A/N Hullo again! Thought I'd try my hand at X-Men again. Enjoy! Characters not mine.

The lights above him shimmered dully. He was a thousand feet underground, and he could feel the weight of the world crushing down on him, eager to close in and heal its wound.

"Eat up." A cold voice mocked from above him. A tray of frozen peas and unseemly mush slid into view.

"They say they won't keep you around much longer." The voice above him continued conversationally. "In fact, they say you have twelve hours to live. Sounds like a relief to me."

Erik listened as the man departed, his footsteps echoing down the terrible hall.

"And how," he asked the empty room. "Do they plan on killing me? It's impossible to kill a monster."

He ate in silence, staring mindlessly up at the lights. They flickered and dozed, and time slowly ticked away.

"Hey." His voice was raspy, and the guard taking away his tray started.

"I want to make a phone call." He continued, watching as the man's hands started to shake. "Last request, and all." His smile was too full of teeth, too false to be anything but a command.

The guard ran faster than light down the hall, shouting for his commander. Erik stood primly in his cell, looking serene for the first time in weeks.

XXX

Charles Xavier walked the terrible hall to the tomb, eyes staring sightlessly ahead as the man came into view.

Erik watched him in turn, taking in his matted hair, his pulsing veins, his shaking—albeit functioning—legs.

He looked as dead as Erik felt, and the man's heart seized unexpectedly. Charles scowled from outside the cage, looking at the floor.

The lights seemed to shine brighter, all the same. The doors made no sound as they opened, holding their breath and gazing on.

"Charles." Erik breathed, working his way to his feet. The other man made no effort to greet him, only stared downward, unseeing.

"Charles." Erik said again, frowning, walking closer. "Charles, are you alright?"

He reached out to touch the man's shoulder, his cheek, anything. Charles's eyes flicked upward.

The man moved far more quickly than Erik remembered. One moment, he was still. The next, Erik felt a bony hand colliding with his face.

"You asshole." Charles whispered, shaking his hand and glaring. The lights flickered above them both, and Erik rejoiced, watching his—what was he now? Friend? Enemy?—

Watching Charles unfold.

"What were you thinking?" Charles hissed, watching Erik through wounded eyes.

"I was doing what I thought was best." Erik replied. "Charles, believe me, they got it wrong-"

"The bullet curved, Erik." Charles's voice broke with pain. "You assassinated the bloody president—"

"You're wrong." Erik said sharply. "I was trying to save him!"

"From what?" Charles was shouting now, and his hands were shaking at his sides. "One of your own, gone rogue?"

"He was one of us, Charles!" Erik roared, backing the man into a corner. "I was trying to save him because he was one of us!"

Charles hissed again and shoved his hands into Erik's chest, bracing himself against the cold wall. "Why should I believe you?" He asked, glaring sullenly at the floor. "You've lied, Erik. You've lied so many times."

"I'm telling you the truth." Erik said, voice coming more smoothly. "You can look. You can trust me."

"No, I can't." Charles said, gaze breaking with entirely new pain.

"Yes, you can." Erik grabbed the man's hand and wrenched it up to his forehead.

"No!" Charles cried. "No, Erik. I can't look. I can't and I won't."

Silence, finally, echoed through the cell. The lights above the men shone steadily on, pulsing with every terrible heartbeat that passed.

"What have you done?" Erik choked, taking a step away.

"What I had to do." Charles replied coldly. "You took my legs from me. That paralysis is tied with my mutation. I repress the mutation, and I can have my legs."

"You are hiding what you really are." Erik growled.

"I am trying to survive." Charles said, fist clenched. "Isn't that how it used to be? Just trying to survive?"

Erik threw his hands into the air, pacing around the cell that was now thick with frustration.

"Look." He said slowly, turning his back to the man. "They are going to kill me, or at least, they're going to try."

"I wanted to say I was sorry." Erik continued, keeping his voice steady. "I know that I hurt you. And I'm sorry."

Silence from behind him. Erik spared a glance over his shoulder.

Charles was slumped against the wall, head in his hands.

"I hate you." He said. "You left me, you destroyed me, and then you made me your last request. Erik, I hate you so much."

"No, you don't." Erik said smoothly, staring at the white wall. "If you hated me, you wouldn't have come."

More silence. Then, a broken laugh echoed through the cell.

"Oh, no, my friend." Charles said, wiping away a stray tear that had appeared on his cheek. "I hate you. Despite that, and despite everything, I will save you today, just as you'd like."

Erik turned his head sharply, a stray trail of wind brush past his face. Beside Charles, now, was a man—a child, rather.

"Who are you?" Erik asked.

"Doesn't matter." The man said, popping a piece of bubble gum into his mouth. "We're here to get you out."

"Of course you are." Erik said, look between the two men with confusion. Charles nodded his head shortly, and then made his way towards the exit.

"I'll be seeing you soon, Erik." He said casually. "Treat the boy well, would you?"

Erik's brow creased with confusion, and then, the boy was beside him, holding his head carefully.

"What do you think you're doing?" Erik asked dryly.

"Protecting your head from whiplash." The boy said patiently. "Loads of fun, that."

XXX

Charles walked slowly through the empty halls, wiping another unfortunate tear from his cheek. Logan waited for him, looking suspicious and fiddling with his tie.

"Are we ready?" He asked as Charles came up beside him.

"We're ready." The man said. "Let's get on with it, shall we? We're here to prevent a funeral, not add three more to the schedule."

Logan snorted, unsheathed his claws, and Charles stood at his side, looking determinedly forward.

This was his nightmare, his hell, and his absolute salvation.

He hated every minute.

He hated everything. He really, really did.

Or, at least, he tried.