He's dying.

No, he's really, truly, honestly dying. No figure of speech, no metaphor, nothing. This is his death.

Sebastian Shaw will not exist in a few seconds.

Even still, he can appreciate the irony - no, the beauty of his death. Killed by his own creation, the object that stared it all piercing his brain. The coin, which his beautiful monster had failed to move, had caused death, then birth, and now death again. Sebastian Shaw did not want to die, but he couldn't help but be proud of the monster that thought of such a fitting, circular death.

If he could move, he would let the ghost of a smile twitch at the very corners of his lips in the last second, because he can appreciate that Erik has truly, finally reached his potential.

Charles doesn't let him smile.

Shaw's death shakes him to the very core. The thoughts of a madman were disturbing at the best of times. The twisted, cruel filter through which Shaw saw the world was sickening. He had been beaten and humiliated by his peers at school, however his father had always told him that he was better than them. He discovered his mutation at age 26, when he finally started to believe what his father had told him; but he took it much further.

When Charles froze someone, it involved going fully inside their mind. People like Moira's partner, Lavine, weren't too hard to control. A few seconds in, freeze, then withdraw and hold. Shaw was tougher, more determined, and completely expecting the mental attack; Charles couldn't move from his mind for even the slightest of seconds.

So when Erik raised the coin and started to count, and Charles pleaded with the air around him, it was just as much for sake as Shaw's.

It penetrates his skull now - Charles' Shaw's, he can't remember but it bloody hurts - and he screams, screams in agony because he cannot. And while Shaw is thinking how beautiful (if untimely) his death is, Charles is reduced to a single thought; hold. Hold.

It hurts, hurts, hurts and Charles knows exactly what dying feels like, because it's what he's feeling now. And then suddenly, Shaw is gone, and Charles is left winded, gasping for breath, feeling as the last few scraps of information Shaw's mind can process fade and snap like baby cobwebs in the breeze.

When the coin finishes it's journey, a small part of Shaw that's still alive - not the tiniest bit of his self is there, but the remnants of some senses are - he hears the coin clatter, and as it hits the ground so does Charles. He's exhausted and dead, but he knows Erik and he knows it's not over, not yet.

He struggles to his feet, telling Moira No, no I'm fine, tired yes but fine, stay here and stay safe love, stumbles out of the wreckage and onto the sand. His head pounds, and he can hear voices; it's like he's overstretched his telepathy and he can't compress it back in, his mind flopping uselessly outwards. He can still feel the searing pain of the coin on it's path through his - no, Shaw's head.

By the time Erik descends, floating slowly down to the sand, Shaw dead and bound and following for all to see, Charles can stand without collapsing every few seconds. He still can barely breathe - it's like a terrible asthma attack - and the migraine is yet to fade, but his legs are no longer jelly and spots don't swim in front of his eyes.

Every word Erik speaks penetrates his head, his heart, and they both ache for entirely different reasons. When Erik says to, he lifts his fingers to his temple - that in itself is an effort - and somehow, somehow manages to scan the minds of those on the ship.

They turn their guns, and Charles can't even begin to stop them; it's all he can do to stand. Time blurs a little, and the missiles are right there, metres from his face. They stop, and Erik turns them with the same peace and technique and even hand gesture that he used when Charles taught him to move that satellite dish, weeks ago. Charles' legs tremble, but he remains standing.

Soon he can't even do that; Erik is on top of him, Erik is punching him, and then he is leaping and there is a searing pain in his lower back. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as his head, however, so it doesn't impair his thought process even slightly.

Erik is crying, and Charles nearly laughs at the irony; he killed him, he killed him, and now he's crying over a bullet? Charles speaks the truth, and he feels it cut Erik like a knife.

Soon Erik leaves, and even Raven - though he told her to go, to go and be happy with him - and he knows he's not dying. He knows what dying is, knows death intimately now; he knows he will never be youthful or innocent or naive again.

But he also knows that he can't feel his legs, and he has suspicions about what that might mean but he really can't think properly. All he knows is that fact is important, his legs, they're important but he can't feel them.

I can't feel my legs.

Charles is reduced to one thought for the second time in mere minutes, and it feels like his brain is looping; he wants to remain conscious and this is the only way he can think to do it but it's like clinging to the edge of a cliff with your fingernails. It's only a matter of time before he lets go.

I can't feel my legs.

So apparently I'm obsessed with X-Men now. That's okay. It's a good thing to be obsessed with.

This was going to be more about the fact that Charles felt what it was like to die that day, via Shaw, but it changed and became something else. A lot of my writing not-quite drabbles tend to go differently from where I plan.

Anyway hope you likey!

Also I'm kin8a sad 8ecause... Well I just kin8a am. I did always like her. 8ut it's fairly o8vious she's gone forever and ever. Well really she might not 8e. 8ut still. ::::(

Yay if you know who/what I'm talking a8out. ::::)