was dead. He did - he did that? He...[Won. Twenty years later, he'd won. Not with the Nazis, and not with Erik, and God, he wanted to throw up.]

I- We, we tried to stop him, [He croaks out, feeling so much guilt and self hatred and disgust that he didn't know how to even begin to go about processing it.] But I couldn't- I couldn't.

[He dropped his head into his hands, taking deep, shuddering gasps for breath, fighting back tears and stubbornly smearing them across his cheeks in an attempt to hide them when they formed anyway.]

I'm sorry, I didn't, I didn't mean for this to happen, I'm so sorry. [He takes another deep breath and looks up again, still desperate and in shock and trying to hold everything together and failing.] I made a deal to try and stop him, to prevent all this from happening. I just- I didn't mean- I'm sorry.

He's still out there. He's - oh God, he's going to-- [Without realizing, he drips his head into his hands, mimicking Charles' position, and his own breath is coming faster.] It'll be nuclear holocaust, they'll - oh God, Anya - Magda-- [He can't lose them, knowing they're safe at home has been the only thing pushing him on some days.]

[He flinches, because he can't help but overhear that. Maybe he's just exhausted, but Erik's mind is somehow almost louder than anyone else he's ever met before, and the guilt he feels for causing someone who's already been through so much this much distress is overwhelming. He can't just sit there and wallow.

So he maneuvers himself over to Erik's side, putting a hand on the other man's shoulder and squeezing gently, trying to provide any amount of comfort even though he still felt like panic was going to strangle him. His voice is serious, if still a little (a lot) wobbly.]

I am going to fix this. I don't care how long it takes, he isn't going to get away with this, Erik, I promise you.

[He swallows, blinking rapidly.] I'm just sorry I couldn't do more before- [Before he killed me, oh God, he was dead, he could remember dying, and what about Moira and the kids?] Before it got this far.

[It was too much, for a moment, and Erik covered his face for a moment, breathing shallowly against his skin. He pictures Magda's face, and it comes in dual vision, as it always does: her face as she was then, years ago, too thin, too near death, and now, not entirely recovered, but flush with life - and Anya, his baby, his little girl, always so curious about the world, who has kept his secret between the two of them.

It calms him, but it makes him want to scream, too.]

I want to help. [He doesn't even know how; it doesn't matter.] Let me help.

[He finds himself nodding quickly in agreement, even though he doesn't know how, either, but there's no way he can deny him that, even if he wanted to.]

Of course. Of course. [He chokes out an almost hysterical laugh that's really more of a sob, still keeping his hand on Erik's shoulder because it sort of feels like the only thing keeping him upright right now.] I don't want to do this alone.

[It's more of a desperate admission than anything else. He was scared, and he already missed Moira and Raven desperately, and he didn't really know Erik at all outside of what he'd already seen, but he felt like he could trust him.]

[His thoughts are a jumble, a mess he can't even work out for himself until, very suddenly, he can. Looking up at Charles, Erik nods, and reaches out with his opposite hand to settle on Charles' shoulder, squeezing tightly.]

You won't have to. [Something swells in his chest, making it hard to breathe, but he knows it's right.] You're not alone. [Just like Magda had made him realize, Magda and Anya, and now - now there were other mutants, others like him, and they would never have to be alone in that feeling again.]

If you don't need the infirmary, you at least need cleaning up. [It's easier to move forward, now that he can breathe again.] You can use my bathroom.

[He's not alone. By some crazy miracle, Erik was here and he wanted to help, and Charles almost wanted to start crying again, but this time with relief. He wouldn't have to do this alone. He didn't know if he could do it alone, it was just so incredibly huge.

As much as he wants to just curl up on the deck and never move, the idea of being able to wash up and change out of the ruined CIA issued jumpsuit was a nice one, and so he nods, carefully pushing himself up.]

Probably a good idea. [He offers Erik a hand up.] Thank you, Erik. I'm so sorry about all this.

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