Absolution

by aeskis, redaurorarora

Summary:

Please read author's note at the beginning of the first chapter.

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At the beach Erik changes his mind and takes Charles with him, something the latter probably isn't going to be happy about when he comes to. Warnings for physical and mental imprisonment.

Non-con slash only in AU chapter so far. I made a funny comment about AUs. Really!

"This story is an AU. You know it's an AU because in it Charles says exactly the right thing at the right time."

Chapter 1

Summary:

At the beach Erik changes his mind and takes Charles with him, something the latter probably isn't going to be happy about when he comes to. This story will hopefully be moderately long and fulfilling if not disturbing. Warnings for physical and mental imprisonment, much angst, tortured friendships, possible eventual slash (I haven't decided), etc, in addition to probable multiple revisions. Dark!Erik. And general creepiness.

Notes:

AUTHOR'S NOTES – In response to popular demand :p, I'm reorganizing and consolidating the fanfic. So nothing new this time. Red Aurora's contributions and mine (aeskis) are put in separate chapters. Less confuddling, hopefully?

Yes, Absolution will be updated. Slowly, but updated. I sincerely apologize for the continual confusion and repeats. So ... reviews? ^-^ They keep me going! *hint hint, nudge nudge*

 

By aeskis

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They will turn on us.

Not if we stop a war. Not if we risk our lives doing so.

"I want you by my side," Erik says urgently, still emanating that undeniable charisma beneath the metal helmet obscuring most of his features. "We're brothers, you and I." The terribly fragile weight of Charles in his arms, Charles' hand first clutching at his front and then dropping weakly to the ground, strike him like the smashing final blow never dealt him by this most infuriatingly idealistic of men. "We want the same thing."

Or is it arrogance?

There is great sadness in Charles' too-bright eyes as he looks into Erik's—no, Magneto's deathly earnest face. "My friend," he says, breathing hard against the agony of his injury as blackness threatens his vision. "Oh, my friend … that we do not." Initially stunned by the refusal, Erik's expression closes, until nothing can be read, as though a mask has dropped into place, or a curtain signaling the end of an act.

There's so much more to you than you know.

No, there is only a gripping fear and despair as the momentary peace achieved over the last few weeks dissipates, dying with the faltering rise and fall of his once friend's chest. He is determined not to surrender to a fool's dreams, however, no matter that they are beautful, and rises, motioning for Moira to take his place. Shaw's former henchmen stand a distance away, lost without their leader. The young men, Banshee, Beast, and Havok stumble forward from where he's thrown them, warily keeping an eye on Magneto.

Not just pain, and anger.

"My fellow mutants," he begins. "Their kind will never accept us. They've shown us their hand. Now it's time for us to show them ours." He pauses. "Who's with me?" His gaze goes to Mystique, who looks at him and what he offers with unmistakable longing. Magneto extends his hand. "No more hiding." His eyes move over to Shaw's men; Azazeal, Riptide and Angel stare at him.

Mystique moves slowly, her vision flickering between her foster brother helplessly prostrate on the sand and the strong, powerful figure of Magneto inviting her to join him. Guilt and nearly twenty years of sibling love—and perhaps something more than that—propel her to Charles' side. He looks up at her, trying to smile reassuringly as he takes her hand and kisses it. "You should go with him," he gasps. "It's what you want."

"You promised me you'd never read my mind," Raven whispers in gentle accusation, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Charles' lips curve in mirthless, regretful smile. "I promised you a great many things, I'm afraid." The tight, pained line of Charles' mouth abruptly relaxes, and he goes limp, eyes fluttering closed to hide the blue. Raven gives a small shriek and she and Moira lean over him anxiously. "Charles!"

There's good too ... I felt it.

Good? As Magneto he has no good in him now, only a purpose and total focus on achieving it. And Charles … only the man whose stillness shouts of Erik's guilt, the person to whom he owes so much, saw and believed in that part of him invisible to everyone else, hidden so deeply behind anger and an air of dangerously charming menace. Against his better judgment Erik looks back at the slight form slumped in Moira's cradling arms, and feels that abyss of agony for the second time in his life.

He can't lose Charles. He can't.

He won't.

In her concern for Charles, Moira speaks even in fear of turning Erik's attention to her once again. "We need to get him to a hospital."

Yes. Erik turns. "Azazeal, is it?" The devilish-looking red visage affirms his words with a twisting of his lips. "Will you join me?" The uncertain grimace becomes a grim smile, the expression equally startling as the first. "I will."

"Good." Ignoring Moira's startled, frightened protests, he brushes her aside and lifts Charles' unconscious body, his head lolling against Erik's shoulder. "Transport us to a private facility where Charles can get treatment."

Beast and the other young mutants start. Erik stops them from interfering with a warnng look and just the slighest pressure at the metal in their suits. Mystique lays a questioning hand on Erik's arm, gazing into his face beseechingly as her fingers on the other hand brush Charles' tear-stained cheek. He does not need to be a telepath to read her mind.

"Don't worry. He'll be fine." And Erik finds that aching hope in his chest again, that treacherous emoton that fluttered into existence at the kind understanding in the words, You're not alone, Erik. You're not alone as he stared at his unlikely savior incredulously across the few feet of water separating them.

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Charles does not wake for three weeks, during which time doctors care for his injury and inform the anxiously hovering Raven and Erik, brooding with dark thoughts, that he might never walk again.

Two days into the young man's continued unconsciousness, the metal equipment in the private hospital room begins to rattle ominously, and suddenly Erik strides out the door. Casting a glance at the silent form of Charles on the bed, Raven follows her new leader outside. "I know you're frustrated ..." she trails off, unable to continue at the impossible anguish engraved on Erik's face. Erik clenches and unclenches his hands, whirling away from her and slamming a fist into the wall in a rare display of uncontrol.

"I want him to wake up too," she finishes in a whisper.

Azazeal stands in a sort of lazy slouch against the wall with his tail dragging idle scratches along the floor, Riptide beside him looking only faintly interested at the events transpiring before him. "Emma Frost," he says in his accented tones. "If anyone can find out what's happening in your friend's head, she can."

Erik does not waste time. The thick metal door of Emma's prison screams and crumples into so much scrap; Azazeal could have transported them directly into the chamber in which she is kept, but a display of power can only help his cause.

Defensively in her diamond form, Emma still manages a cool smile, although an undercurrent of nervousness is noticeable. "Where's your telepath friend?"

Magneto's bloodshot eyes are shadowed by the metal helmet, but they are piercing nonetheless. He knows the game to play with this woman. "Mutants ought to reign supreme in this world, and I will make it happen," he states baldly, ignoring her query for the moment. "Care to join me?" The shining facets of her body shift as she looks over at the mutants standing in the doorway, old and new companions alike.

Switching allegiances is apparently not a hardship for those who used to work for Shaw. The gorgeous telepath smiles, more confidently now, as though she can guess what he wants from her through the metal helmet, and changes back to to her svelte, white-clad human form.

Miss Frost is less than pleased when she discovers the true nature of her first assignment. "I could," she admits. "In the state he's in, your friend's an open book."

"Then do it." Erik's warning glance leaves no room for protest.

Emma huffs quietly, but sits beside the hospital bed and closes her eyes in concentration. Several moments pass before she gasps and jerks away, the chair legs screeching on the floor as a fine-boned white hand presses to her forehead.

Alarmed by her reaction, Raven automatically reaches out to steady the woman. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Emma speaks slowly, in uncharacteristic incoherence, still feeling the ghostly vestiges of approaching death. "Somehow …. it's as if he's been killed. Looking through his eyes and seeing through another's as he's held immobile by something …. himself … the coin moving through the air… the trauma of that and the shock of too much loss … he doesn't want to awake and face reality."

There is silence in the room. Raven is afraid to look at Erik, but she musters the courage. His pacing has given way to an absolute stillness. "He was in Shaw's mind when I drove the coin through the bastard's brain," Erik finally says faintly, his face white. "I knew Charles was holding him, but … I didn't … I didn't mean … I didn't think ..." In a fury of self-hatred he tears the helmet from his head, and its clangs sharply against the counter and then more dully against the floor. A nurse who has come to check on the patient shrieks and jumps back.

Erik, please, be the better man. There will be no turning back-!

Azazeal grunts from the hallway, having overhead the conversation. Riptide raises his eyebrows, catching the gist of what happened. "Well, boss, you've certainly ruined the guy's life. Are you sure he's going to be on our side if he gets up?"

Two weeks of sleepless nights and intolerable pacing later, when Erik blearily raises his head from the arms of the chair beside the hospital, his eyes meet Charles' serene gaze.

"It's about time. You've … been a setback to my plans for world domination," Erik manages to say somewhat calmly, reaching for the helmet next to him.

"The guilt overwhelms me." Charles' smile does not quite reach his eyes as they follow Erik's movements, and he seems very weary, sinking back onto the bed from where he had reached for his friend. "Is this what we've come to?" he asks quietly. "Erik, it doesn't have to be this way."

"My name is Magneto now." Suddenly restless and avoiding Charles' eyes, Erik gets to his feet. "I'm not the hapless person who tried to move a submarine and couldn't."

"But you're still drowning in the effort of doing something beyond your power." The remnants of mischief enters Charles' voice. "And that helmet is most unbecoming. I won't even discuss the cape. Raven's idea, yes? She always liked superheroes with an unhealthy passion."

Erik almost returns the fond smile, then recalls himself and his face falls into its now usual tense lines. "It's Mystique, and I'm no hero."

Charles pauses, his fingers worrying at the sheets covering him. "How is … Mystique doing?"

"She's been scared to death for you," Erik answers. "I should tell her you're awake." But he makes no move toward the door.

"Wait," Charles says for him after a moment. "We need to talk."

"Are you prepared for a war with humans?"

Charles stares at him solemnly as though trying to penetrate through the helmet blocking his telepathic abilities. "I would do everything in my power to prevent such a thing from happening."

"Then we have nothing to discuss," Erik counters.

"We do. The last I remember, you made the lines you've drawn quite clear. Ending on that note, why am I here?"

Erik's throat closes, but he bites out the words. "That bullet smashed part of your spine. You're—"

"-paralyzed. Yes." Charles sighs tiredly, hands fisting in his lap as he looks at his useless legs. "I pretended to be sleeping when a nurse came in earlier, and her pity … bled out onto me." Erik's own limbs lose strength and he collapses into a chair, recollecting Charles' calmness even at the beginning of their conversation. "I'm surprised you didn't concentrate and kill me before I woke up," Erik says with painful seriousness.

"I won't lie. I thought of it," Charles replies after a moment of strained silence. "But in the end … I'm still the same person who couldn't pull the trigger on his friend."

I won't stop you. I could, but I won't.

Erik wants to laugh, but only the awful recognition of tears filling his eyes comes. "You self-righteous, pompous fool," he snaps, to hide the wetness at the edges of his vision. It's true. Charles has the arrogance of a young man who has always gotten what he wanted, always known he was right, except he isn't. But his disarming innocence and kindness smoothes the rough edges, and that is what wrecks Erik the most.

"Why am I here, Erik?" Charles repeats gently, his eyes the same self-assured, bright blue.

It's not just me you're walking away from.

And Erik realizes he can't articulate an explanation. Charles will never willingly join the Mutant Brotherhood. What is he hoping to achieve? Everything he's done in his life has been for a reason, toward a focused—and usually fatal—conclusion. What use will a disinclined Charles be to him and his cause, except a liability and danger?

Charles turns his face to the door a moment before Raven's footsteps can be heard rounding the corner to the room.

"Charles? Charles!" Raven's exuberantly happy voice rings forth at seeing the patient awake. She hastily sets the tray of food meant for Erik aside and rushes forward to fling her arms around her brother. He oofs and returns the fervent embrace. "You've had a change of names as well as address," Charles laughs. "Mystique, I hear." His gaze softens as he pulls back slightly to look at her, blue and scaled and utterly herself. "You're looking so well." There is recognizable guilt in the compliment, but Mystique chooses to ignore that and busies herself by bustling about Charles.

Erik watches the foster siblings chatter animatedly to each other with the ease of familiarity. Well, Raven is practically bouncing words about how the the fledging mutants so recently under their care are doing back at the mansion, and her new life, while Charles lies back and happily listens, too exhausted to contribute equally to actual conversation. It's sweetly touching, and for a few minutes Erik vicariously shares in the joy.

Raven glances at Erik and generously gestures for him to join in. "Magneto has been a most devoted mother hen," she teases, "flapping about her chick."

Charles smiles slightly, amused and clearly touched. "Is that so?"

"I am not a female chicken," Erik tries to interject feebly, helplessly chuckling at the undignified image of himself fluttering about.

Raven giggles, "But you did flap."

All three look at each other, and fall to laughing.

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In one of the living rooms of the now horribly quiet and extravagantly large mansion, Alex sits in a similar posture to the one he held in prison, his head buried in his hands. Sean for once is silent, and that is telling of the tension under which they all labor, while Hank curves his furred, clawed hands and growls softly every so often. At last Moira breaks into speech, saying what is on all their minds.

"We need to get Charles back."

"But ..." Hank hesitates. "We don't know even know where he is."

Alex puts in, "There're the letters from Raven. Can you trace them?"

Sean reminds, "She warned us not to try to find them. If Magneto wanted, he could just have the scary-looking red dude move them somewhere else."

Moira straightens her bowed shoulders in determination. "It's been three weeks. We have to do something. Charles is owed that much, at least."

Her connections with the CIA are less than impressed with this line of reasoning. "I say good riddance, McTaggart," her superior snaps. "One missing mutant is not going to stir this department into unnecessary action."

"Charles Xavier is a hero!"

"He's damned dangerous and possibly on the run from state identification!"

Moira almost hits him before taking a deep breath to prevent herself from action which would only hurt her petition. More and more often she finds herself astounded by the incredible blindness and stupidity of her race.

"Is that what you're planning?" Alex demands, having heard the last part of the shouting match and coming up to them. "To round us off to jail when all we've done is prevent World War III? We saved your ungrateful asses-"

"You little hoodlum-" McCone glares threateningly and seems ready to call for backup.

"I'm quitting," Hank says suddenly, his yellow gaze cold.

McCone's lip curls angrily as he turns to the massive beast-like figure, and a look of disgust and fear is evident on his face. But McCoy is a genius. "You can't do that. You need to rebuild the Blackbird and show us how-"

"About that. I'm sure the minions working for you will figure something out." Sean guffaws at McCone's expression, and the strident sound drowns out the latter's furious reply.

After they have settled down from their ridiculous fit, Raven presses Erik to"take off that metal can" because "it's only Charles here."

Reminded, Erik withdraws immediately into himself. "He's why I have it on." The atmosphere in the room grows dismal. Raven bites her lip in vexation at her new leader's obstinacy and seems about to push the issue, but Charles pats her hand. "I'm sure Erik will divest himself of that uncomfortable monstrosity when he's ready," he assures her.

She smiles in reply, but is clearly troubled at this rift in the relationship between the two men dearest to her.

"Mystique." The commanding tone in Magneto's voice causes her to sit up straighter. "I think Angel needs someone to look in on her. After all, her wings are still recuperating."

"Yes, but-" Raven isn't entirely fond of Angel, but at a glance from Magneto, obeys with a quick squeeze to Charles' fingers. She exits the room after a promise to Charles to visit him again soon. There is a hint of disapproval in Charles' demeanor at Erik's treatment of his sister, but he chooses to remain silent for the moment.

Silence fills the room as the last sounds of Mystique's retreating steps die away. "Would you like to go outside?" Erik asks abruptly.

Charles' lips quirk in a genuine, boyish smile of delight, and Erik feels that fission of comfort at the palpable ease with which Charles still treats him. "That would be splendid."

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Erik wheels Charles through the hospital gardens. The latter is obviously basking in the little sunlight, somewhat dim as it is hidden behind greyish clouds. "Even you have to admit you were wrong." Erik convinces himself that he will not act smugly on the strength of his better acumen regarding humans and their inevitable negative reactions.

"About?" Charles queries innocently, trying unsuccessfully to lean down and pick a flower; the chair's arm blocks him.

Erik rolls his eyes and seizes a thin wrist, forcing Charles to look up at him. "Don't be an idiot as well as naïve."

Charles squints exaggeratedly as he meets Erik's exasperated gaze. "The light is glinting off the metal on your head," he complains in a plaintive voice. Then he sighs deeply, looking away. "That was a poor sampling of the much vaunted humanity of homo sapiens."

"Then, don't you see what must be done?" Erik lets Charles' hand go, only to crouch down and grasp his shoulders a moment later in his desperation to persuade the man.

Charles does not flinch, meeting his gaze squarely now. "There is still a chance for reconciliation. Humans and mutants can live together. I believe it."

"They don't." Erik starts to run his fingers through his hair before remembering the helmet. "How can you, who can read minds, still have this blind faith in their goodness?"

What do you know about me?

Charles smiles, in a manner sad yet strangely bright. "The same way I believe that you, my friend, will be the better man."

Everything.

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"How are the others doing? Hank, Alex, Sean, Moira …?" Charles inquires of Raven, who is fussing with his blankets. He is dressed in casual clothing, the result of much irritation with hospital gowns.

"The last I heard, they were fine." Raven avoids his questioning gaze, looking somewhat guilty, a slight flush under the blue color of her cheeks.

"Fine?" he repeats slowly, sitting up despite his sister's attempts to make him lie down. She bites her lip at seeing the struggle even this small movement is. "When was the last time you heard from them?"

"A few weeks ago," she says defensively. "I was a bit concerned about your well-being, you know. And Erik's off building something-"

"I'm as recovered as I'll be without walking out that door," Charles says, a little more harshly than he intends. Raven flinches.

Perceiving this, Charles sighs and leans back. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you."

"Are you angry with Magneto?" Raven asks quietly, after a pause.

"Should I be? If I were to be trapped in this place, that would be adequate reason for me to harbor some resentment against him, wouldn't it?"

She is genuinely shocked. "Charles, how can you think we'd imprison you? As soon as you're well ..." Her face crumples. "On the beach, I thought we'd have to part ways forever. But if you stay with us, then-"

"Dear Raven." He takes her hand and holds it in his own. "Don't fret. I didn't mean to upset you." She tries to smile at him and doesn't quite succeed, and eventually leaves the room. Charles settles back into the bed and lifting his fingers to his temple, closes his eyes.

Moira.

A startled gasp. Charles! Are you alright? Where are you?

I'm doing as well as can be expected. How is everyone?

Bearing up. Don't worry. Now, answer my question. Where are you?

An island—the mental connection is suddenly cut off. Erik had come in unnoticed and immediately

guessed what Charles was doing. Swearing, he pulls Charles' hand away from his head and smashes it onto the metal railing. Charles winces but keeps silent, only looking at Erik reproachfully.

"You were contacting that woman, weren't you." It is not a question.

Charles does not bother to deny the accusation. "It's Moira. And you can't keep me here." He stares pointedly at the grip Erik still has on his hand. Erik expels an angry breath and releases his hold.

"Damnit, Charles!"

What did you just do to me?

"If you'd only see sense—"

"You mean your way of things. We will be forever divided on this subject. As you once said, do you have it in you to allow that?" Erik has to smile a little at how Charles is so dependent on his mind-reading ability that without it, he usually miscalculates people's reactions and chooses exactly the wrong words to say.

It was a very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you.

With that prompting, he had moved the satellite, a veritable and proverbial mountain. He can't do without such strength, not when he needs it the most in the coming war against humans. And he certainly cannot let it be on the opposing side.

"Come with me," Erik says abruptly. Charles frowns in confusion, but is given no choice as Erik throws off the blankets and lifts him with less than maximum effort, depositing his burden onto the wheelchair.

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"Where are we going?" Charles asks a little nervously but as yet without real fear; Erik wheels him through the empty hallways. His inability to read Erik's mind has him groping for a consciousness to latch onto. A few nurses are at the outer edges of the hospital; the center of the building is curiously lacking in people.

Erik doesn't answer him. There is a nearly visible aura of fury emanating from his body, and only belatedly does Charles, not seeing him, realize this. He cranes his neck to face his friend. "Erik, what's wrong?"

Erik laughs shortly, the sound harsh in both their ears. "You really don't know, do you?" The wheelchair whirls around to face him, and Charles grips the arms to stop himself from lurching. He frowns, clearly wondering what is going on Erik's erratic mind. "Sometimes I wonder who's the telepath, me or you."

Listen to me very carefully, my friend.

"So clueless," Erik mocks with an affected air of carelessness. "Defenseless. Pathetic." Despite his words, Charles' earlier, heartfelt words and others, said over the course of a few weeks, has reverberated in his head and embedded themselves into his skin, and he wonders if Charles really isn't in his mind.

Charles' mouth tightens and his eyes narrow. What would surely be a painful mental blow to Erik dissipates into a pressure hard enough to make him stagger back, but only for a few moments, while Charles falls back, exhausted from the effort as well as his weeks of enforced bed rest.

Two nurses come running, a blank expression on their plain faces, presumably called by Charles. "Will you take me back to my room, please," Charles requests of them, a hard look on his face as he glares at Erik. So he has ruffled the great telepath's composure. He wants Charles to be angry, to make his own ire rise, to make this easier for himself

Killing Shaw will not bring you peace.

No, peace is not an option, not when a formidable dilemma presents itself so blindly, so idiotically before him. Erik grins, though amusement is the last thing he feels, and blocks the blank-faced women from assisting Charles. "Call off your slaves."

"They're not my slaves, and I'll do as I please-" Charles starts to say indignantly.

Erik interrupts him. "Not slaves? Seems like the worst kind of domination to me, that power you have. You're no saint; can you really say you haven't abused it?" He doesn't wait for an answer, and suddenly jerks his elbow a hair's breadth from one of the nurse's abundant belly. "Call them off, or they'll get hurt."

Charles stares at him, shocked at this turn of events. "But ... they're innocent," he begins tremulously.

"Not as long as they're under your control."

After a long moment, Charles takes a deep breath, and as if on cue the two women turn around and stiffly walk back down the hall. "Very well. I've done as you wanted. Now will you kindly inform me of the reason for such threats of violence?"

Erik ignores his demand. "If you call anyone else, I promise you there will be casualties." This is Charles' main weakness, one of many; his care for these wretched, weak humans.

"You've made your point quite clear. No need for demonstration, thank you," Charles says tightly. Erik surprises him by laughing. "So proper, even in a dire situation."

"Is this a dire situation?" Charles asks carefully.

They've reached an innocuous-seeming door, and he maneuvers the young man in the wheelchair through it. Inside is a white-washed room, much like any other in a hospital, except that it is bare of any but toilet accessories and a shower; there are curious slits in the roof.

Depleted of energy by his mental exertions, Charles has had his eyes closed until he feels the wheelchair movements stop. "Why are we stopping here?" he murmurs tiredly.

Erik smiles oddly, though since he is behind Charles, the latter can't see it. "You could say we've reached the end of a long hallway and are standing at a door."

"Well, of course-" Charles says irritably, fingers coming up to rub aching temples. Suddenly he sits up and takes stock of his surroundings. "Where are we?"

"Would you care to repeat your response to my invitation?"

Charles stares at him, knowing immediately this time what Erik means. "I won't be a part of this—this genocidal devastation. Can't you see it'll only end in total destruction for everyone involved?"

"Is that your final answer?" Erik inquires, in an eerily quiet voice, the game-show humor of the question lost in the tense moment.

Charles on a subconscious level realizes Erik's plans but still cannot bring himself to believe his friend capable of such action. "I—yes-"

In a smooth motion, metal screens fall into place from the slits in the roof. Charles' eyes widen at the sudden silence in his ever probing mind.

"Nice, isn't it? It's designed of the same material as this helmet. If you can be kept out, surely … you can be kept in."

"Erik … let me go." Magneto does not answer, his eyes hooded and dark beneath the helmet's shadow as Charles tries to suppress his growing fear at the awful silence of the void into which he has been forced. "Let me go!" He pulls ineffectually at his wheelchair, but the metal of the wheels is rooted to the ground.

When you can access all that, you will possess a power no one can imagine.

"It's your decision, Charles." Magneto pauses at the door, his back to his former friend as he speaks. "But there's only one choice." And then he is left, utterly alone.

Not even me.

"Erik!"

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Hours later, Erik returns to the room with a tray of food. Charles is dozing fitfully, trying to get into a comfortable position in his chair on the other side of the room. Like this, he looks small, much unlike the forceful presence he puts forth to the world. The existence of the powerful mind inside the slight body curled in on itself is difficult to believe.

Deflecting the bullet away from himself … a scream from Raven, and a choked cry from Charles … turning .. falling … hitting the sand …

He himself doesn't understand why he's doing what he is.

After putting the tray down, Erik closes his hand into a fist. Metal from the wheelchair's arms snake around Charles' wrists and close around them. He does not bother with the ankles. "What-!" Charles wakes up and releases a startled gasp.

In a few long strides Erik is across the room and leaning over him, grasping his chin and looking carefully at his face. Charles' features are too boyishly soft to be considered handsome, but there is something indescribably charming and charismatic about him when he chooses to exercise his considerable talents.

Charles tries to twist away but bound as he is, fails. His hands clench on the wheelchair and he shuts his eyes to avoid Erik's examining gaze.

"How long are you planning to keep me here?" he snaps through gritted teeth.

Erik releases him. "Well, that depends on your cooperation."

"Raven-"

"She's on a mission for me and won't be back for some weeks. The others, if not entirely approving, won't interfere."

"Are you putting her in danger?" Charles demands furiously.

"We all knew the potential consequences when forming the Brotherhood." Erik goes over to the tray and wheels it over.

"Is that what the Brotherhood does? Send children to fight? For God's sake, Erik-"

"She's not a child," Erik retorts coldly. "That assumption was your mistake and why she chose to come with me instead of stay with you."

Charles bites back a response, miserably recognizing the truth of Erik's statement.

Despite his attempts to plan his next move, Erik has spent the last few hours thinking and has come to the conclusion that, in some way, he is in almost as deplorable a condition as Charles must be.

It is as though Charles can read his mind, as he laughs softly in a bitter tone. "Am I causing a hitch in the Almighty Magneto's agenda? Is that why he's come to punish the erring mortal with remembrances of failure?"

"You're doing this to yourself," Erik returns evenly.

You did this.

"Allow me to differ from that biased opinion. You're absconding from responsibility again," Charles reprimands, in a nearly normal voice. "Do you think, even if you succeed in what you want, there won't be a human weapon who rises up against your tyranny, your persecution of his kind, much as yourself?"

No, Erik. You … you did this.

"Don't presume to lecture me," Erik warns, the metal tray beneath his fingers twisting frightfully. An apple rolls precariously to the edge, and the milk in a bowl of cereal sloshes over the side.

Charles grins, a ghostly and chilling remnant of his usual warming smile. "Come on, then. I'm obviously unarmed, while you've seen to having the entire room at your disposal. I can't fight back. Isn't that the kind of victim you want, you bastard?"

There are thousands of men on those ships. Good, honest, innocent men.

Erik flushes with anger. His righteous crusade is being turned into mere bloodlust. The metal of the wheelchair writhe around Charles' wasted body, a handle even wrapping around his throat, before Erik regains control of himself and recognizes the edge of desperation underlying Charles' words.

Erik laughs, the sound echoing dully in the room. "Good try, Charles. You won't goad me into hitting you."

Found out, Charles goes white. "God, Erik," he says in a ragged whisper. "You don't know … you don't know what you're doing to me. There is nothing, nothing ..."

"I'm sure only you can appreciate the full experience, but do let me know how it goes," Erik replies in a clinical tone, in an unaware mimicry of Shaw's professionalism. He bends down to ensure that the wheelchair is put back in proper order.

Freed, Charles leans forward and spits in his face. "You didn't kill Shaw, you meglomaniac. You're his living embodiment, his greatest success."

Before he can stop himself, the child who watched his mother die rebels against this assertion and wins over the adult who overtly agrees with it, and Erik's arm lashes Charles across the face. Charles reels, the wheelchair almost tipping over before it and his head slams into the wall behind him.

I don't want to hurt you … don't make me!

The wheelchair is still tottering and finally falls over, taking with it Charles, who is too dazed to even instinctively protect himself when he hits the floor.

The wheels on the chair spin idly.

The memory of grappling for the fate of the men on the ships on the beach, gaining the upper hand, striking the weaker body struggling under his—Erik, stop!-until Charles' head snapped to the side, becomes more real than the metallic room where he is standing lost and afraid. Erik steps back shakily and surveys the damage, his hand reaching out involuntarily.

I'm so sorry ... I-I said back off!

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Several more weeks pass dully, and the phantasmal pain gripping Erik is almost ever-present, like the weight of the helmet on his head, even when he's not in the same room with Charles. He doesn't need the helmet now, actually, and it would be a material relief to have it off, but he finds himself placing it on his head every day, as though he's going to battle.

Magneto schemes of mutant supremacy; his latest project has Mystique gone with Frost to quietly sound out what the higher-up humans were thinking and contriving after the missile debacle. Azazeal is with them to be able to spirit them away should anything go amiss. Riptide and Angel have gone scouting for other mutants Shaw earlier had come across, to persuade them to join the better side of the coming war.

Erik thinks of Charles. As time wore on, the man had tried a few more tactics. Screaming is not an option; the outer walls behind the metal are soundproof, and before leaving Frost had ensured that the few doctors and nurses in the building do not come near his room; they do not even question Charles' sudden disappearance from his bed. The long-term mental implant had been a taxing and time-consuming effort for Frost, but she had known enough not to question his reasons. Now they don't even see him coming and going.

She doesn't particularly care for the idea of two operating telepaths—one is superfluous. She's taken care to be useful to Magneto—her side mission is to block, frustrate, and otherwise thwart 'Moira and friends' efforts to find Charles when, inevitably, they look to the government for resources.

Magneto is the only one remaining at this little island hideaway. He tells the others it's because his powers were so prominently on display, with the lifting of the submarine and the turning of the missiles, that he ought to recuperate as well as allow the humans some deceptive breathing room.

Charles had tried to starve himself, but Erik quickly put a stop to that when he noticed the increasing pallor of the other man's skin and the protrusion of his bones where the thin pajamas fell against his originally slim, now almost emaciated, body. He had force-fed him, brutally when necessary. It had seemed to work; a few days later, he recognized the smell of vomit in the sink.

Mutely defiant at first, Charles had broken down after Erik had taken the opportunity to remind him that Moira and the little school of mutants were increasingly becoming a nuisance with their blatant inqueries on Charles' and thus Erik's location. They could, he tonelessly reminded Charles, become casualties in war.

In truth, he doesn't know if he could bring himself to harm the little group, faltering already without their kindly leader. But Charles doesn't know what Magneto won't do anymore.

Today he finds a fully clothed Charles slumped in the shower, open-eyed, the water running, running like a sheet of clear, flexible metal over him. Erik reaches over and switches off the shower head. The blank expression on Charles' face doesn't suit him—he is always alert and searching.

Many times in the last few weeks Erik has questioned himself, his quest. And so often he has wanted to go back a time when he and Charles were not at odds, when he had been part of a family, laughing as Banshee attempted to fly. Havok's attempts to direct his destructive energy were less amusing in nature, but still evoked smiles. So few memories he had of those moments, so very few, yet each one worth remembering, like those he had of his mother.

But invariably he lets the fear and isolation he felt under Shaw's clinical treatment take over, sharpening and hardening into an irresistible pride in his own kind's superiority and the need to secure the continuance of the species.

Charles had only said aloud what Erik already knew and thought he had accepted. Erik has for all intents and purposes become Magneto, and Magneto is Shaw's creation.

But there is an inexorable part of Erik that has come to need Charles, even when he knows that what he wants is falling through his fingers the harder he tries to hold it.

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One morning, as Erik enters and his eyes sweep the room through habit, he realizes that the wheelchair and room are empty. It's impossible, but he can't deny the evidence of absence directly before him. He is too shocked to even recognize the air whistling as Charles swings the heavy metal tray into his back. Erik stumbles forward, grunting in pain as he hits the ground; the metal helmet has no padding. Bright lights explode in his head. Stunned, he dimly realizes Charles has thrown the door open and then managed to pull off his helmet, hitting him again to ensure that he will stay down.

Through dangerously wavering vision he only then understands what he sees when claw-like hands drag him onto his back. Charles is precariously standing over him holding the helmet, chest heaving, sweat dampening his hair. "I should kill you-" Charles hisses, pale face flushed with exertion and righteous fury.

The helmet seems to fall down toward him, and Erik is too dazed to block it. Then abruptly everything coalesces into silent darkness.

Charles staggers out the door, bloodstained metal dragging at his fingers.

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Author's note: I had a few questions about Charles "staggering" out the door. So, in this story, the doctors' verdict was that Charles MIGHT walk again. During his imprisonment, Charles has secretly been regaining the use of his legs as a hidden card up his sleeve while Erik thought he had the upper hand; then Charles stages his desperate escape attempt.

Thanks to those who reviewed!

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When Mystique and Frost return to the remote island hospital to rest and make their report to Magneto, they are greeted with absolute quiet. Having grown to depend on each other despite a continued mutual coolness of personal feelings, Mystique changes into her lovely blond persona and nods to the icily beautiful Frost to examine the situation. Azazeal walks at her elbow, blades at the ready as Mystique switches on the lights.

Bodies slumped in the hallways alert them them to obvious fact that something is very wrong. "They're just unconscious, for a day at least," Frost informs her wary companions. "Don't worry for now; there are no hostile persons here."

"Where are Magneto and Charles?" Mystique inquires in worry, glancing around. Relaxing, she turns back into her blue form as she and Azazeal look into the rooms.

Frost concentrates again, then frowns. "The telepath's trademark signal is all over this place but he himself isn't here."

"Charles did this?" Mystique demands in disbelief. "He must have been frightened—defending himself-"

Frost shrugs elegantly. "Whatever happened, it was powerful, and apparently Xavier didn't care about leaving strong traces of mental tampering,"

On her regular questioning on Charles' condition, Magneto had tersely given the same answer: since her departure Charles had slipped into a temporary coma, but the doctors were sure he would wake up soon. Soon had become weeks and then a few months, and Raven wanted to come back, even for a moment, with Azazeal, but Magneto had ordered her to remain so as not to alert any surveillance that might be following them.

Raven couldn't fathom what could have caused Charles to assail these people. Maybe he had woken up and been disoriented—and where was Magneto?

"There're something ... conflicted ... dark ... at the end of the hallway," Frost comments a little uncertainly as they venture further into the hospital. "I think … it's Magneto."

Raven breaks into a run, but skids to a stop at the partially open doorway, somewhat afraid of what she'll discover. She steels herself, however, and pushes the metal door open.

Inside there are, peculiarly enough, sheets of metal on the walls, and she vaguely notices that the door locks from the outside. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, and she sees the glint of Magneto's helmet thrown haphazardly. Then … Magneto is lying on the floor, so still that when Raven drops to her knees to hurriedly check his vitals, she almost misses the slow rise and fall of his chest. There is a small pool of blood underneath his head, trailing from a cut on his scalp.

"The telepath's handiwork again," Frost says, walking up behind Mystique.

Azazeal grunts. "Xavier's wreaked some impressive havoc here while we were away."

In panic Mystique gestures for Frost to come closer. "Can you do anything?"

Frost closes her eyes and concentrates. "It'll take a few days for him to wake up, if he's lucky; it feels like Xavier just blasted his mind—but not at full power, otherwise, he wouldn't be alive at all."

Mystique's lips tremble and tears trickle down her face as conflicting fury heats in her breast. "Charles—why would you do this!"

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I'm still thinking about that alternate slash scene, but I'm not sure I have the mental maturity to write it at the moment. Right. Darn. :p Much thanks to Bianca for helping me brainstorm for this chapter/story! This didn't quite turn out the way it was planned, but hey, it's out. :p And my gratitude to those who favorite/story alert/(and especially) review! You keep me writing, even when I don't want to! :)

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Lurching like a drunken man on the beach, Charles fights to stay conscious and focus.

Moira …

Charles! Don't fob me off—where are you!

He tells her and a mental image of his surroundings, then collapses in the sand to the sound of the waves gently lapping the shore and the last thoughts of Hank: We've coming … don't worry about anything … just don't move!

Sean: We sure missed you … you're one wanted guy … but not like on the criminal list ...

Alex: You don't know what we would have given for a telepath these past few months …

A few hours later, Charles is safely wrapped in blankets and sleeping fitfully on the floor of a compact, silent helicopter designed by Hank technically for government purposes, but cleared by Mr. Nathaniel Price. Mr. Price has proven helpful on this occasion, even if his only human reach could not penetrate Magneto's superhuman barrier of silence on Charles' whereabouts.

In fact, only Hank and Moira are really needed for the present, the former to pilot and the latter to care for Charles, but Alex had argued loudly about emergency situations and once Banshee opened his mouth, everyone else shut theirs.

Moira closes her eyes and tightens her comforting grip on Charles' clammy hand. The telepath is very pale and drawn, and from his troubled murmurings it is clear that his dreams are not pleasant.

"Will the Professor be okay?" Sean asks in a whisper which suppressed emotion causes to screech a bit. The window panes rattle in irritation, everyone winces … and Charles remains motionless. Hank calls from the front, "We've already checked his vitals—nothing's physically wrong with him."

Alex chews on his lower lip, and mutters, "But everything's not all fine ..." The immediate area around his chest glows red just a very little bit, and immediately detecting the rising temperature from the control panels in the small enclosed space, Hank growls a warning.

Moira tries to smile encouragingly. "Come on, boys. We need to give Charles more time than three hours to recover from whatever he's been through." Pressed by urgency, they had forborne from investigating the rest of the tiny island; they had what they had come for.

Alex asks earnestly, "You'd tell us if the situation was really bad, wouldn't you?"

"Of course not," Moira quips warmly. "What kind of honest person do you think I am?"

Sean grins, then starts to blink tiredly. "I think … I'll take a nap," he announces. Without further ado or bothering to change clothes, he settles down comfortably beside the sleeping Charles and forthwith nods off. After a few minutes, Alex's eyes droop and he tilts precariously from his perch on the other side of Charles until he's snoring softly as well.

They'd been pulled at a moment's notice from their beds in the wee hours of the morning, but now that they had acquired their precious cargo, they can rest peacefully.

Moira blinks back tears. Her boys. But when Hank begins to emit deep-throated yawns, she quietly threatens to sing bawdy Irish songs with a Scottish accent.

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I'm throwing a question out there: does anyone want to continue this story? Since I've brainstormed a few overarching ideas and themes for Absolution, I wouldn't mind sharing them with the super unfortunate person who fancies taking this story on. :)

I would be happy to have some input on the future of Absolution, but as I'm not really sure about it actually HAVING a future, especially when I start school again in the fall, I don't want to disappoint the many kind people who have taken an interest in it.

If no one takes the bait, I'll struggle on. Poor me. ^-^

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After much deliberation (a few minutes of chatting with someone :p) I've decided that this will be more of an emotional, angsty story (no, really?) instead of an action-filled epic. Many, many thanks to the super awesome Red Aurora who wrote the last part of this installment as an alternate version of what happens/gave me ideas, and went back and forth with me on how this story should go. I couldn't have done it without her, and of course you guys who review. I really ALMOST gave up, and then a few super kind people reviewed just in time to boost me.

Thanks for waiting!

Hi guys! Red Aurora here. I'm gonna be helping out on this fic. Hopefully I can make a positive contribution We made a few tweaks, the biggest one probably being that Charles took Erik's helmet with him when he left, so just note that. I think that's about all I have to say. Hope you enjoy!

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By Winnie (aeskis):

Several days later, when Erik wakes up, he does so laughing.

Mystique, who is standing beside the hospital bed, flinches back as though he has gone insane. In all probability he has. Riptide stares and if anything can be discerned from Azazeal's forever imperturbable crimson face, he too is troubled at the possibility that their leader has mentally snapped. Only Frost shrugs, but even she is at least mildly surprised.

"Why are you laughing?" Mystique demands in bewilderment, after many moments pass and Erik continues to chuckle wildly. "I don't see anything funny about this situation!"

At last his ironic mirth subsides, but he's still grinning, an expression infused with a pained grimace. "My God, Charles," Erik finally whispers breathlessly, spent from his fit of terrible merriment. "Between rage and serenity, eh?"

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At night the dreams of the four in the mansion are disturbed with blurry flashes of images involving an oddly distorted Magneto, but mostly feelings of unbearable loneliness and a building fury.

Charles is projecting again.

After the flight, as if on cue Charles had woken and asked for some water. In response Moira had cajoled him into eating as well. He had smiled weakly at the numerous questions about his present condition, but for some strange reason no one could bring himself (in Moira's case, herself) to ask about what had happened. Surely Charles would tell them in his own time.

He goes through the motions of rehabilitating with a personal physical therapist and a doctor to monitor his progress to strengthen his body. The physician says frankly that he is shocked at the medical anomaly of Charles managing to walk at all. It's almost as though, he adds, Charles mentally willed himself to walk again.

Moira and the boys don't argue with that assessment. After all, Charles might very well be capable of it.

But despite outward signs of progress, clearly the past few months bother him greatly. He frequently stares off into nothing, lost in his own troubled thoughts. When the helicopter rescuing him had first landed at the mansion, he had stared and stared as if he had never seen it before.

To be honest, Hank, Alex and Sean are afraid to broach the subject of their mentor's obvious internment, while Moira tries desperately to give her dear friend the space he needs. They are all worried that, while the release of words may bring healing, it might cause a complete breakdown as well, one from which the sensitive and currently vulnerable Charles will not recover.

However tightly Charles reins in his emotions during the day, he cannot control them when he sleeps and his careful guard dissipates into unconsciousness. The first night Charles slept without the others in his room Sean had actually woken up screaming, a strident alarm which had the effect of gathering everyone into the living room. Charles had been the last to arrive, pallid and appearing sickly. He had paused in the doorway, blanching further as he quickly scanned everyone's minds.

"I'm so sorry," he says quietly. "I didn't mean for this to happen." He sighs wearily. "I think it would be best if we separated, and—"

"No," Hank says immediately and decidedly for all of them. "We want to be here." He smiles reassuringly, and jokes cautiously, "Besides, remember that we have nowhere else to go?"

The three boys almost in unison suddenly recall with striking clarity the offer both Shaw and Magneto made them, to join them in their cause of forcefully championing mutant supremacy. Not one can deny that he was tempted, but after recalling the kindness with which each had been received, especially Charles' warm reception, they had pulled back from that abyss. And now, after seeing what the potential violence of Magneto's ideas, they think that he can keep them to himself.

After a long silence, Alex is the first, with a timidity uncharacteristic to his usual brashness, to ask, "… why?"

The empty metal helmet on the fireplace mantle, incongruous beside dainty figurines and porcelain wares, glints an eerie crimson in the light of the dancing flames. Charles glances over at the memento a moment before meeting the gazes of his friends; he runs a hand over his tousled hair and tries to smile. In addition to her worrying, the fastidious woman in Moira notes that he needs a haircut. "It's … difficult to express."

It is at this point that each of them wishes he was a telepath.

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"I should kill you," Charles hisses, a frightening snarl distorting the usual ineffable smile.

Erik can only squint at him uncomprehendingly from the ground, darkness washing in and out of his vision. His head and lower back throb agonizingly, and he can feel but does not understand a warm wetness trickling down his neck.

For a few heartstopping moments Charles simply stands unsteadily with the helmet raised in his hands, glaring down at Erik. Then he collapses to his knees and half-sobbing, screams hoarsely his frustration and impotent fury, a trembling wreck of the man he had been.

Soon Charles gathers some control and drags himself to Erik, who is still staring dazedly at the white ceiling. "You … will never … hurt me again," he promises bitterly. He places the fingers of one hand on his temple, and presses the others to the side of Erik's bloodied head.

And then there is oblivion.

"Charles!" Magneto abruptly comes awake, heart pounding. The metal in the devices monitoring his condition begin to rattle alarmingly.

In a chair beside him, Mystique jolts from a light doze, blue skin rippling in alarm. "What's wrong?" she inquires immediately in concern.

For a few moments he doesn't answer her, rather occupied with finding that answer out for himself. As blank succeeds blank, however, he has to concede defeat. "What just happened?" Magneto asks finally, pressing the palms of his hands to his burning eyes. Directly before waking, he had grasped something very important—

Mystique automatically starts to answer, and then pauses. "What do you remember?" she presses instead.

He tries to think, and his thoughts sputter out in fragments. "A white room—a red flash of pain—Charles standing over me—black—"

Her lips thinned in anger at this revelation of past events, Mystique nevertheless reminds him gently, "That was a week ago. You've been in and out of it ever since."

Even as he looks at her, uncomprehending of the amount of time he has lost, the memories return with violence and shutter through his mind like the horrendous fast forward of a film on a theater screen. Magneto goes stiff, his face becoming blank in reaction to the internal conflict roiling within.

"We know what happened," Mystique assures him, completely misreading his expression. "Don't blame yourself. You couldn't have stopped Charles if he wanted to leave." Her features harden. "He must have lost his mind and just struck out. That's the only way I can believe he'd hurt anyone like that."

Magneto stares at her. If they all know, how can she sit there so calmly, so anxious to comfort him?

She thinks she knows what happened, a dry voice says in his mind. And it is then that Magneto notices the absence of his helmet. And I await your directions, Magneto, as to whether I should continue to allow her misapprehensions.

A headache begins to build, and absently he rubs his temple. I … I'll tell her myself. And get out of my head, Frost, he adds as an afterthought. With a turn of a mental high heel, Emma complies.

Once a potential ally and brother-in-arms, Charles is now a terrible liability and loose cannon. Magneto can admit his own destructive role in the dynamics of their relationship, but if Charles had only listened … fuck. Everything has gone so very wrong.

"Tell me what you found in Washington and Moscow," he instructs Mystique brusquely. She smiles in relief at this return to normal behavior and begins to report.

Later, he thinks. I'll tell her the truth … and think about what to do with Charles … later. He doesn't think he can take Mystique's betrayed expression at the moment.

Sometime afterward Mystique pats his hand and leaves as Magneto cites a headache. In fact images of his former friend occupy his thoughts despite his attempts to thrust them from his mind, and the myriad ugly possibilities sink brutal teeth into him.

If he'd assumed Charles could be forced into submission, he had certainly been proven wrong. Magneto is furious for allowing himself to be so easily deceived; he had assumed Charles' blank pliancy to be the sign of a bending mind, and all the while it had been a convincing act to allay suspicion. And then, from that heady moment on the beach, when he had held all the cards of fortune on his side and Charles had been helpless to stop him, he had arrogated the notion that he was the more powerful.

But he had underestimated Charles' ability for subterfuge, though really he ought to have known better. Had he not prided himself on his ability to read men and their dark natures? And if a metaphor had to be made, Magneto thinks wryly, Charles had let him wallow in that arrogance and then drowned him in it.

There is still that damnable part of him that wants the man's company—his advice—his friendship, just as much as when he first tried to forcibly keep Charles by his side. But he has forfeited all that; mortal battle lines have now been drawn, and there will be no return to happier times.

Still, such irony, that although their goals take such different routes, their paths will inevitably intersect.

Charles opens his eyes. He is in his bedroom and it is dark. But in his mind he is still in a blindingly white prison.

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By the time a week has elapsed, Charles is forced to realize that he has entangled himself in a terrible difficulty from which he may never be able to extract himself. In a moment of despair and fury, he had sought to ensure that Erik could never again use the helmet as a shield against his abilities, but it seemed that the opened link worked both ways.

Erik. He is constantly in his thoughts. No, not in them; he is them. Though of course Charles can read and manipulate minds, he now finds that such an intimate connection with another person is intensely undesirable, especially when what he wants is to rid himself of all traces of Magneto.

He dreads the nights. They bring on the ghouls of his and Erik's fears and entwine them into hideous monstrosities. Particularly they center on the frustrating future potentials and alternative pasts, what could happen and different outcomes for what has already occurred. Worse, often those dreams tantalizingly reveal a kinder present than the reality. Charles can summarily solve this problem, as much as he had the opportunity at the time of his escape. He can wipe Magneto's mind, force him to become molten metal, re-forged to another shape and texture more to his liking, and then this damnable second, invasive consciousness would no longer trouble him.

But … there is Erik. Charles has taken away the helmet; in fact, even with it on, Charles would still be able to reach him, because an irrevocable chain has been forged between them. Without the previously impenetrable metal, however, which had dehumanized into a demon the man who had incarcerated him, Charles cannot help but know him as Erik. When Charles recalls the awed expression of happiness on his face as he brought the memory of Erik's mother to the surface, then he can believe that there truly is more to him than pain and anger.

Now, with Erik's heart seeming to beat in his chest, Charles can begin to understand the desperate desire of the man to keep him, even in a prison. And he cannot take the final step to destroy his jailer, even at the cost of escape.

"Charles Xavier was born to a world divided … a world he tried to heal … a mission he never saw accomplished."

In a world without Charles Xavier, the single greatest opposing force to his ideal of world mutant supremacy—Erik is lost, his moral compass shattered. Erik might have deliberately turned away from Charles' laughably compassionate aim to unite the world, for humans and mutants to coexist in peace—but he had always known that, should he wish to face his once-friend, Charles would return the defiant, angry gaze with a serenely welcoming smile of his own.

Where is he? A beautiful young woman with shocking white hair speaks tearfully in front of an assembled group of somber people, themselves a spectrum of ethnic colors, ages, and social classes. As he orients himself, Erik realizes a sense of being omnipresent in a way he has never before experienced; he can feel the terrible sadness present in the small gathering, the mourning thoughts of farewell. Erik tries to shut his eyes. He knows he succeeds, but his vision remains unimpaired, and he stares in horror at the tombstone of a man he does not physically recognize but whose name he certainly does.

"Charles was more than a leader, more than a teacher; he was a friend."

Erik struggles to take in the ceaseless flow of mental, emotional and sensory information. He does not understand what is happening, still fixated on the words etched in stone. Charles Xavier. He forces Charles to hold a gun to his head. Charles tries, honestly tries, but is unable to pull the trigger. "I can't shoot anyone, let alone my friend," he argues in what would be a convincing line for anyone else other than Erik. Charles asks permission to look into Erik's mind in order to find the mental block; he grants it, and is stunned to discover tears silently falling down his face at the sheer loveliness of the recollection. "It was a very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you," Charles tells him, sincerely and similarly touched.

Was. Was more than … was …a friend.

"When we were afraid, he gave us strength. And when we were alone, he gave us a family."

"I thought I was alone," Erik gasps, spitting out icy water. Charles smiles breathlessly at him, lights from the ship glimmering in his eyes like a beacon of hope. "You're not alone, Erik. You're not alone." There treading the dark ocean directly next to a line of gleaming white ships filled with military and government personnel, Erik still does feel alone, but with Charles Xavier. Somehow, the comfort is more than he had ever expected or dared to dream of.

"We must carry on his vision. And that's a vision … of a world … united."

The grinding movement of the Golden Gate Bridge. The monstrous demon who had once been a beautiful woman wreaking utter destruction on a planet vulnerable to the wars of homo sapiens against each other, and now to the conflict between homo sapiens and their mutant cousins. He hears the voice of an older man, accustomed to power and leadership, say solemnly, "Charles Xavier did more for mutants than you will ever know. My single greatest regret is that he had to die for our dream to live."

This cannot be his dream.

Had to die. Single greatest regret … Charles Xavier … dead.

And then he realizes that the voice speaking is Magneto.

There is a pathetic old figure sitting alone in the park, staring blindly at a partially played chess board. Veined, age-spotted hands reach out to hover over a black metal piece. Ever so slightly, it trembles under his outstretched fingers.

Unlike Erik, Charles is perfectly aware of where he is and what is happening. The defeated Magneto lives in a post-war world once again, a war he had perpetrated since the debacle on the beach. He would argue he hadn't begun it, that humans started it all by their persecution of mutants, setting out with the missiles flying toward a seemingly defenseless patch of sand in the ocean.

"Please, Erik … don't let it control you," Charles whispers into the quiet of his bedroom.

Preview:

They stand the length of the room apart, but the distance makes no difference. They were as close, and as far, when hundreds of miles away.

Erik has committed an inexcusable act against Charles; Charles has done the unforgivable to Erik. And, though knowing the pace of each other's breathing, one cannot look into the eyes of the other without flinching back and something breaking within.

WARNING WARNING WARNING

This is an alternate scene to what has happened in Absolution so far, if Charles had not succeeded in escaping. This really has nothing to do with anything except for my awful imagination. It's non-con slash, so be warned. Hopefully not too graphic. Only I (aeskis) am guilty of this horrific crime against plot continuity and good friendship fics. OOC, seriously.

Please review. Please?

When Erik enters the sterile room, he can immediately see that Charles is missing. Shock rushes through him, and he barely senses the metal tray hurtling toward him in time. Instinctively he flings the attacker back even before turning, and he hears the soft thud of a body hitting the far wall and the clatter of metal onto the floor. Erik's eyes widen in disbelief. Charles is stumbling to his feet, shakily and holding onto the sink for support, but he is standing.

Fury courses through him, and he stalks toward Charles, his fingers curling and the metal of the tray rising in the air to seize Charles' wrists and bind them above his head to the metal towel rack.

"Well." The smooth menace in his voice is unmistakable. "This is an unexpected development. It was very dishonest of you to keep the truth from me. Did you really think your plan would work? When this entire room is metal and under my power?"

Charles grimaces at the too-tight grip of the handcuffs and shuts his eyes as Erik closes in on him. "I had to try." He tries to sound casual, even cool, but his fear is palpable in the small space between them.

From the loose fall of the plain cotton pajamas against his body, Erik can see clearly how thin Charles has become, when a few months ago he had already been slim. His face is white and strained, testament to how much his little effort had cost him, and he slumps forward, legs unable to hold him up. Charles keeps his eyes resolutely closed, until Erik slams a hand onto the wall, startling him.

"What do you think I should do to you?" he asks, almost conversationally.

"Let me go?" Charles suggests in a desperate attempt at humor. Erik's mouth curls. Even now Charles refuses to believe that Erik is serious, that he can persuade Erik to give up his plans. It's too late for any kind of reconciliation on his side; that's only possible if Charles gives in, and as his stunt revealed, Charles is far from convinced.

So close, Erik can smell the cheap soap on Charles' skin, the dampness of his slightly wet hair, look into the whites of his wide eyes, still so brightly blue, and the uncertain trembling of his mouth. And unexpectedly, terribly, Erik begins to get hard.

Even without his telepathy, Charles sees the sudden change in Erik's expression, though he does not understand it. Clearly he thinks violence is on Erik's mind because his face tightens in preparation for a blow. But he's wrong. Partly, at least. Erik does want to hurt Charles, to rip out his indomitable spirit and beautiful, naïve mind until he can finally feel absolved of what he is doing. He wants more. Cautiously, Erik lowers his head until he is nearly on level with Charles's forehead and trails a callused hand over his throat, past the opening of the shirt, and onto his heaving chest.

"Erik?" Charles questions falteringly, uncomprehending. "If you're going to hit me, get it over with."

Smiling darkly, Erik traces his fingers over Charles' full mouth, the soft skin of his boyish face. Charles stares at him in shock. Without warning, Erik lets the metal cuffs fall from the towel rack, though still clasped around thin wrists. Immediately Charles collapses, and only Erik's hold on his arms keeps him from falling to the floor. Grasping Charles' chin, Erik then lifts Charles' dismayed face to his, testing what begins as a brief press of lips together. It's only a taste, but Charles tries to squirm away and fails, too weak to put up an adequate fight. Nevertheless, he shoves futilely at Erik's chest, his hands beating a hopeless tempo.

"Erik—I don't understand—" he gasps after the second kiss, more demanding this time, with Erik deliberately holding Charles' jaw firmly to ensure he is not bitten when he slips a tongue into Charles' mouth. "I'm not—I don't—"

"You will." He tastes faintly of mint toothpaste, Erik notes in appreciation, clean and warmly wet within. Absolutely focused on his crusade for vengeance, heretofore Erik's sexual meetings had been used as necessary release. Whatever had been available was acceptable, men and women alike, although he had preferred the latter until now, their pliancy and softness under his greater strength.

"You're so helpless without your powers," Erik murmurs. "It's really quite remarkable. So very … human." He releases his hold on Charles' arms, and the latter at once crumples to the ground. Erik follows him, kneeling down and forcibly turning him over until Charles's back is pressed flush to his chest, one hand gripping his throat and the other on his hip.

Charles' voice rises in blind panic and he demands again, "What are you doing? Let me go! Erik!"

Erik muffles his voice against the back of his prisoner's neck, breathing him in. "You don't understand. I can't." And he's telling the truth. The feeling of Charles struggling helplessly against him, his ass unconsciously rubbing against Erik's awakening erection, is sending electric thrills through his body. He's wanted this for so long, Erik realizes. For all his kindness and generosity, Charles always carries with him an air of superiority, as though he knows all that comprises a person. It's an exhilarating relief to prove him wrong, as Erik had on the beach. To hold power over him. The adrenaline of keeping the missiles at bay and then having the power to send them toward the ships, the heady experience of physically overpowering the weaker Charles, the ability to hurt him, even as his conscience screams in strident protest, had been as powerful as sexual arousal.

Charles is his first friend, the true companion of his ambitions and desires, his only equal. But at the same time the predator in Erik, created by Shaw, wants to crush him, relegate him to nothing more than something to be used, as everyone has been in his life. He cannot bear to have another person be as precious to him as his mother, and though Charles has come to occupy a similar place in his heart he refuses to acknowledge the fact.

One hand still on Charles' throat in order to feel the rapid beat at the base, Erik draws his finger along the loose hemline of Charles' ridiculously innocuous pajama bottoms and abruptly pulls it down so that the telepath is naked from the waist down. Then he begins to rock, forward, back, and forward again, with increasingly fiercer snaps of his hips. He's throbbing, heat thrumming along in furious currents.

"Erik, please! Please … please … don't do this …" Charles' arms shake merely from the effort to keep him from slumping onto the floor. "If you hate me so much, kill me, hurt me, don't—don't—"

"You should say what you're thinking. You might feel better about this." Erik takes his hand off Charles' throat to reach around and grasp Charles' soft, shrinking flesh and begins to stroke roughly. Charles lets out a choked cry as his body betrays him and starts to respond. Lip curling in satisfaction, Erik spreads Charles' kneeling legs further apart for better access. "Oh God, oh God," Charles moans as he spills into Erik's hand.

"I doubt he can hear you." He had certainly ignored Erik's pleas for divine intervention as Shaw had tortured him and killed his mother. Gritting his teeth as memories of Shaw grinning above him holding a metal scalpel fill his mind, Erik gets up and leaves Charles collapsed on the floor, unable to manage more than a feeble movement of his traitorous limbs, and returns with a bottle of shampoo. "I hope this will be sufficient to prepare you. I hadn't thought to bring another sort of lubricant. Lack of foresight, you see."

"Erik, I know you aren't Shaw, that you're in pain. I understand. But you can't do this," Charles tries to reason calmly, voice quivering with agitation. Erik freezes, momentarily wondering if Charles has somehow read his mind. The thought passes, however, and he lifts Charles' hips off the floor with one hand and spreading him open, proceeds to lather his opening with the slippery substance of shampoo. When he inserts a finger, Charles shudders and begs him to stop. After a few minutes of this, he eases his erection out of his pants and positions himself.

"No. No. No." Charles groans, body spasming as Erik enters silently and resumes his harsh handling of Charles' groin. Even so soon afterward his release, Charles grows hard again, to Erik's cold amusement. Charles will never again tell Erik that he knows everything there is to know about him. Thrusting into Charles' tight heat, Erik continues the fucking for several unbearable minutes.

In the aftermath Charles lies motionless, but he whispers, "I'll never forgive you. Never. I swear to you."

Erik smiles hotly and reaches for him again. Charles flinches away when Erik grasps his arm and forces him onto his back. "Aren't you finished humiliating me?" he hisses through gritted teeth.

First task done, Erik proceeds to methodically tear at Charles' shirt until the other man is lying beneath him completely exposed, ragged edges of his pajamas trailing incongruously on the floor and wound around his ankles.

Charles, Charles. Still misunderstanding, even now. "Not yet," Erik tells him, the calmness in his voice at odds with the heat burning inside him.

He fists one hand in Charles' tousled hair, pulling his head back until Erik can trace his tongue over Charles' tightly compressed lips and down over his arched throat, where he bites down hard. The other hand travels leisurely down to fondle dark rosy nipples until Charles lets out a miserable moan, hips twisting unwillingly.

Charles has the ability to compel people to do as he wants, and even more, make them think they want it. Now Erik has this intoxicating power over him. He realizes now what he has to do in order to break Charles to his will, when all other ways have failed.

"Why—why are you—doing this to me?" Charles demands in a stuttered, broken sob.

Erik shrugs, making a point of keeping his face blank. "I shouldn't have to answer that. You're supposed to know everything about me." Simply from hearing and touching Charles, he is unbearably hard again, but he plans to proceed more slowly this time, to ensure that Charles knows exactly what is happening and who is doing it to him.

"Did you dream of doing this with Moira?" Erik asks casually. He will erase any thought of the kind from Charles' mind, of course. "Don't lie."

Charles glares at him furiously, trying hopelessly to raise himself on his elbows but falling back. "It's none of your business."

"So you did think about it."

Charles starts to shake uncontrollably when Erik moves to place himself between Charles' legs, hands on the pale thighs to spread them open. "Did it end this way?"

"I would never force her to—" Charles gulps in great breaths of air as he tries not hyperventilate.

"No fantasies about it? Really? She's a strong woman. If you didn't charm her with your terrible pick-up lines, she might fight you. But you could take care of that, with a thought, literally."

"No!" Charles cries out as Erik penetrates him. The fucking this time is slow and deliberate and Erik takes more care, but it is still strong enough to hurt, especially after so recent a session. His back curves up, fingers scrabbling uselessly against the floor. Head lolling in denial, eyes staring blindly at the white ceiling, Charles' crumpled, naked body is more an aphrodisiac than anything Erik has ever tried. With a smile showing too many teeth, Erik takes Charles in hand and fists him in time to the simmering pace of his thrusts.

Charles writhes under the harsh ministrations. "I can't—stop, stop—!"

"I won't stop until I hear from your mouth that you want me to fuck you," Erik tells him coolly, though keeping his urge to pound into Charles is becoming overwhelming. "Until then, well …"

And somehow I tie this in with Shaw's psychological torture and mental twisting of Erik, and the latter's distorted need to be in control. Well, I tried to.

Chapter 2

By redauroa:

Charles felt sore and weak. Usually his mind could make up for any physical maladies he had, but trapped in this godforsaken room he couldn’t even have that comfort. For months, he had been secretly training his body to move again, willing it to walk despite the fact that his legs were decidedly against the idea. As it turned out, despite his inability to communicate outside the room, his mind was powerful enough to overcome his own body. Normally, this would be a thrilling discovery. Now, he just wanted use it to get away from the man he had once thought of as his best friend.

Finally, he felt confident enough in his ability to move on his own to execute his plan. Erik kept a tight schedule. Charles had made sure to observe it when he wasn’t trapped in the confines of his mind. When the time came, he found himself waiting behind the door, leaving the wheelchair empty in its usual place. As he lay in wait, he had plenty of time to think about all the things Erik had done to him.

Charles had let him in, accepted him, supported him, helped him kill a man and in return he’d been paralyzed (at least temporarily) and locked in a room, cut off from his powers. Erik had taken advantage of the knowledge of Charles’ power that Charles had so innocently shared with him and used it against him. For months, he hadn’t felt the touch of another mind. Just like Shaw, Erik was trying to drive Charles to join him or watch him go insane. Or maybe both since Charles would have to be insane to join Erik’s side. A burning rage built in the telepath as he thought of everything that had been done to him, all in the name of Erik’s precious ‘mutant rights’.

‘Mutant rights? What rights were the mutants who opposed Magneto given?’ Charles thought to himself bitterly.

Right on schedule, the door opened. Magneto’s caped back stood to Charles as the man halted. Even with the helmet, Charles could sense his confusion. Not letting his opportunity slip away, he swung the tray as hard as he could. It met its mark with a resounding clang and Erik fell to the ground. In seconds, Charles was beside him, pulling him onto his back. Erik’s dazed eyes found Charles, who couldn’t help but feel a wave of malicious satisfaction. He could see now why Erik had relished his revenge so much. Before Erik could recover his senses, Charles ripped the helmet from the man’s head and used it to deliver another blow.

“I should kill you,” he hissed through his heavy breathing. It was really taking a lot out of him…but it was worth it. Erik blinked sluggishly. Charles raised the helmet once more and brought it down hard.

This time, though, he saw a blinding flash when the helmet met its mark. The flash was accompanied with a flash of emotions, mostly anger, regret and confusion, that weren’t his own. He swayed backwards and blinked heavily to regain his center.

Instantly, he knew what had happened. He closed his eyes to confirm, feeling the steady undercurrent of Erik’s barely conscious mind. His eyes opened again. He had formed a weak telepathic link with Erik, probably thanks to the fact that his powerful mind was so disoriented from his imprisonment and the extreme feelings he was projecting at Erik. No matter. The link would dissolve with time.

Unless…

…if he solidified the bond, he would be able to keep an eye on what Erik was doing. That would certainly be an advantage, one that he might need in the future. After everything Erik had done to him, everything that he could potentially do... Plus he had locked him in that damn room for so long...

It took all of two seconds of mental debate for his addled and angry mind to decide to fully forge the bond.

“You … will never … hurt me again “

Kneeling by Erik, he placed his index fingers to the man’s temple. It didn’t take much effort to solidify the bond. As soon as it was done, Charles stood, only to come face to face with…Erik. Charles looked down to the unconscious man on the floor then back up to the Erik who was staring at him in disbelief as he stood by the door.

“What did you do to me?” Standing Erik said in quiet incredulity.

Charles answered with a mask of bitterness. Saying nothing, he stumbled out of the room.
“Charles!”

Ignoring the voice, he wandered down the halls past the unconscious staff until the hospital faded around him.

….

Charles shot awake in his bed. A dream. A dream that was a perfect recollection of his escape from the hospital. But, wait, something wasn’t right. There were certainly not two Eriks the first time around. The Erik at the end who had talked to him…that felt real...as if Erik were actually in the dream with him. But why?

Charles’ stomach dropped. The bond. He must have done something wrong with the bond. He’d been pretty out of it and exceedingly angry. In his condition and with the power he knew his mind could wield, it probably hadn’t been wise to do what he’d done. Even now, he regretted imposing on Magneto’s privacy, not to mention the fact that he easily could have figuratively melted Erik’s brain.

Now wasn’t the time to deal with his morals though. Why was an apparently real Erik in his dream? Maybe the bond was causing them to share dreams? That could make sense. Of course, if that was the case, Erik now knew, or at least had an inkling, that Charles had done something to his head. The telepath dropped back to his pillows. This was not good.
….
Erik, too, had awoken with a gasp. He’d, once again, seen the day Charles had attacked him and escaped…except Charles had done something to him after he’d beaten him unconscious. There had been a flash behind his eyes when Charles had knocked him out. He’d felt emotions that weren’t his own…anger that wasn’t his, severe disorientation and just a touch of sadness, barely discernable under the waves of rage.

When the flash had cleared, he’d looked back at Charles, who had yet to notice him. The telepath had looked like he’d had some type of realization then touched Erik’s face. Erik’s hand unconsciously went to his temple where Charles had touched him. Whatever he’d done, it hadn’t taken long and suddenly he was face to face with the man he’d called a friend then imprisoned. Dream Charles had seemed surprised to see him. The way Dream Charles had acted…it was exactly how Real Charles would’ve acted…as if Charles were actually in his dreams…or maybe he was in Charles’ dream judging by the fact that he’d been unconscious for part of it.
Which brought him back to the question of how. As he lay in bed, he flashed back to Charles, kneeling with his eyes closed and finger to Erik’s temple… like he’d been doing something in his head. Surely Charles wouldn’t have done something so invasive. Surely he wouldn’t do anything that would allow him to get into his head while he was sleeping. Then again, he had taken the helmet with him, leaving him defenseless to telepathy. But this was Charles Xavier! The man who refused to shoot him in the head even though he knew the bullet would never reach its target. Yet also the same man who he’d confined for weeks, cut off from his telepathy. The man who had tried to starve himself then sat blankly, occasionally reminding Erik of pictures of patients in insane asylums. Erik winced, finding himself on edge and unable to get back to sleep. Something was definitely going on here. He just wished he knew what it was.

00000

By Red Aurora

After a particularly bad night of dealing with Charles’ projections, the other three mutants living in the Xavier Mansion sit in the living room. It had become something of a habit since Charles’ return. They remain silent, there for the camaraderie, but all thinking about the day they had finally gotten Charles back in their possession.

It had been the longest flight of their lives. Even longer than the flight to Cuba. At least then they’d had some idea of what to expect. Earlier that day, Moira had come into the room a flustered yet determined mess, throwing maps around until she found what she was looking for. They hadn’t even questioned her when she pointed to a spot and said that was where Charles was. Within the hour, they’d been in the air heading towards their leader.

In reality, the flight hadn’t taken long at all. Erik had kept him inexplicably close to them, on a private island within the 250 mile range of Charles’ telepathy. Either Erik didn’t know Charles’ range limits or he’d been confident that Charles wouldn’t be able to communicate telepathically. The second option was one they didn’t want to think about.

The pale figure unconscious in the sand was far too thin, but was undeniably the professor they’d been searching for. Beside him lay the helmet Magneto had been wearing on the beach. Charles stirred briefly as they began to move him, wrapping him in blankets. The fear and what could only be described as madness behind the bright blue eyes shocked them all. Moira’s soothing voice had calmed him within seconds. Despite looking more like himself, his eyes darted around as if he were barely on the right side of sanity. Whatever had been done to him, it had been bad. Alex looked up at the facility not too far away, sparking in anger.

“I’ve taken care of it Alex. No need to cause further damage.”

They didn’t question what Charles meant by “taken care of it” nor did they ask about the helmet. His tone was all the assurance they needed. Soon after, the telepath had drifted off again. They loaded up the helicopter heavier by one passenger, but feeling lighter than they had been since before Cuba.
They had all been disturbed at the way Charles stared at his childhood home when they arrived back. Moira had made him eat when he asked for water, something the boys were thankful for.

They had been on edge, wanting to know what Charles had been through so they could help him recover, yet terrified that he’d break if they pushed him. Charles, however, remained silent on the matter. He told them the basics of his imprisonment, but only things they already assumed: he had been kept in a room and unable to communicate telepathically with anyone. He talked about it objectively, as if he were separated from the event completely, looking in on something that had happened to someone else. He gave no indication that he intended to speak further on the topic and nobody pushed him.

But, despite Charles seeing them as children, they were far from naïve. They could all assume what it meant for Charles to be unable to use his telepathy. And in seeing the way Charles acted in the days following, they knew their assumptions were correct.
Hank had checked him over again, making sure he wasn’t injured more than expected. The man was clearly exhausted so they helped him to his room and let him lay down in his own bed for the first time in weeks. He was out in seconds.

As Hank watched him, he couldn’t help but think about how much the experience must have affected the telepath. Charles’ mind was always open, probing, thirsting for new information. To have been cut off for so long…the psychological damage that the isolation may have inflicted was disturbing. Hank had read about isolation and its effects on people. To a telepath, it would, logically, be significantly worse. Did Magneto have any idea what he had done? As much as the telepath had tried to hide it, there were clear signs of instability. But that was to be dealt with another time. They could help him rebuild what Magneto had so cruelly shattered. For the time being, damaged or not, Hank was just happy to have the man back with them.

…

Sean Cassidy wasn’t stupid, despite what some people thought. He knew enough about the world to be horrified at the news that Magneto had basically imprisoned Charles within his own mind. As he lay in Charles’ large bed the night of the rescue with the figures who had become like family to him, he found that, despite the long day, he couldn’t sleep. He had pretended when he had heard the others lie down too, gathering around their newly rescued leader and friend. But now that he was sure they had been claimed by sleep, he opened his eyes. Alex and Hank both looked peaceful. Moira was slouched over in a chair. It had been a long few weeks filled with many sleepless nights. The happenings in Cuba and the absence of Charles had made rest difficult, almost taboo. Because if you were resting, you weren’t trying to help the man who had done so much to help them. At least that was what Alex yelled when he’d caught Sean asleep hunched over a table.

Moira had done her best to step into the position of parental figure. She made sure they slept from time to time, in spite of Alex’s protests. In the end, it had been Moira who had found Charles. Well, technically Charles had found her, but still. Sean appreciated the woman’s presence and her efforts to help them. People like her were one of the reasons why he would never side with Magneto.
Sean turned carefully to look at Charles. The telepath had a pained look on his face. His breathing was labored. He wasn’t tossing and turning, but he was moving, clearly in the midst of a nightmare. Sean bristled. He wasn’t the type to get angry. Things happen. That’s life. Let it roll of your back and move on. But this was different. Charles had been nothing but good to them. Yet here he was, having nightmares as he recovered from being shot in the back by a friend then kidnapped and kept in isolation for weeks. Never in his life had Sean wanted to physically hurt someone until that moment thinking about Magneto, who had pretended to care, pretended to take Charles to safety, then locked him up and done who knows what else to him.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Charles let out a groan. Sean had no idea what to do. Should he wake the man? Should he get Moira or Hank or Alex? Another groan. After so many sleepless nights, he didn’t want to wake anybody. He did the only thing he could think of. He gently put his hand on Charles shoulder, as if to ground him to reality even in sleep. He’d heard Charles talk about projecting before. Closing his eyes, he thought as hard as he could about the things that calmed him down: times he spent laughing with his new family, going to the mountains and standing by the clearest lake he’d ever seen in his life, soaring through the air with only the birds and the wind around him. Much to his surprise, Charles seemed to calm somewhat. The ginger let a light smile cross his face. He kept projecting calm memories until he finally fell asleep himself.
Sean Cassidy wasn’t stupid. He knew enough about the world to be able to handle situations like calming a telepath. And on that night, that had been all that mattered.
…
Alex had woken up the next morning on Charles’ very comfortable bed. Hank was awake as well, but hadn’t moved. He looked at Alex as the blonde blinked at him groggily then glanced pointedly at the head of the bed. Alex followed his gaze to find Charles peacefully sleeping. Sean was still asleep as well, his hand placed lightly on Charles’ shoulder.

Hank got up and padded over to Moira, who was slumped in an armchair. It looked like she had nodded off watching over them. The scientist touched Moira’s shoulder and she stirred. After blinking a few times she got up, stretching out the kinks no doubt present after sleeping in such an awkward position. She took in the same sight Alex had moments before and smiled.

“I’ll go to go downstairs and make some breakfast,” she whispered.

“I’ll help,” Hank added. Moira seemed to approve then looked back to Alex. “Why don’t you stay here, keep an eye on them?”

Alex nodded.

Moira and Hank left the room. Alex moved from the bed to the chair, which was much more comfortable than any armchair he’d ever been in. He should’ve expected no less from the great Charles Xavier.

As he sat, he looked at the sleeping figure on the bed, remembering what the professor had told them yesterday about the room Magneto had done.

Alex knew what it was like to be in prison. Solitary confinement was hell. And he wasn’t even a telepath. For someone who had spent their whole life with the buzz of others in his head, that kind of isolation would be devastating. The only thing that had gotten Alex through his stint in solitary was knowing it was safer for everyone else. He’d heard things about other people though who had been put in solitary and come out…different. No doubt, the experience changed a person. This much Alex knew. When you’re in solitary, you aren’t just cut off from social contact. You’re cut off from reality as a whole. It’s just you and whatever is going on in your head. Being alone with only yourself for company could be just as dangerous, if not more so, than being in the jailyard.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a stirring from the bed. Sean rolled onto his back, hand dropping from Charles’ shoulder, and yawned. He blinked and looked around before seeing Alex in the chair. Alex made sure to have a huge grin plastered on his face by the time Sean’s eyes met his, leaving no trace of his thoughts of prison. Sean sat up quietly and looked down at Charles, who remained asleep.

“Moira and Hank are making breakfast,” Alex whispered, not wanting to disturb his charge.

“Good. I’m starving,” Sean whispered back. His eyes remained on the professor. “He had nightmares last night.”

“You would too,” the blonde whispered bitterly. Sean looked at him, clearly worried.

“Are we going to be able to handle this?”

“Of course we are. We’re all worried for him. But we’ll get through it. We’re family. That’s what families do.”

Sean gave a smile, still worried, but somewhat reassured.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be this quiet,” Alex said in an effort to lighten the mood. “Ever.”

Sean looked back at him, offended. “What? I can whisper. I don’t have to be Banshee all the freakin time.”

Alex had to stop himself from laughing out loud. Sean grinned broadly. It was the first time in a while they’d smiled and laughed. At least some things were getting back to normal.

Or so they had hoped. As they sit in the living room back in the present, looking at one another in silence, it’s obvious that things are far from the normal they all wished for.

00000

Once the two realized what exactly was going on, it was fairly easy to figure out how to manipulate the dreams they shared. Charles and Magneto were locked in a slowed down version of the chess games they used to play before everything had gone to hell. The board was the dream the pair shared nightly thanks to the bond. The pieces were what ifs, dealing both in the past and the imagined future. Each night, one of the adversaries would move his piece forward, introducing his own strategic view to the other, trying both to wound and to convince his opponent of why his side was the better.
--

Sometimes the dreams were to show Charles the error in his ways.

The humans had attacked Charles’ school in the dark of night. Magneto had learned of the plan through a desperate Mystique, who had long ago infiltrated the government. By the time he’d gathered the Brotherhood and had Azazel teleport them to Westchester, Charles’ school was burning. With a nod from their leader, the Brotherhood launched their counter attack. They slaughtered all the humans who had dared attack Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

By the time they made it to Charles’ study, the battle was almost won. Magneto killed the human standing over Charles. Charles was on the floor with a helmet over his head, obviously made to block his telepathy. Charles’ raised bleary eyes to the magnokinetic, but said nothing.

“I told you, my friend. I told you they would never accept us.”

Charles looked to the floor before giving a reluctant nod.

After that, the tides turned in the war against the humans. It wasn’t long until the mutant cause succeeded and Magneto and Professor X stood side by side at the head of a new nation.

--

Others were to show how Magneto’s plan could go wrong:

Signs of battle were evident everywhere in the nameless building in Washington where the bureaucrats discussed “important matters”. Magneto had attacked a meeting to finalize the Mutant Registration Act. Of course, Charles’ X-Men had been there to stop him. People were still running nearby, trying to escape the attack. Magneto didn’t care. He had stormed into one of the rooms after sensing movement only to stop short at the sight that greeted him. Charles lay dead on the ground in front of him. Hank was by his side, but he’d long since given up on trying to revive the telepath. Magneto’s face was an unreadable mask.

“I told him. I told him humans would be the death of us. The death of him.”
Hank looked up at Magneto, an expression of hatred not befitting of him spreading across his face. “Humans didn’t do this, Magneto. Mutants did.”

Magneto blanched. “Pardon?”

“You heard me. A mutant…one of your mutants…killed him for your cause. Because without a leader, what chance do we stand? It was the plan all along. The-whoever it was knew Charles would be here…knew you would attack. He didn’t even have the chance to fight back.” Hank’s eyes fell back to his fallen mentor. “He never needed to fear the humans, Erik.” Magneto almost winced at the name as Hank sneered it. “It was the mutants like you he should’ve been afraid of all along.”

The Mutant Registration Act passed three days later almost unanimously. In the interviews that followed, William Stryker made sure to thank Magneto for proving to the undecided voters just how dangerous mutants truly were.

--

After that, the dreams took a different direction... the past.

The sun beat down on the mutants on the Cuban beach. Charles lay in the sand, propped up by Erik.

“We want the same things.”

“Oh, my friend, we do not.”

Erik frowned. He was about to call Moira over when he caught Charles flinch in pain out of the corner of his eye. He looked down again to find the blue of Charles’ eye meeting his own.

“I’m sorry, Charles. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What if it was? Ah!” Charles tensed up as he cried out in pain. He could feel consciousness fleeing, but knew this was his only chance to say what he needed to. “What if this is a turning point? Right here, right now…we could create any number of futures. Which one do you want? One where we stand in opposition to one another, because I assure you I will not allow you to harm humanity without a fight, or one where we stand side by side…a compromise, but united. We do not want the same thing right now, Erik…but we could find a middle ground.”

The last of his energy gone, Charles gave in to his body’s demands. Erik looked down at his now unconscious friend, then up to the others on the beach, who were watching him with bated breath. The look on his face told them he’d made his choice. He opened his mouth to speak-
Magneto and Charles woke simultaneously with a gasp. For once, they wished they could have slept longer.

--

Occasionally, the dreams took on a life of their own. These ones were the best and the worst all
rolled into one.

Erik and Charles sat in Charles’ study playing chess. Erik ran a hand through his gray hair earning a frown from Charles.

“Just because you have a full head of hair doesn’t mean you need to flaunt it.”

“Jealousy doesn’t become you, old friend. It’s not my fault you lost your hair early. Besides, you look good bald.”

Charles gave a huff while Erik tried unsuccessfully to hold back a smile. A few more moves were made before Charles spoke again.

“Since we have so many more students coming in this year, I was thinking of adding another defense class. Do you think you can handle the additional load?”

“I’m not as young as I used to be, Charles.”

“But you always like a challenge.”

It was Erik’s turn to huff. “Fine. But I’d better not have to deal with a gaggle of screaming eight-year-olds. Scott can handle those ones just fine.”

Charles stifled his laugh before his eyes became distant and he gave a sigh. “You have a deal. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, could you go downstairs and help the children? John set the kitchen on fire again and I’d rather not have Bobby put it out. It took a day and a half for the ceiling to thaw last time.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I stayed with you, old friend,” Erik said, trying to look put upon. The effect was lost as he grinned at his friend.

“You know you love it.”

Erik rolled his eyes and left. The dream faded with him.

Charles and Magneto both woke smiling. It took a full minute for the feeling to fade and reality to take hold again, leaving both men to wonder what the future truly held for them.

---

The game went on night after night. In the end, neither could win and they both knew it. They would play their game every night until a compromise could be made and compromises were made face-to-face. But neither was willing, not yet, so they continued to play, resigned to the fact that it would always end in a draw.

Chapter 3

Notes:

New part somewhere in the middle.

Author's note: Okay, I'm back from a hiatus, and from that weird angsty mood that caused me to write that, um, excursion into dark places. Hopefully that won't happen again. It was disturbing. In this episode, a forced meeting between Erik and Charles to confront their issues. Sorry if it's OOC! Both Erik and Charles have been greatly altered from their previous selves because of prior events in this story.

I'm thought of another title for this story. What about "And We Have Come to This."

In the eyes of all his followers, Magneto is changed from the confident, competent leader of before. Instead, he has become a man wrecked by broken dreams, gnawed by a secret pain he cannot share with anyone. And the one person he could have told is the reason for his present turmoil. Emma tells Magneto flatly that if he doesn't pull himself together, she will leave. Riptide and Azazeal have begun to drift and spend more and more time away from their hideout. Mystique hovers worriedly, but her efforts only make Magneto withdraw further into himself, fear of letting her know the truth filling him with dread.

"Please. Tell me, what did Charles do to you?" Mystique asks softly, sympathy writ clear on her expressive face and piercing yellow eyes.

"I ... I'm not sure," Erik manages to say, his hands shaking slightly under the blankets as they rest in his lap. In his enforced bed rest after the mental trauma, his body has grown weak, and, so very ironically, he is temporarily bound to a wheelchair. Currently he and Mystique are overlooking the ocean on balcony, the brisk, salty sea breeze refreshing on their faces.

Erik. Magneto. Whatever. When you've finished your little vacation up there, I have an ultimatum for you.

Erik musters the strength to reply coldly, Which is?

See Xavier.

Erik starts and a numbness settles in his limbs. Mystique notices. "It's getting cold. Do you want to go inside?"

I've already spoken to Azazeal and Riptide; you're welcome. Her tone turns patronizing. Don't worry, we'll all hold your hand.

Erik remembers to breathe and whispers, "Alright." Mystique wheels him toward the door.

Charles is forcing himself through physical rehabilitation when his telepathy recognizes the hallmarks of Hellfire. And Erik.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Charles gives out a mental call to his friends, waking them to potential danger, and prepares for the upcoming confrontation himself. Despite his fatigue he puts forth the effort to make himself presentable—a cool, collected appearance will be a shield. Taking his cane, Charles walks into the foyer and sees Erik for the first time since their parting an eternity ago. The man looks terrible, shoulders slightly hunched and features pinched. But beyond that, his mind is in a worse state.

They stand the length of the room apart, but the distance makes no difference. They were as close, and as far, when hundreds of miles away.

Erik has committed an inexcusable act against Charles; Charles has done the unforgivable to Erik. And, though knowing the pace of each other's breathing, one cannot look into the eyes of the other without flinching back and something breaking within.

"I don't recall inviting guests," Charles says dryily, gripping the varnished wood of the doorway for support.

"Tell us what you did to Magneto, and we'll leave," Mystique responds, voice devoid of warmth.

Immediate disbelief at this unfriendly greeting shows, then just as quickly smoothes over as Charles lowers his lashes and exhales a sigh. "Oh, Raven," he says softly.

"I don't answer to my slave name," Mystique snaps. (yes, that's a line from XMLS). "I'm not your pet anymore."

"Mystique," Charles says after a strained moment. "Emma Frost. Riptide. Azazeal. Magneto. Take your cohorts and leave."

NEXT PART – A non-canon Onslaught introduced

Moira, Hank, Alex and Sean enter the room from another door, filing in as though soldiers ready for battle. "You're not welcome," Alex snarls. "Get out before we kick your asses out."

Emma smiles cynically. "Unless you plan to blowing this lovely mansion to bits, you're not in a position to make demands, sugar."

"I am," Charles says coldly. "And I don't have to." Azazeal suddenly whips his tail to Emma's throat. She gasps and terror fills her face as she can do nothing. "What have you done?" Mystique and Riptide look on, petrified.

"You could say I've found out some interesting things about myself." Charles inclines his head, and Riptide for an unseen reason creates a small whirlwind ushering Emma, Azazeal and Mystique out the door. "Go. Magneto and I have things to discuss. You too." He looks at Moira, Alex, and Sean.

Erik finally raises his head. "Charles—"

Charles smiles, the expression chilling. "Onslaught, please."

"My God." Moira finds her voice. "What have you done with Charles?"

"He's around ... somewhere in here." The creature waves a hand airily near his temple. "But he really can't take this kind of stress, poor man."

Erik straightens in his chair. "Charles. I'm sorry."

"Rather late apologies, I'm afraid. Charles Xavier is cooped up in his little mental cocoon as of this moment. And ... what is this? There's an odd connection between you and him." Onslaught frowns. "I suppose I can't kill you at present. That might destroy him, and thus, me. But don't fret," he murmurs. "I'll find a way to break free."

He looks at Moira. "Human. I really ought to get rid of you. But ..." he sighs. "Xavier's sentimentality. What a bother."

Sean blanches. "What's wrong with you? Why are you-?"

"Oh, I haven't told you. I perfectly agree with Magneto. In fact, I've begun to think he and I might work together."

"To do what?" Alex demands.

"Why, take over the world, of course." Onslaught smiles again. "But unlike certain lab mice, I'm confident we'll succeed."

"Onslaught," Erik says quietly. "I wanted Charles by my side. Not something alien that's taken him over."

"You should know he still thinks of you. Sad, really. He even regrets enslaving you to his mind. But I believe I'll find some use for you." He turns to Moira. "Human. Get out before I kill you. I'll do it eventually, but not now. Alex and Sean ... ah, young mutants. You will go to your rooms, and tomorrow I'll give you the coordinates to find others while this body recovers."

Hank bristles. "As if I'll—"

"You will do it." All four stiffen and vanish out the door.

"Now, I believe we're finally alone, Magneto." Onslaught limps toward him, smiling, when suddenly he shudders and collapses. Erik stares as Charles raises his overly bright eyes to him. "God. Help me," he whispers.

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"I don't know how to undo … whatever I did," Charles snaps irritably. Apparently a silent, non-accusing Erik annoys him. They are sitting; well, Erik is sitting in his wheelchair, and Charles is pacing, or limping, erratically across the living room.

Erik raises a brow and glances at the gleaming red helmet resting conspicuously above the fireplace. "A new mantle piece?" he suggests pleasantly.

"Matches the rest of the décor," Charles returns.

Hank tentatively pokes his furry blue head through the door. "Um, Professor? Is everything okay now?"

"Oh, Hank. I'm terribly sorry for what just happened." He sighs and covers his face with a hand.

Sean interjects his own face beside Hank's. "What did just happen?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself," Charles admits.

"And when's the bastard leaving?" Alex adds bluntly, materializing beside Sean.

"I ought to apologize to Moira immediately," Charles sidesteps. "Where-?"

Hank grimaces. "She walked off like the rest of us, but continued zombie-walking to her car and drove off."

"Good God!" Charles exclaims, horrified. He makes a quick mental check. "She's fine. She just realized she's driving back home. And … the others have returned to their hideout."

Sean whistles. "Whoa, Prof. Didn't know you could mess with people that much."

"Neither did I," Charles mutters. "Boys, please ignore everything I said five minutes ago. I wasn't quite … myself." He adds, "And I need to talk with the bast—Erik for a while."

Obediently, Hank takes the lead in herding a glowering Alex and an obviously curious Sean out of the room.

An exhausted Erik has been dozing fitfully during this exchange. As a tense silence fills the room, he rouses and raises an emaciated face to Charles. "I can't ask you to forgive me," he says finally.

"Good, because I won't," Charles replies immediately. "Now, you're here because you need me. And I'll tell you, I don't know what to do about your condition."

"It's clearly not affecting you as much as me," Erik points out tiredly.

"No." Charles frowns thoughtfully, then smiles without mirth. "I'm the dominant in this relationship, at least in this regard. For what it's worth," he shuts his eyes. "I shouldn't have done it to anyone, no matter the cause. You'll kindly note I wasn't exactly in my right mind at the time," he continues dryly.

"I did something inhumanly terrible to you." Erik can't meet Charles' gaze and clenches his hands on the arms of the wheelchair. "I don't expect your help, especially as we're at cross purposes."

"Well, it would be convenient not to have you destroy the mutant-human relationships I'm trying rather hard to foster," Charles returns wryly. "That would be a good start."

Erik says hesitantly, "I could try things your way. At least at first. I can help. I'll prove my sincerity to you. And maybe one day … you'll forgive me."

Charles looks at him, and at last a small smile tugs at his mouth. "We'll see."

We. Despite himself, Erik can't help the frisson of hope the little word inspires.

So next time, some relationship rebuilding ahead! And the school. Charles will continue with his efforts to find mutant children while struggling with the occasional urgings of Onslaught, Erik will try to find his place again. Charles works on trying to cure Erik of, well, himself. The former Hellfire club try to decide what to do. And someone missing for some time makes a reappearance.

SPOILER

Potential ending lines – EXTREME SAPPINESS AHEAD

He had lied to him, Erik realized. Charles had made Erik promise never to forcefully lock him in a prison again. Yet … Erik could not help but keep him tucked away, safe from the horrors of the world, in his heart, for the rest of his life.

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A truncated scene that WILL connect to the bigger story. Really!

There, at the door blocking everything Magneto was determined to achieve, was Charles Xavier. Charles sat in one of the cheap plastic chair one can find in school cafeterias, unsteadily clutching a wooden cane.

Xavier was alone, the only frail shield left to protect humans from mutants.

And beyond him was the world, waiting.

"Please don't do this," Xavier pleaded, tiredly, as though he already recognized his words would have no effect.

Magneto held up a hand to signal everyone but Mystique to leave. This was too easy. He was wearing his helmet and was physically stronger than Xavier. Just as importantly, he had Mystique on his side, an important psychological advantage.

"Charles. Give up," he suggested, the exultation of knowing victory was at hand washing through him. "It's over for your hopes, your dreams in the clouds. The war is won."

Charles slowly raised his bent head. Exhaustion lined his face and he was drooping in his seat. It seemed only the cane kept him sitting upright. "I will never give in," he whispered. "Your ideal world, condoning genocide, terrorism, persecution … cannot be allowed to come into being."

Magneto sighed. "You don't really think you can stop me, do you? As you are? Weak, deluded, naïve?"

"I have come to … certain conclusions about past mistakes," Charles admitted. "The foremost of those is that I believed in you, that you could change. But if you can't … I can."

Mystique, who had hitherto said nothing, flared out, "It's too late to—"

"Be silent," Charles ordered, his voice barely audible. When Mystique instantly shut her mouth and turned to him with a horribly blank expression, Magneto knew his first mistake. Her powerful kick sent him sprawling across the room and his helmet skittering across the white floor tile. As he made to rise, Mystique instantly jumped on him, elbow to his throat. Black spots erupted in his vision.

Charles rose, all vestiges of feebleness evaporated. He stretched out his hand, and the helmet drifted toward his fingers, dancing above them. Try as Erik might, he could not snatch it from Charles' grasp.

"Tell me," he snarled, "Can you manufacture these metal cages for all your minions?" You will never be able to trust any of them. Even yourself. Charles was speaking in his head, and the long distant sensation chilled Erik.

"If you can … then why … this … show?" he choked. He looked up into Mystique's terrified yellow irises and saw Charles' blue eyes smiling back at him.

Charles' mouth curled sardonically, yet his shaded eyes were sad and weary. "After all," he said, "Those we love turn against us. And it is they who can hurt us the most."

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Chapter 5

"… and that is why I wish to establish a school for Gifted Youngsters," Charles finished, smiling pleasantly as he turned back to the murmuring members of the New York Department of Education Committee.

"Dr. Xavier," a severe-looking man, oddly reminiscent of CIA Director McCone—did all these bigoted men look alike?—Charles thought whimsically, before he sternly reprimanded himself for his irritation. He already knew the words that would leave the man's mouth before they were spoken, and that the man's bias were carefully concealed behind polite condescension.

"We appreciate your genuine enthusiasm. We do. But we remain rather unconvinced of the need for a private school for talented young people when so many already exist. Your presentation, while compelling, ultimately does not prove the uniqueness of your idea."

Of course it hadn't. The man, Peter Thornton, hadn't heard past "Thank you for your time, gentleman," twenty minutes ago. He'd been thinking of his pretty young mistress and her astounding skills in bed, blandly speaking, and how he'd afford the latest diamond bauble she'd been begging for recently. Thornton was wondering what she'd be willing to do for the gift. The accompanying graphic images had been somewhat distracting, in fact.

Charles's smile remained agreeable even as the committee members began to shuffle papers in preparation to depart. "Could you please specify what, exactly, was not satisfactory?" The question froze almost everyone, and some even harbored slightly guilty expressions.

Suddenly Charles was struck with the almost unbearable urge to use his powers. His mind itched to compel these small little pygmies to what he, a god among insects, wanted. He had to forcibly control himself, gripping his cane hard even as he continued to smile. These were not his thoughts, and neither was the earlier mental scoffing. Onslaught was thinking for him.

Fortunately, another man, Ian Rutherfield, had indeed been paying attention. Carefully. Calculatedly. "You mentioned that those children admitted as students will have special talents. In what areas? Will they have to pass a rigorous exam? Will their prior grades determine the standard? Both?"

"An exam, Mr. Rutherfield," Charles answered, breathing more easily. This man was sharp and would require caution. But he could also be fair. "And interviews."

"Submit a copy of the planned curriculum, the state teaching credentials of the instructors, and the projection of financial operations for the next five years. A further exhaustive list will be provided. You will need to supply these papers in a timely manner."

"Certainly," Charles responded calmly to the barrage of necessary information. "Please allow me to extend my sincere thanks for this opportunity."

Rutherfield looked at him coolly. "You can thank me if your Institute demonstrates itself to be a viable investment."

Author's notes:

Please take the time to review! A wonderful "guest" roused me to update after such a long hiatus! Many thanks to Red Aurora, who inspired me to write Onslaught into the plot in the first place!

So there were minor OCs in this scene. Please forgive. And I don't know anything about starting up a private school. So don't use this as a template!

Actually, Charles left out several Very Important points, such as, how are the teachers he's hired qualified to teach, at least according to state law? :p We fans know they are by hard life experience, but …

He also didn't specify what would be on the exam, or what the interviews would consist of. In fact, I'm surprised he even got the chance to press the issue! XD

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Author's notes:

Huh. Apparently I made Mystique hugely unlikable. Whoops. I don't like her myself (her immaturity/childishness, the way she threw herself at every available guy, petulance, abandonment of Charles, many more etcs), so I guess that showed through.

Thanks again to "guest" for reviewing. :) Much love! Reviews encourage me to update. *hint hint, nudge nudge* :p

"I could have told you what to expect," Mystique said in annoyance as she reclined restlessly on an armchair in the study. At the moment Erik needed daily assistance, and Mystique had instantly volunteered to be the caretaker for her hero. "Of course they'd find every reason to deny your request."

"You'll forgive me if I don't trust you or your opinion," Charles said coolly, focusing his attention on the stack of papers on his desk.

Mystique's yellow eyes snapped like that of an angry tiger. "Do you really think your way of doing things will work? It won't. Humans will never accept mutants."

Charles continued to scan the documents and did not look up. "You've made it quite clear you don't consider this house your home. Your input is neither appreciated nor necessary to the well-being of its inhabitants."

Outside the mansion, the happy cries of Ororo and Jean as they played a game supervised by Alex could be heard. Scott hung shyly back at first, but he was soon enticed to join in by Jean—his boyish crush on the pretty young redhead made him terribly susceptible to doing whatever she wanted.

"Also, as long as you remain a guest, I must insist that you don some clothes when sitting on furniture, and also in front of the children."

Mystique leapt to her feet and glared at Charles' bent head. "I'm never going back to that kind of mental entrapment. All my life you've tried to tame me, but I'm stronger than that."

The telepath sighed and finally put down his pen to look at her. "Your insistence on exposing yourself to the world, though certainly laudable in regards to newfound standards of decency, is inappropriate."

"You've always wanted me to hide who I am!" Mystique seethed, fists clenched and blue skin flickering as usual when she could not control her powers due to extreme emotion.

"Who you are? It's the what, your mutant appearance, that could have given you away and endangered you. You say you can now go about freely. Strangely, however, you restrain yourself remarkably well when outside the safety of this mansion." He shrugged. "Be careful. You may find that your champion Magneto is more interested in what you can do for him than supporting who you have determined to be."

Mystique strode to the desk and, clamping her hands on the edge, leaned forward in confrontation. "Magneto is different from you. He doesn't try to crush me under his thumb!"

Charles merely leaned back in his chair and gazed at her without expression. "You may have forgotten, but I too am a mutant. And yet, when I exercise my natural powers, you claim I have invaded your privacy. I must confess my surprise at the injustice of the world which you strive to create—and you have wondered why I wish not to be a part of it."

Mystique snarled, breathing hard. But she had no retort, at least for the moment, and after a minute of glowering, turned away and stalked out of the room.

Chapter 4

Summary:

the future of Absolution in summary.

Notes:

Is anyone interested in co-writing Absolution with me? RedAurora has been unbelievably awesome, but she has her own fanfic to write. Go read her super inspirational Onslaught series ( u/1363305/Red-Aurora). J

Scroll down past this scene for the future of Absolution in summary.

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There, at the door blocking everything Magneto was determined to achieve, was Charles Xavier. Charles sat in one of the cheap plastic chairs one can find in school cafeterias, unsteadily clutching a wooden cane.

Xavier was alone, the only frail shield left to protect humans from mutants.

And beyond him was the world, waiting.

"Please don't do this," Xavier pleaded, tiredly, as though he already recognized his words would have no effect.

Magneto held up a hand to signal everyone but Mystique to leave. This was too easy. He was wearing his helmet and was physically stronger than Xavier. Just as importantly, he had Mystique on his side, an important psychological advantage.

"Charles. Give up," he suggested, the exultation of knowing victory was at hand washing through him. "It's over for your hopes, your dreams in the clouds. The war is won."

Charles slowly raised his bent head. Exhaustion lined his face and he was drooping in his seat. It seemed only the cane kept him sitting upright. "I will never give in," he whispered. "Your ideal world, condoning genocide, terrorism, persecution … cannot be allowed to come into being."

Magneto sighed. "You don't really think you can stop me, do you? As you are? Weak, deluded, naïve?"

"I have come to … certain conclusions about past mistakes," Charles admitted. "The foremost of those is that I believed in you, that you could change. But if you can't … I can."

Mystique, who had hitherto said nothing, flared out, "It's too late to—"

"Be silent," Charles ordered, his voice barely audible. When Mystique instantly shut her mouth and turned to him with a horribly blank expression, Magneto knew his first mistake. Her powerful kick sent him sprawling across the room and his helmet skittering across the white floor tile. As he made to rise, Mystique instantly jumped on him, elbow to his throat. Black spots erupted in his vision.

Charles rose, all vestiges of feebleness evaporated. He stretched out his hand, and the helmet drifted toward his fingers, dancing above them. Try as Erik might, he could not snatch it from Charles' grasp.

"Tell me," he snarled, "Can you manufacture these metal cages for all your minions?" You will never be able to trust any of them. Even yourself. Charles was speaking in his head, and the long distant sensation chilled Erik.

"If you can … then why … this … show?" he choked. He looked up into Mystique's terrified yellow irises and saw Charles' blue eyes smiling back at him.

Charles' mouth curled sardonically, yet his shaded eyes were sad and weary. "After all," he said, "Those we love turn against us. And it is they who can hurt us the most."

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Thank you so much to those who have stuck with me and this story! I really want to update more regularly and in better quality installments, but I'll need some help.

Yes, AGAIN. T-T

Is anyone interested in co-writing Absolution with me? RedAurora has been unbelievably awesome, but she has her own fanfic to write. Go read her super inspirational Onslaught series ( u/1363305/Red-Aurora). J

WARNING WARNING SPOILERS SPOILERS for the rest of the story. This is a tentative, unwisely, unwieldy, and hugely ambitious mish-mash summary of movies and ideas for the future of Absolution. Please keep in mind I'm just vomiting ideas at the moment AND that I'm not making any money. XD

Also, of course I'll write the scenes/action/dialogue differently than the films.

Erik is forced into close physical proximity with Charles due to their mental link. Charles absolutely won't allow terrorist activities in his mansion. Reluctantly, with some unsubtle persuasion/strong prodding from Charles, Erik gets drawn into and interested in building a future that looks suspiciously bright and hopeful for mutants and humans alike, beginning with the children of both. The former Hellfire Club start acting as informants rather than terrorists.

Note: I've never read the comics. I picked up the name Onslaught and some general concepts of mutant superiority from RedAurora's fics (see above link), but I liked the idea of a super powerful alter-personality inside Prof. X before that. Also, I have Onslaught's inception at the time that Charles creates the mental link between himself and Erik back at the prison room. There will NOT be any creating of suns or alien possession in Absolution. :p

Erik and Charles establish a wary but deepening friendly relationship as the school gets off the ground and mutant children begin showing up all over the globe in Cerebro. Roughly 7 years pass. Even while Erik and Charles are working together, however, Jean is a bone of contention. Erik sees her incredible potential, wants to train her as a soldier, to create the ultimate mutant warrior. To Charles, Jean is a normal if precocious child who has mutant powers and should be taught how to control it as well as any other talent.

"You plan to manipulate a child into fulfilling your vision!"

"I want to create a safe place for all mutant children to live!"

Charles stared at him, face white with frustration and disbelief. "What do you think this school is, Erik?"

Erik laughed cynically. "I said "all," didn't I? You know better than I, better than anyone, how many mutant children we must let slip through our fingers because of familial and necessary circumstances. We certainly can't house every single mutant child in the world. And if we could, should we have to hide them here? A convenient one spot for a single nuclear missile to take out?

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Note: I haven't watched Last Stand, and only bits and pieces of the earlier movies (I watched XMFC over and over and over). But! I basically know what happens in the films.

I have a potential plot point I hesitate to bring out because it might, uh, overcomplicate things. Even more? Yeah. I feel like I've neglected Stryker among the Evil Humans.

We can briefly bring Jason into the story a year or so after the school opens. Stryker is desperate to "fix" his son—he's even willing to try a brand new institution. Jason is a sullen, angry and vindictive boy who is older than the other students at the Institute and doesn't fit in for all those reasons. He is gleeful when tormenting others with his powers of illusion. The differences between the school's open and accepting atmosphere and the enclosed suffocating space with his non-understanding parents only seems to make his attitude worse. Two years later, he goes home for the holidays, but fails to return to the school when it reopens, and Stryker submits papers for his son's withdrawal. Everyone including Prof. X doesn't think to investigate further.

By this time the open wound of Erik and Charles' link has scarred over, and while keeping a cautious peace, Erik and his group are foraging further and further away from Charles' ideals even as they try to continue working together.

The kids at the growing school begin taking sides, and others are conflicted as the political and social international situation heats up. Charles tries to keep hidden that Onslaught is increasingly in his thoughts, constantly suggestive of what he could really do. Wolverine comes across

But the breaking point between Prof. X and Magneto comes when Phoenix (as a suppressed mutant side of her personality) overwhelms the 16-year-old Jean just as humans pass a series of worldwide Mutant Suppression acts and ALSO start hanging out The Cure like it's the New Condom.

Charles is horrified and tries to get Jean back. Erik sees this as the best and probably only chance to put down humans for good. Phoenix makes the decision as far as them shouting out who should have her—she tears down a good part of the mansion before Charles—who sends out advance telepathic notice to those remaining for Winter Break to EVACUATE THE PREMISES IMMEDIATELY (Alex/Sean/Beast leading the emergency protocol, and the other mutants with powers pitching in) with Onslaught can temporarily throw her back. She retreats for the moment and Erik makes the decision to go with her. Note: as Phoenix, Jean looks like a grown woman, like in the movies.

The Hellfire club and more assemble as The Brotherhood under Magneto, and Xavier's Institute as the X-men. The whole setup seems terribly unbalanced—the X-men are just confused kids who want to protect their families and friends, while The Brotherhood is made up of seasoned fighters who hate humankind. Evil Humans take advantage of the escalating conflicts to strengthen their hardline positions against mutants as a whole, putting the X-men more and more into the line of fire from both sides.

The world all over is stirring itself to go to war. If humans and the Brotherhood are counting bodies on "the other side" as a win, they are both winning.

If Magneto is the commander, Phoenix is both the foremost general and Goliath of the Brotherhood. Meanwhile, Charles is running himself ragged trying to repair the impassable breach between mutants and humans—and all the while Onslaught tells him he could solve everything, make everyone listen, if only Charles would let him play a little in the sun. The students of the Institute, including Storm, Cyclops, NightCrawler, are forced to grow up and adopt burdens that ordinary adults would be unable to carry.

Mystique has of course been Magneto's most valued ally—until (yes, like in the movies) she gets Cured, and has to choke down what Charles told her years ago. She goes to the X-men, and she and Charles repair their wrecked relationship somewhat.

Finally a desperate Charles comes to the conclusion that only Onslaught can even the scales. Raven counsels him against giving in (yes, Raven is saying this) because he may not be able to control Onslaught once It's free.

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Raven clutched his arms, terror shuddering in her knotted fingers. "You don't know what Onslaught is capable of!"

Charles closed his weary eyes and rested his forehead against hers. "You're right, dearest. I don't. But I do know that what I cannot do, he can."

She bit her lips. "Charles," she whispered. "What if … what if you become like the Phoenix? It's not … she's not Jean anymore."

He nodded and then broke away from her to cover his face with a hand. "Oh, Jean," he murmured. "I have to be strong enough. For her. And the world." He glanced over as Raven began to chuckle bitterly.

She collapsed onto the couch, weeping. "Charles, I understand. And I support your decision. But I hate that Magneto was right."

Charles smiled a little. "You mean in his invigorating speech "The Sword Upholds the Scepter" to the mutant population at large? It seems he was. And I'm quite affronted."

Raven raised her tear-streaked face to him askance.

Charles shrugged playfully, his smile becoming ironic as he limped toward the door. "Magneto made no provision for walking canes at all."

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WARNING WARNING WARNING MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!

….

More things happen.

And then.

I'm figuring it out.

Hold on.

Give me a minute!

Okay.

Charles dies. Yes. I'm going to have his body buried at the Westchester estate.

NOT so everyone can walk all over him XD and not to be creepy, but because he'd want to be surrounded by his dream coming true.

And I'll tie up things with Erik and Mystique and Jean and Stryker (hint: he DIES) and Wolverine (he will be important, but no love thingie with Jean. That would be ... eww in this case) et etc.

So … anyone interested in giving me a hand with this insane project? I'm really open to changes and suggestions, unless I don't like them. :p

It's not a formal commitment or anything. I'm not holding interviews so much as personality checks to see if we can stand each other. :)

I like chatting via gtalk, if that works.

Chapter 5

“I hear you and Mystique had something of an altercation,” Erik said drily as he walked slowly into the kitchen, careful to steady himself on various reliable surfaces. Charles was already present at the breakfast table, sipping his much satirized tea. He showed no surprise at Erik’s arrival or his comment, which led Erik to wonder if Charles was even then reading his mind.

“I think you’ve surrendered the right to keep your thoughts to yourself, don’t you? Who knows what dastardly plan you’re scheming of next?” Charles said serenely in response to his unspoken question.

“You’re gotten past the physical signs of your telepathy,” Erik observed, deliberately ignoring Charles’ comment and gesturing with two fingers to his temple. He hobbled over to the coffee maker to make a cup, only to find one already steaming on the counter. His back to Charles, Erik scowled, but made his way to the table and sat down with cup in hand. He took a sip. The taste was exactly the way he liked it.

“We must all move forward,” the telepath told him, as much a figure of apparent tranquility as the Buddha himself.

“What direction does your ‘forward’ take?” Erik inquired. He had to be cautious in dealing with Charles, the man whose friendship he had taken, crushed as trash, and thrown back in his face.

Charles looked at him over the lip of his tea cup, blue eyes wreathed in whitish steam. “Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer?” He paused a moment, and then added, “I’ve never hidden my intentions.” The silent reprimand hung between them, thickening the air.

Erik nodded, accepting the quiet accusation as his due. “I suppose, then, the more important question at the moment, is where I fit in this future.”

“You don’t!” Alex’s angry voice said loudly from the doorway. Still in shorts and a wife’s beater, rumpled by sleep, the young man stalked forward, nostrils flaring, until he stood between Charles and Erik.

“No warning, Charles?” Erik sighed.

Charles shrugged at Erik’s plaintive attitude. “Alex, I appreciate your concern. Please be mindful of those still asleep.”

Alex continued glaring at Erik, but did lower his volume when he hissed, “You and your Hellfire buddies should go terrorize someone else’s house.”

“I am temporarily indisposed,” Erik informed Alex patiently as though to an uncomprehending child. “Charles has been kind enough to offer me sanctuary until my condition improves.”

“The professor was ‘temporarily indisposed’ by the loss of his legs, and you put him in a metal cage! What makes you think you deserve any kind of kindness from him?” A red aura of heat glowed warningly around Alex.

Charles patted the young man’s arm and told him softly, “Alex, please.”

Alex’s jaw clenched, but he nodded stiffly. “Alright. One last thing, Magneto. You just keep up your asshole habit of abandoning or hurting people when you don’t need them anymore. One day you’ll find yourself completely alone, old and used up and needing help, and there won’t be a single friend to care.” He took a deep breath, uncurled his hands, and walked out of the room, back rigid with unspent fury.

Erik and Charles sat in silence for a few minutes after that passionate tirade. “I don’t know how to—” Erik started to say.

“You can’t,” Charles said flatly. He changed the subject, and in a gentler tone asked, “How was your night?”

“Better,” Erik replied, grateful but unsure of how to express his gratitude. Thank you seemed too trivial. “Now that you’re actively monitoring the dream visions, I rest more easily.”

“Good,” Charles nodded.

Erik hesitated. “When do you expect I can leave?”

Charles smiled, very slightly, and did not answer; instead, he left the room, leaving Erik chilled and wondering how the tables had turned so completely.