A/N: God I hope people are still reading this. Real life has exceptionally bad timing. orz

…

Chapter 13: Finem

They'd been at sea for hours, deep enough that the churning water was holding them like a paper figure in its grip. But the chilling vastness outside meant nothing to Charles. His world had narrowed to a single pair of yellow eyes. The ridge of his lips still tingled after she'd pressed a cool blue finger to them, silencing the hoarse whisper that tried to shape her name. Now he kept still, drawn and hollow, eyes fever-bright. She hummed softly to him, something he remembered only from when they were children together. Careful not to make a sound should she be some kind of projected mirage, he mouthed the words. Two little children- he smiled at the memory of her insistence that the pair be a girl and boy; tradition be damned.

Climb up here Jill, we'll soon be flying… I can go just as fast with two...

"I can hear you," she murmured, smoothing back damp bangs from Charles' forehead. His brows knit and she tapped the side of her head.

I have to resort to this, he said. My throat is... He swallowed and winced.

"You were screaming," she informed him softly, "You tired yourself out."

Screaming, he wondered, closing his eyes against the cool press of her hand. Why would I be screaming? Turning his face into Raven's stomach, he inhaled her scent. After a moment he frowned, eyes popping back open to gaze at the stretch of blue flesh. And under the pillow supporting his head was more bare skin. Flinching away from his sister, he gasped at the pulse of agony that lanced through his temples. The pain grew worse, artificial light cutting into his eyes as he cast them around. Not Westchester, not Oxford. Scrambling to his knees, Charles pressed his palm into an eye. He became aware of pain in his arm, pain in his fingers. A cut lip. Raven. No. Steadying himself against the floor, he slowly took in the sight of his sister. No, not Raven.

Mystique. The name coiled venomously across his mind and Charles tried to catch his breath. It had been years since he'd seen her. Years since she'd left. He hadn't known where she'd gone or whom she was with; only sporadic letters assuring him of her safety that faded into memory. How can you be here? Though 'here' wasn't even a concept Charles could hope to approach at the moment. Confusion drenched him, leaving him shivering under ignorance. Did you kidnap me?

She looked pained. "Do you even know where you are, Charles?"

No. Mystique slid to her knees beside him, rubbing his back. He was staring at the tight bandage on his arm and swollen state of his fingers. Eyes narrowed as he tried to find the clues. His mind was a room bound in white linen, hiding the shapes of the answers he sought. Someone had been there; someone had been in his mind. The linen was crisp and white. Startlingly white.

"Emma," he murmured, choking on ragged coughs as his throat contracted.

"She fixed your headache," she said, careful not to touch him. It had been nice to hold him again, after so long. "Calm down or you'll undo everything."

"I'd like to undo it," he rasped, massaging his throat with his good hand while with the other he touched his temple. Mystique's brilliant yellow eyes softened at the familiar motion, though Charles avoided her face. He needed to focus on stripping the linen away to reveal his recent memory piece by piece. The pain brought by using his broken arm grounded him.

Part of her knew that she should somehow keep Charles from remembering. At the same time, Mystique respected Charles' right to his own memory. It hadn't been her choice to let Emma tamper with him, but there was little she could do when her brother had been projecting mangled terror and setting them all on edge. Now she watched him, prepared to subdue him if needed. Her eyes flicked down to his chest, rising and falling erratically. The fingers at his temple shook, still puffy and purple with bruising. "Charles," she whispered.

He couldn't reach it. The last piece of the puzzle. Juniper was done. But they were safe. The Captain, Logan, Darwin, and the others. Safe. He knew why his arm was broken: Mojo. But he didn't remember why his fingers were broken; the throbbing was distracting. Why was Juniper…? Emma. And Mystique was here. There had been whirlwinds. A helmet. Someone with a helmet. He winced, dropping his hand. Mystique's disquieting presence drew his attention. Sitting there with her was like being in a dark room and seeing only the outline of a familiar face. "It's going to hit me any second," he murmured, feeling unbalanced. "I don't want to hurt you."

She tensed. "Why would you hurt me, Charles?" she asked quietly.

"I'm so angry," he whispered. "Rav-… I'm not-"

Mystique's eyes flashed as his expression fell slack. Alarms were going off. The color of his eyes visibly darkened. His broken fingers twitched. Something told her he already managed to uncover the hidden memories; Emma hadn't that much time to spare.

Did you know?

Hit with acid, burning into her; she flinched away. "Charles," she barked, gasping as the image of Emma – distorted in Charles' projections – leaked black poison out a bow-shaped mouth. The stains spread down her body in inky swirls. Mystique's eyes snapped to Charles' face before she viciously shook her head, teeth bared in ghost-pain as the image of Emma twisted and coiled in on itself like a snake. "Stop," she hissed. "Charles!" Again his question lashed out at her, and she screamed, "NO, I didn't!" Like fading echoes, Charles paled from her mind. His drawn face was haunted, red-rimmed eyes glassy. He recoiled when she reached for him. "I didn't know you were even there," she whispered urgently. "Charles, none of us even knew you were there. It was just a recruitment ground. That's all."

And Erik?

Mystique was unnerved by the abrupt calm that descended over him. Swallowing down a dry throat, she pointedly did not look towards the security alarm mere feet away from her. "What about him?"

Did he know?

Vehemently she shook her head. "Not a thing," she assured him. "Not a thing; he didn't know. None of us knew, Charles. What Emma said; that could've meant anyth-"

I'm going to put you to sleep now, Raven.

Her eyes widened with fright before going flat, slipping shut as she slumped over.

There could have been blood on his hands for the instantaneous upsurge of shame and nausea that rocked his system, heeded by deep disgust. Curling his arms over his head, Charles breathed deeply in his tiny space of darkness. Raven's body curved along his knees, the burnt umber of her hair sleek and shining. Shutting his eyes against the sight of her, Charles found himself alone facing his current circumstances and his recent revelation. The deeper he delved, hearing Emma's voice along with echoes of the past, the harder it became to breathe. He was gasping by the time he raised his head back into the light, mouth thrown wide as he tried to stay afloat.

It felt like hands were covering his face, pushing him down. Hands from the Academy, Mojo, Emma, Shaw… Erik.

"No," he hissed, coughing violently. Tears streamed down his face as he fought for breath. The hands were over his mouth, over his eyes. Charles cried out, choked off by more coughs that racked his body. He keened, thrashing underneath the stifling touches of so many hands, imprinted on him, branded into him. Stopstopstopstopstop-

With fingers tearing at his hair Charles forced every sensation out of him, shutting down his hearing, his sight, the sense of touch. He encased himself in a cocoon of utter numbness while leaving just enough sense to feel the lining of his physical consciousness. At another time, if asked, Charles might describe this state of being as what some hope to achieve in meditation. Absolute disconnection, dissolving into an oneness of being so dense that the sense of self blended into an overwhelming breadth of nothingness. He hung there for minutes, suspended without feeling until very slowly Charles began to unfurl. Carefully he opened his sense of self, only slightly. Then, like cats stealing into a house out of the dark night, bits and pieces of memory returned. Only select glimmers of awareness were allowed, and what Charles deemed secrets were cautiously thrown over the vast wall holding back the sea of fear and rage that loomed over his present mind.

Neatly editing his own mind, Charles opened his eyes feeling much calmer. Distantly he was aware, though it was a shadow of the onslaught he'd faced hours ago at Juniper. But even that awareness was broken down, compartmentalized until he had a clean line of purpose leading him out of the small medical room. Tightly controlled, he wore it like an IV, bleeding poison into him slowly. No more hiding.

Standing on only slightly unsteady feet, Charles looked down at Raven as his skin smarted under the salty pluck of drying tears. He remembered an oath he'd taken. It had been raining outside the tall windows at the Xavier Estate, where he and Raven had grown up together. He'd sworn to her he'd never enter her mind.

The shards of broken promises didn't leave a mark as he tread over them.

…

Erik hesitated just inside the door of the control room. Azazel was crouched over the consul muttering under his breath in Russian. There was a bandage around his head, though Erik wondered at the effectiveness for an entirely internal, and furthermore a mental, wound. Clearing his throat, he shifted his attention from Azazel to Emma. She was leaning nonchalantly against the ladder leading topside. The nail file she wielded with casual grace was razor sharp. It flashed dangerously in the sub's tinny blue lights. "You said... you asked if I knew what a changeling was." When Emma opened her mouth he held up a hand, "In very simple English please."

She rolled her eyes, "You've heard of mental patients who become other people." Her expression was bored as she inspected her nails. They gleamed.

"Multiple personalities?" Shifting further into the room, Erik crossed his arms and mirrored her casual lean. "As a result of trauma." Suddenly he felt very cold. "You mean that Charles is-"

Smirking, Emma shook her head. "He's too old for something like that to happen," she waved him off, "But I want you to understand the mental parameters." Efficiently finishing the slight point to her ring finger, she tucked the nail file away and walked out the room past Erik. It was easy enough to ignore the turmoil of Erik's mind, especially when Emma was so intimately familiar with it. Her lips quirked as she motioned for him to sit down on one of the white leather couches.

Books on war tactics, genealogy, geography, and anything Sebastian thought useful lined the walls of the den. He and the others were down with the new recruits, leaving her with Erik. Sebastian had mentioned the metal-bender would be asking questions. It greatly amused Emma that apparently Erik had taken a shine to dear sweet Charles Xavier. Then again the orphaned and the damaged often sought each other out unknowingly. Crossing her legs elegantly, she waited until Erik resumed his sulk, hands clasped in his lap like a child waiting for bad news. Well, the news could be worse.

Flipping her hair back over her shoulder Emma began, "It's a defense mechanism. When something traumatizing happens that someone can't mentally process the mind can create a whole other personality that can handle the trauma." The unease Erik was exuding thickened.

"What happened to him?" he bit out, chest clenching at the thought that someone could hurt Charles enough to chase him out of himself. He knew there was something there, something at the Academy. Mojo. What Mojo had said; they'd raped him-

"After the incident at the Academy-" she pushed the knowledge into Erik's mind and he paled, a hand jerking into a fist- "I took Charles in and began to teach him defense. He pushed aside the part that had been hurt and focused on rebuilding another self by taking cues from me, coping with what I gave him. He was relearning how to function as a person."

As Emma spoke Erik had to shut his eyes. He didn't want to see her unaffected expression, not while his stomach twisted into painful knots. Rage beat beneath his brow, so strong that Erik had to focus on keeping his breathing under control. Emma had gone silent; he could feel the cautious brush of her mind. "I don't suppose you know the whereabouts of his attackers," he growled.

"No, sugar," she soothed, "The only thing that matters is that they hated our kind. You want payback?" She touched his chin and blue-green eyes opened to glare. Lowering her lashes demurely, Emma purred, "Then we just keep doing what we've been doing. Juniper was a great success. We can finally move on to the next phase."

Beneath him the leather of the couch creaked as he turned to fully face the telepath, worry etched across his face. "We have to wait. Charles needs to recover."

"Of course he does," she lied smoothly. "He'll have time." Relief washed over Erik's face and Emma barely caught herself before scoffing. She'd never seen him like this. He'd gone soft. Though if anyone could thaw a heart of ice it was Charles Xavier.

"When you were training him, when he was empty," he wondered aloud, "You were giving him nothing but... the means for violence." Something didn't sit right. "Charles is too much of a pacifist to-"

"He couldn't sustain it," she sighed, frustrated with the memory. "He regressed into a shadow of himself, more skittish than before, but certainly with a better defense. That comforted the Charles who had been hurt and made him believe he could protect himself; that it was safe to come back. He'd never intended to use it for what it was supposed to be; a weapon."

Her tone was bitter, lip curling in distaste. "He never would have," he argued, catching the twitch in her brow. Frowning, Erik rubbed at the back of his neck. He needed a shower. "Twice at Juniper he used it. Certainly did the job."

Curling her manicured fingers over the slender stretch of her thigh, she smiled. "He has it in him, he just won't accept it."

An unopened bottle of fine vodka – Shaw must have been visiting the Russians - sat chilling in a cooler. He floated it closer and uncapped the bottle. Emma's words sunk in. "You wanted him to use it as a weapon?"

"For a while," she paused, nodding as she accepted a glass from him. She watched the clear liquid slide smoothly into the glass. "The anger he had was incredible. He was an animal."

Resealing the bottle with the barest flick of his power, Erik swirled the liquid around before dropping it back in one gulp. Burning, deep and hollow, spread down his chest and he hissed. Emma sipped hers daintily, ice blue eyes fixed on him. He set his glass aside. "I can imagine." Unfortunately. The sound of Charles breaking his own fingers rang in his memory. An expression of fury and betrayal and fear that made his gut turn, when Charles had looked at him, had hurt him. "Personally I prefer him the way he usually is."

Smirking, Emma tapped her pinky against the side of her glass. "You have no idea how he 'usually' is, Erik." Really, Charles Xavier had been a prime candidate-

Erik barely caught the glass as it slipped from Emma's hands. Her eyes had flown wide then narrowed dangerously. When she shifted into diamond form Erik stood up in alarm.

Then he felt it. Like a storm gathering on the horizon, moving closer. Reaching out to touch the metal vibrating underneath unexpected footsteps, Erik realized that it was Charles. His gate was off, feet falling too hard against the floor. Erik detected a limp and immediately started forward, coming up short when Charles appeared in the doorway. Erik stepped back. He stared at the telepath, Emma's eerie whistling breath the only sound beyond the pressurized pulse of the ocean.

Charles eyes looked nearly electric; set in a bone white face marked only with the faint smudge of bruises and the rusty cut on his lip. Dark circles weighed down his eyes, gaunt and awful. His fingers had swelled into useless bloat, his arm still bound in refreshed bandages. Tousled brown hair stood up in cowlicks, and he was wearing the clothes Mystique had found for him: a pair of cotton drawstring pants and one of Erik's old thermal shirts. One sleeve had bunched up around the bandage, the other falling down over his remaining good hand. Bare feet peeked out from threadbare pant legs, and in some disturbing way Charles looked like a child who had just woken from a long, terrible sleep.

"Well, sugar," Emma purred dangerously, "Don't you just look awful."

"Did you ever have even a second of remorse, Emma," Charles rasped, good hand going to massage his throat. "Just a moment to prove that you might not be a monster."

"We're all monsters," she hissed, fingers clacking together into fists.

"That's where you're wrong." Charles stood straighter, eyes shining hotly. Erik was looking between the telepaths, but Charles didn't even see him. He only had eyes for Emma and her beautiful diamond shell that he intended to crack. "I never was. Despite your best efforts, Emma," he spat. "I never was one."

She hummed, sauntering in a slow circle as he edged further into the den. "Not every monster shows their teeth all the time."

"Only when their master calls them?" he replied warily, swaying. He ached, but the limited consciousness of his physical body didn't matter. Charles smoothed over the section of his mind that registered pain and switched it off.

It was like watching a puppet on a string. Charles stood straighter and his face melted into an alien peace, though Erik could still see the lines of tension along his shoulders. He surmised what the telepath had done and gritted his teeth. Pain let you know you were still alive. Stepping into Charles' line of sight, he told him firmly, "You need to lie down. You haven't recovered-"

"Erik," he bit out, swallowing down his stinging throat.

Reaching for the other man, Erik pushed all of the warmth and worry he felt outwards, hoping that Charles could feel it.

"I know you're sincere Erik," he said sadly, walking forward to slide his hand along the mutant's stubbly cheek. "I wish… there was a way." His bit his lip, teeth sinking down hard enough to reopen the cut. He barely felt it. "The edge you kept me from… in that sphere of metal." Running his thumb along Erik's sharp cheekbone, Charles' eyes flicked down to the man's thin lips, just a shade darker than his skin. "I've fallen over it."

Erik, step away from him. Now.

"There's no need for that, Emma," Charles sneered, hand dropping away from Erik. "I'd never hurt him. Though it's good to know you still find him useful. Small comforts."

"What tune are we dancing to this time, Charles?" she snapped, now pacing back and forth in front of them like a restless beast.

"You must be scared, Emma," he pointed out darkly.

"Why would I be scared of you?" she laughed, the sound tinkling and empty. "You're a pretty porcelain doll, sugar. But now there are too many cracks and you can't be played with any more." Her eyes darted to Erik before zeroing back in on Charles. "Shaw wants you alive, Charles. But a lady has the right to defend herself."'

"Do you have any shame for what you've done?" he asked with deceptive calm. "How many lives you've knowingly manipulated and ruined for your little game."

"Shut up," she barked, "You stupid little coward. This isn't a game. This is vengeance. I am a soldier. You were collateral damage."

No, Emma, he blared, stepping forward, I was a pawn, just as Erik is a pawn. There is no war but the one you and Shaw seem to be fabricating.

Erik heard Charles clear as a brass horn. Emma faltered, her glittering teeth bared aggressively.

"Charles," he interjected, "How can you say there's no war?" His chest pinched as his memories flashed to bloodshed, oceans of it, and the regret he felt washed out by the fury. "I can tell you what they were going to do to me, Charles. What they were intending to do to all mutants eventually."

Slowly Charles turned to fix his eyes on Erik. The metal-bender was tense, and the continuous press of his care and concern lapped at Charles' consciousness like waves on a shore. His heart broke under the burden of what had to be done. The body bag carrying Mojo's remains flashed through his mind, but what he knew know was so much worse than that. He couldn't let this go on. The screaming, spitting rage roared inside of him and he could feel himself weakening under its onslaught. And he didn't know what would happen. He had no idea what lay behind the wall that held the dark waters at bay.

"Did you know that in some countries parents maim their children?" He ignored Erik's wild look of confusion, gaze sliding back over to Emma. "They know that if they do so their child will earn more money begging on the streets."

"Charles-" Erik pleaded, terrified that the telepath had gone mad. He didn't know if he could bring himself to knock him out, and he didn't trust Emma to stop after Charles was unconscious.

"You think I can't crack your pretty shell, Emma," Charles went on, and there were tears glistening in his eyes. "But I can."

Emma snarled. Try it.

Her fingers flashed like claws and Erik fell back, clutching his head. The room bent; pressure crushing down amidst the rushing in his head, like the wings of thousands of birds beating in time. Charles ran forward, and Emma took a heavy swing at him. Her arm connected with his shoulder and even Erik could feel the pop of bone. But Charles didn't scream; his expression was impassive. She swung again, this time her sharp knuckles catching him on the jaw, slicing along his face to send him crashing to the floor. Impossibly he slammed his good hand down to keep himself upright, raising his head and opening his mouth in a terrible yell. Emma roared in return, her teeth like fangs as she staggered. Blood sheeted the side of Charles' face but he was able to stand, raising his fingers to his temple, his teeth grit in animalistic ferocity.

If he'd hit Mojo and Sinister with a punch, than he hit Emma with a battering ram. He was a body of spikes smashing through, ripping, slashing, and tearing. He hurt her; he milked the pain and amplified it. Charles found more cracks and struck them soundly, spreading the damage. Her defense crumbled as the wall within his mind began to break and let the oily black mass through to burn away at her like acid. Carefully listening, he found stray thoughts, the pathetic attempts to hide away precious memories. Charles pushed and in a neat split of white, he'd broken the diamond defense.

Emma was screaming, her voice a ringing shriek of lightning sound and Erik was sure his ears were bleeding. Then a crack appeared right down the center of her face and the terror and the anger that struck her was something Erik didn't think he would ever forget.

A crystal sheen of dust floated off her body as she slipped back from diamond form. A perfect wet line of red split her noble brow and Charles dropped to his knees beside her, panting. His broken arm hung useless, the shoulder obviously dislocated as blood dripped from his chin. Charles stared down at Emma Frost and found himself viciously wiping away tears with his only good hand, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could be unforgiving. He new what she had done, what strings she'd pulled like a sadistic puppeteer. But then Charles knew that Emma, in the end, was just another pawn.

Erik.

The whisper cooled his mind, gently dusting away the ringing in his ears.

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

He watched Charles reach out and press his palm to Emma's forehead. The blood smeared beneath his hand and she struggled briefly, pupils shrunken and sinking in the cold icy blue of her eyes.

Then it came pouring out of her. Everything. Erik gasped as his mind was assaulted with a dizzying array of sensations, emotions… secrets. He saw the Academy, he saw Charles. And somehow he knew in that moment of Charles' potential, his power. He felt second-hand disgust at the young man's quiet ways, how he went on meekly getting perfect grades and staying out of the way. And he saw the suspicion and fear in Charles' roommate, and the roommate's friends. Erik knew that he was in Emma, reaching into their minds and twisting that suspicion into a lethal frenzy. She was driving the young humans to a point of bestial lust and hatred. They were guided like dogs following the scent of blood to Charles. At first Charles tried to argue, even resorting to using his telepathy – Erik felt the bubbling confusion as Charles realized his powers weren't working. A false imprint of notstrongenough filled the moment and then they were on him, ripping at his clothes like animals, tearing at him. And his voice; not screaming or fighting any longer. Silent. Drenched in terror, shame, and helplessness. Emma had pressed into his mind, notstrongenough.

Tears burned down his face and Erik drove his hands into his hair, tearing at it as he writhed on the ground. Charles still held Emma, his face entirely blank as she twisted and dug her manicured talons deep into his flesh.

When his attackers finally left him broken on the floor Emma had appeared like an angel from on high, a graceful savior to lift Charles above his trauma. Teachyoutobestrong. The promise, the careful promise that led Charles into her clutches, right where she'd put him.

Next the knowledge, bare and direct, that Emma had entered Mojo's mind at Juniper and turned his tentative mental state into a single anger-driven force. She wielded his unrefined ability like a sword and cut through the vulnerable minds, using what information Erik – Erik – had provided to her. Charles should have been in his place, was the narrative whisper self-righteous and chastised, He should have been the one inside. Disappointment flared briefly, again regret at what a weapon he could've been. The potential, but not enough anger. He didn't want his anger, what a fool. What a fool.

But Erik. Erik's anger, cultured and shaped by Shaw's vicious upbringing, was mechanical and clean. The determinate purity of his rage was something of beauty. Emma recalled the joy Sebastian felt, tried to cling to it now as Charles forced her thoughts on, dragging her past it until she had to let it go.

Things shifted. They were alone in a room. Emma and Sebastian. Human faces covered the table, hardened men. Anti-mutant extremists.

Back in the present Emma had begun to growl low in her throat. Charles smiled sadly. I'm going to liberate him, Emma.

Erik knew the faces on the table. He knew them from the red glowing light of hot brands pressing into his skin. The hateful faces staring down at him as they defecated and pissed all over him in the pit where they'd dumped him. Bodies of dead animals were thrown down to rot until he had nowhere to stand but on their corpses. They'd drugged him, given him something so that he couldn't use his powers. They knew all about him, they knew his ability.

Erik, Charles' voice entered his mind. Someone told them about you. Erik, you were given to them.

And he was thrust back into Emma's mind, Charles' touch fading as he was submerged. He saw Emma and Shaw running their fingers over the human faces in the photographs. Their words wandered in and out of clarity.

-the strongest we've got-

-they can be influenced-

-I'll suppress his ability-

-we'll show him why he must hate them-

-I'll release my hold when the time is right-

-a massacre-

-sent to Juniper-

-from the inside-

Erik threw his head back and bellowed. He hurled himself to the ground and slammed his head into the floor, voice ringing ragged as he pressed his teeth into the carpet and screamed. They dissolved into broken sobs, staining the room. "Stop," he begged. "Stop stop stop." He'd seen horrors, lived horrors. Beaten, starved, grown to know pain and anger. And when he was in the possession of the extremist group he thought he'd saw the evils of humanity, he thought he'd saw the reason they all needed to die.

But they were just marionettes on the end of a string. With sudden sickening clarity he remembered when the drowsiness lifted and his ability was open to him once again. At the time the swiftness of his recovery didn't matter. All that mattered was the death of his tormentors. His tormentors who seemed to fall into a daze as soon as his powers awoke; who just stood there looking confused as he slaughtered them. Had it even been them? Who had it been? Bile rose in his throat and he choked, flinching and striking out when a hand gripped him. His fist glanced off a hip and he craned his head to see Charles gazing down at him looking utterly exhausted. He swallowed hard and struggled upright, still leaning heavily on his hands. Eyes cast over to Emma, he realized she was breathing shallowly, fingers spasming through the air as if trying to clutch at something. The blood had broken its singular flow down her forehead, separating off into smaller rivulets to stripe her face.

There was a figure in the doorway, looking down at Emma. Mystique collapsed just inside the door. Her appearance had shifted into a distantly familiar shape of a young blonde woman, her mouth frozen open. Charles looked at her, but made no move to go to her. Though she reached for him.

With a sulfurous crack of smoke Azazel materialized between Mystique and Charles, his bright blue eyes boring into the telepath. He surveyed the room quickly – sparing Emma only a glance - before he knelt to lift Mystique into his arms. She clung to him, and Charles bowed his head as they disappeared.

By this time Emma had managed to turn fitfully onto her side and cough into the white carpet. Neither Erik nor Charles paid her any mind, their eyes having locked onto each other. The truth hung between them, distorting everything. It open a yawning chasm swallowing every perception Erik thought he'd known. A blow to the face would've been less disorienting and Erik fought to breathe underneath the conflicting instinct to be angry for Charles or angry for himself. He'd seen horrors throughout his life, but to imagine that the man who had raised him – albeit it cruelly – had contrived some of the worst. And that Emma would cleanly edit his thoughts to get him ready for another round of callous manipulation, all to serve the purpose he thought they stood around as equals. Pressing his head between his knees, Erik sucked in great lung fulls of air, feeling the effects of shock taking hold of his body. But a hand slid through his hair, cool and firm. Lifting his head, he stared into Charles' blue eyes. Within them was an incredible sadness, shadowed by something much bigger and darker than Erik had ever seen in the telepath's expression. He felt the overwhelming urge to cover Charles' eyes. Instead he took a shuddering breath. Emotions so thick and powerful, laced with gut-wrenching sorrow, poured out of him. They washed against Charles, but he received nothing in return. "Charles, it was never supposed to be this way. I had hoped… you would come with me." He shook his head. "I had hoped-"

"And do what exactly, Erik?" he said calmly. "Join your cause? Rally against the evils of humanity?" Shifting away from the other mutant, Charles stared hard at the floor. A low gurgling noise came from Emma and Charles' gaze snapped to her. "Shaw," he breathed, his voice a black lick of aggravation that turned the familiar tone into something alien. "He's coming."

Erik had never liked Shaw. But he believed in him. He still, somehow, believed in him. The air shifted and Azazel appeared once more, this time right over Charles, his tail whipping forward in a lethal curve of sharp bone. Erik jerked into action, pulling from the metal around him on instinct, but he was too late.

Azazel stood frozen, the tip of his barbed tail a breadth away from Charles' jugular. The telepath stared up into pale blue eyes and cocked his head to the side. "Thank you," he murmured, "For taking Raven to safety. I see that you care for her." Slowly his eyes wandered over Azazel's tense figure. "Fascinating," he noted distantly, drawing a finger along the spike of his red tail. He closed his eyes and trickled into the minds filling the submarine, feeling their fear and confusion. Then a void moving closer. Shaw. With something akin to the snap of fingers, Charles hushed all the minds he could reach outside the den, feeling each flame doused quietly and cleanly. Azazel's body went lax and crashed to the floor in a graceless heap. There was the slightest pull of resistance coming from somewhere else, but Charles wasn't able to follow it as Sebastian Shaw swept into the room. His eyes went first to Emma, lips tightening imperceptibly, before they settled on Charles.

The angularity of Shaw's face was so different from Erik's. Charles could remember beneath the smooth curve of the helmet the protruding cheekbones and snarling mouth. Smoldering under pale eyebrows, his eyes were like twin stones jagged and slicing. At the Academy Charles had both feared and revered him. Following the incident – his rape - Shaw had been an anchor, a confidant. He'd been the first to hold Charles once he could stand touch again, he'd been the one to pull for him and encourage his esteem. What a remarkably robust liar. Though Charles supposed Shaw, somewhere in his shriveled black heart, had cared for Charles. As a huntsman cares for his prized gun. And when the gun refused to fire that regard had shrunk away to a shadowed affect of disappointment.

Standing there now Sebastian was a pillar of ice, lip curling with disdain. Erik stood up next to Xavier, grasping the telepath's arm. Sebastian's eyes fell to watch as Erik's fingers flexed. What an annoying development. Glancing over at Emma he drawled, "Attacking a woman, Charles? I never knew you had it in you."

"That," Charles said in a deceptively measured tone, "Is no woman."

"And I suppose this leads to me next, does it?" he quipped with a slow smirk. "I am no man?"

"You know as well as I that you are a savage, Shaw."

"A god," he corrected smoothly. "A god among men and mutants." Strolling forward, he uttered a jagged bark of laughter when Erik stepped defensively in front of Xavier. The face of the boy he had made was torn with anger, grief, and betrayal. One of the former Juniper inmates down below deck – red eyes, posh bearing – had communicated aloud every nasty little truth Xavier had the audacity to reveal, brilliant crimson eyes wary of the helmet. So Erik knew everything, did he?

Shaw smiled tightly. Anyone who fought for a cause should know; sacrifices had to be made.

"A madman," Charles spat, eyes wandering searchingly over the helmet.

Someone else entered the den, and they all turned to see Sinister looking worse for wear. Shadows sunk his eyes; the nails that gripped the wall were yellowed. The normally taught skin over his face had loosened into a gaunt mask of accelerated age. Beneath the familiar long black lashes his eyes glinted like dim rubies cast in shadow. Leaning heavily against the wall, Sinister took in the room, his mouth tight with concentration to remain upright. Xavier's mental command to sleep had been hard to resist. Hard enough that Sinister had to borrow from his other power stores, leaving behind some of his indefatigable youth. Sitting there looking a little more like the old man he'd been for decades, Sinister surveyed the group of insane mutants he was trapped with two thousand feet underwater. He was sincerely missing Juniper.

Emma stared at Sinister, eyes half lidded while her usual pristine face was still marred by smears of blood. His gaze swiveled over to her and she smiled, one finger crooked towards him.

Ignoring the red-eyed mutant, Sebastian strode up to Xavier and brushed Erik aside effortlessly. He stared down into Xavier's face, noting the zealous blue of his eyes and the reopened cut on his lip. "Pathetic," he murmured, eyebrow twitching as Erik hovered close, a low possessive growl starting in the metal-bender's throat when he curled a finger under Xavier's chin to angle his face up. "You never saw the potential, though I did."

"And because if my potential," Charles murmured darkly, "You had me raped and beaten. To what?" He jerked his head away, glaring defiantly back as Shaw's expression darkened. That damned helmet was a solid wall against his abilities, and no matter how hard he threw himself at it, he couldn't breach the void. "To make me as hateful and jaded as you? As you've done to Erik?" At his side he felt Erik's eyes burning into him. The wretched sting of the other man's thoughts was like being in a child's mind right after the father he admired strikes his mother.

Shaw's hand was suddenly around his throat, deceptively warm and smooth. Erik grabbed Shaw's wrist in warning, but the older man just smirked.

"Erik, you know that you can't do a thing to stop me. You know that. Your little whore here has seduced you into weakness." His words were clipped and matter-of-fact. Weakness was the most deplorable fate for a mutant; he'd long since beaten and humiliated the softness out of Erik, or so he'd thought. It really was a damn annoyance that Charles Xavier had to reappear as the thorn in his side. He wondered if he should snap his neck, though Erik might not forgive him for that. Erik had forgiven him so much, but somehow he knew Charles Xavier would be different. "Do you know that you're the reason for this helmet, Charles?" His fingers tightened, the movement echoed in Erik's grip.

"You're afraid of me," Charles rasped. He choked when Shaw lifted him off the floor. The wine cooler clattered through the air and ricocheted off of Shaw's side. The helmet shone as the monster turned his head and looked bemusedly at Erik. Reaching out, the tip of his finger barely brushed the mutant's chest before he was crashing into the opposite wall. Around them the metal of the sub groaned and Shaw laughed.

"Why, yes, kill us all Erik."

He met Charles' eyes, but the telepath still looked so blank and drawn. Gritting his teeth, Erik paced furiously. There was no way he could beat Shaw. The metal of use was limited considering their location. He had been afraid when Mojo held Charles captive, but this was so much worse. It was Shaw.

Then he remembered Emma, lying there prone on the ground, her white clothing camouflaging her against the carpet. Launching himself across the room, Erik ripped Emma up by the hair and twisted the wine cooler with his ability until it hung suspended at her throat as a long blade. She struggled weakly, eyes bulging when the metal punctured skin. Her powers must be in tatters. That, or she still feared Charles.

They faced each other, Shaw holding Charles aloft, Erik gripping the other telepath mercilessly by the hair. It was a silent clash of titans that Sinister watched with baited breath. Glancing over to the prone figure of the teleporter, Sinister slowly inched towards him, reaching out with what remained of his telepathy. He sought to unlock the door Charles had sealed inside the mutant's head, cutting off his consciousness and leaving a slumbering mind that wouldn't wake until commanded. Sinister intended to take command and save himself before this collection of mad men destroyed them all.

"Let's take a moment, shall we?" Shaw offered, sounding bored. "You harm her, I snap your telepath's neck. And then I'm afraid, Erik, that I'll have to deal with you very harshly."

Charles didn't catch what Erik said, more of a snarl than an articulate reply. He was staring blankly at the floor, acutely aware of Sinister's movements behind them. Emma was glaring at him from across the room. He knew if he tried anything she still had the wherewithal to sense it and that might just result in Shaw carrying out his threat. Vaguely aware of Sinister's plans, Charles was amused at the mutant's blaring sentiment placing their collective sanity in question. Though he did dance around the undeniable truth to Sinister's cautionary deduction. He felt disjointed, empty. There really was nothing to feel. Pity, perhaps, to have thrown Erik into the state of emotional turmoil that sent his mind into a cacophony of defining memories, most of which were regrettably centered around pain. It was easy to sense that Shaw had been some sort of deformed father figure and Erik seemed to think he owed the man his life, despite everything. Charles hoped it was just shock and pointedly ignored the underlying current of solid denial Erik held.

Meanwhile, Sinister had reached the teleporter. He needed to get closer than in his youth, close enough to hear the person's thoughts. Azazel's were muted, drugged. Freezing bare inches from the red mutant, Sinister barely processed the words being exchanged before he made contact. The teleporter's skin was hot to the touch, texture rough and thicker than human skin. Carefully sliding into his mind, Sinister sought the mental hold Xavier had put in place and lifted it like the latch on a door.

Openly gasping when the sharp crack signaled Azazel's liberation, Charles took the split second that Shaw loosened his grip to bolt, dropping quickly before he rolled away and grabbed the nearest thing he could find to fling at the mutant. When it actually hit Shaw Charles realized the man was snarling and tearing at his legs in fury where impossibly tentacles of metal had bled up from the floor to slowly wrap around his legs. The metal fused into steel boots, effectively trapping him until he released enough energy to melt it or break it. Only marveling for a moment, Charles snapped his head around and cried out for Erik when Azazel appeared directly before the metal-bender, reaching for him – he'd teleport him to the middle of the sea, or worse.

Emma had been shoved out of the way as Azazel's tail flew towards Erik's face, barely deflected by the blade he'd crafted from the wine cooler. He knew that the moment Azazel touched him he'd be gone.

It took just shy of a moment to reach out and take hold of Azazel's mind again, Erik landing a well-aimed punch to his jaw before realizing the mutant was standing limp. Glancing at Charles, he nodded sharply and made his way towards Shaw. Charles realized in that moment that he didn't trust Erik enough not to fall victim to Shaw's silver tongue. There was too much there, too much damage, too much sick dependency; not Erik's fault but nevertheless ingrained.

Charles knew Emma had to go before he and Erik could focus completely on Shaw. Twisting around, throat still tender from Shaw's rough hold on him, Charles walked Azazel over to Emma, grabbing her by the back of the neck and hauling her up. Crystal eyes flashed before she offered him a garish grin, frightening and appalling beneath the gauzy shade of blood.

Cursing, Sinister wheeled towards the door, wincing when Shaw kicked one leg free from the metal holds Lensherr had formed. Where was the woman? He glanced over to see the teleporter holding her, his eyes glazed. Then he was caught by her stare and held in sway. Her teeth were startlingly white. Sinister's heart stuttered, his mouth opening to gasp a silent scream as her lips twisted maniacally.

Charles yelled, "Go!" And the pair of mutant's disappeared in the sulfurous smoke. At the same moment Sinister crumpled into a coughing fit, twitching spasmodically against the doorframe. Charles would put him back to sleep, keep him out of the way. But Miss Frost needed her last rights. He followed the trail Azazel left for miles, closing in on the mental line hovering over the blasting icy waters black as pitch below. From their height the water looked like a sheer pewter rock face. Emma's feet dangled, face turning an alarming shade of crimson as Azazel's tail coiled around her neck. In an ungainly display of panic that Charles would otherwise never associate with her, Emma kicked and flailed. Her tongue lolled out her mouth as spittle flew in lieu of words. Azazel frowned for Charles.

"Emma," he said, thick Russian accent carrying the distinct British cadence. Charles faltered, staring into the eyes filled with uncharacteristic terror. Thoughts sprung at his mind like the barest hints of wings. He was too far to hear, Azazel a buffer between their minds. He didn't want to hear her words, but something about the fear and the panic in her expression derailed him. Up until this point Charles had thought Emma Frost would rather succumb to death than be humiliated and beg. A chord was struck and Charles felt tears running down Azazel's face by proxy. He didn't know what this was. Revenge? An ugly thing. He winced when her choked cries began to take shape, hand signaling wildly.

"Sin-" she croaked, "I- Sin-"

Charles began to unravel Azazel's tail. "There's no time for penance. The sea will forgive your sins."

She dropped like a stone. Charles left before he could see her hit the water.

…

Charles opened his eyes to find Shaw in the process of throwing Erik across the den, sending the man crashing into the wall opposite. Every available shred of metal in the place was flying at the helmeted mutant, but of course it did nothing. Charles shook his head, stowing Azazel like a toy off to the side of room. Sinister was nowhere to be found, ever the opportunist. Attention snapping back as Shaw laughed cruelly, Charles caught sight of blood along Erik's cheek. He didn't know whose fight this was any longer.

Eyes slicing across the telepath, Sebastian drawled, "I destroyed all credibility on your record, hoping to drive you back." He regarded Charles aloofly. "You were almost perfect. Such beautiful potential." Arching forward as Erik smashed a chair into his back, Sebastian grabbed the metal-bender by the shoulder and squeezed hard enough to rip a muffled scream out of him. One leg was still caught in Erik's ridiculous little trap, and with a flash of annoyance Sebastian noticed the metal was actively bleeding up his leg.

The cracks in his mental wall widened. Charles paced closer to Shaw, eyes darting to Erik's pained expression. Flying metal swerved neatly around him, continuing its tireless – if ineffective - assault on Shaw. Charles was close enough to reach out and touch the mutant when he stopped.

"I promised those academic recommendations, but I'm afraid I may have said too much," Sebastian purred. "In all fairness, you were quite unstable at the time." Erik aimed a kick at his side, but he only absorbed it and pushed the rebounding blow into the bone of Erik's shoulder. A shallow gasp from his protégé lit up a smile on his face as he continued to chat with Xavier as if they were at evening tea. "And always so smart. That's why," he grunted when the metal cast on his leg began to tighten until he felt a distinct strain. Jerking his fist, Erik couldn't muffle the outraged shout mangled by pain that escaped him as Sebastian cleanly dislocated his shoulder. "That's why I had this made." He motioned at the helmet. "If you ever grew a backbone you'd be out for revenge." A smile blossomed when Charles' expression darkened. "Ah, there it is. I'd like more of that. I'd like you to fight me with all you've got and when you lie at my feet-" he bared his teeth as he threw Erik like a ragdoll against the floor- "you will realize that I am all you have left."

Charles was shaking. He knew Shaw could see it by the way his eyes crinkled at the edges with amusement. "I killed Emma, Shaw. You think that if I can crack her diamond form and drop her into the sea that I can't touch you?" Circling steadily, Charles never broke eye contact with Shaw as he crouched down next to Erik. Laying a hand over the back of his neck, he whispered into his head, Erik. I have an idea. We must work quickly, my friend.

The telepath stiffened when Sebastian's fingers carded through that thick brown hair. He smiled, head cocked to the side. "It's a dog eat dog world."

Shaw seemed amused and that unsettled Charles more than anger. He sucked in a breath when long graceful fingers tightened in his hair, angling his head back so he stared into Shaw's stony eyes at a harsh angle. The feel of the man's touch was sickening. Pressure built under his brow, skin flushing with the heat of nameless rage that shoved against the mental wall keeping it from consuming him and driving him to do exactly what Shaw described. He could feel what control he had left slipping, as if a mob of angry people were beating at a wooden door. When they finally broke through…

He leaned down to whisper into Charles' ear, "When I tell you everything we've done, Charles you won't have a choice but to join us. I might forgive Erik this transgression; you always were such a pretty boy."

His blood boiled at the sight of Shaw petting Charles. But Erik stayed low, his shoulder enflamed with agony. Reaching out with his power he felt along the floor.

"You were a lamb amidst the wolves," Sebastian lamented. "But that's exactly what I'd wanted. The Academy primed a vicious pack of human wolves, the perfect villains in our heroic story." Charles' eyes widened almost comically. "How are we supposed to wage a war without enemies, Charles?" he lectured. "If I didn't teach them to act on their hate than the mongrels would just continue to strut around like they own the planet. But they don't. We do."

Charles bit his lip when Shaw's hand jerked in his hair. He should've known. The Academy was just a breeding ground for future anti-mutant leaders – the exact figures Shaw was planning to make examples out of. Shaw perpetuated a culture of hatred for mutants at the Academy, and Charles was sure Emma had been just as much a part. Raising the stock he was to slaughter, just to give a "them" to counter the "us". Charles swallowed down bile.

"And you know," he kept on, following the scattered patches of bruising over Charles' face. "When you were attacked, as I watched through Emma when they poured all of their hate into you…" He forced Charles' eyes up to stare directly into his own. "It was beautiful. You were beautiful. I saw the phoenix burning in you, and I could picture your rise from the ashes to conquer your tormentors as we will all conquer the cockroaches who think they rule us."

His finger was just dipping to trace Charles' lip when Shaw was ripped up from the ground by the metal boot trapping his foot. It magnetized to the ceiling with a clean click and Erik burst into action, cradling Shaw's head and loosening the helmet in a matter of seconds as the mutant hung stunned.

Then Shaw was laid bare. And Charles opened the floodgates.

…

Erik was aware of screaming. It was the bloodcurdling sound of dying. It chilled him, though he'd heard it before. Once in his life he'd made that sound before.

He was also aware of Charles, but Erik couldn't collect himself enough to find him. The terrible screams were choked off for seconds before they started up again, somehow… wetter than before. Like flickers of flame Erik caught nuances of shadowed emotions he couldn't name. Then regret grew to the forefront of his mind like a tattered banner and pulsated outwards until Erik could feel the hot sting of tears being pulled from him. He realized the regret was secondhand, swirling like smoke all around him. Trying to shake free from it, Erik found his body too heavy. The lack of sight hadn't occurred to him until he tried to open his eyes. Panic settled in his gut when the screaming broke, nothing but an agonized scrape of inhuman noise. Whatever was behind that horrible sound was kept from him, actively covered though the regret kept running over him like water. Eventually even the skeleton of that scream corroded. Left in its wake was a gaping rift of grief.

Charles, he thought. Charles.

The faintest voice answered him. Erik?

Erik opened his eyes, blinking as the drowsiness evaporated from his limbs and he could sit up. The first thing he saw was Shaw, still suspended from the ceiling. His hard eyes were splayed open, the whites bloodshot and showing all around the steely iris and a shrunken pupil. Shaw's mouth was open, still caught in the shape of that scream torn from inside of him. The sharp tongue that delivered the words that had both broken and built Erik lolled out his mouth.

Scanning the room, Erik found Charles curled up in a ball against the leather couch, staring sightlessly at the corpse. Moving slowly as his sluggish limbs regained their control Erik dragged himself closer. Reaching out with a quivering hand, he caught the edge of Charles' elbow, curling around it. Struck blue eyes didn't shift away from Shaw's body. The telepath's frame was so taught that every muscle stood out in his slender neck, the knuckles of his good hand stark white where they dug into his leg. His broken arm, still slumped and dislocated at the shoulder, curled over the floor uselessly. Erik felt answering sympathy in his own shoulder, already swollen and aching where Shaw had popped the socket as easily as a doll's.

"Charles," he murmured, gingerly putting an arm around the telepath's shoulders. Blue eyes snapped from Shaw to him.

"I gave it all to him," Charles whispered, his voice full of wonder. "I released it, everything I've been hiding, running from. It poured out of me," he explained slowly, "Into him." Looking helplessly into Erik's concerned face Charles grabbed a handful of the metal-bender's shirt. "I killed him, Erik."

The change in the telepath was noticeable. Charles looked exhausted, but the shadows were absent from his expression, the darkness swimming in his eyes was gone. "He killed himself, Charles," he comforted. The thought of Shaw dead was too huge to consider. Erik instead held Charles closer, careful not to jolt his shoulder. If Charles meant what Erik thought… He looked down into Charles' face to see it open and clear. Blue eyes were bright, if tired and glistening with unshed tears. He looked lighter. Erik wondered if this person in his arms was more like the Charles that once was.

"You think I've been cleansed," he noted, leaning away from the other man. Shaking his head in disbelief, Charles turned to look at Shaw, jaw clenching. "I took the anger and I cut it out like a tumor," he recalled. "But I can't just make it disappear. I can't make myself forget. So I-" he paused thoughtfully, eyes lingering on Shaw's fixed expression. "I transplanted it." Taking a deep breath, he pulled out of Erik's embrace. "Let's leave, Erik. Let's leave this place. I'll wake the others and they can go, but let's first get out of here."

"How?"

A tremulous smile broke out over his face. "A submarine, Erik, is made of metal. Take us to the surface. Then take us to land."

Leaving the room, leaving Shaw's tortured expression frozen in death, Erik left Charles in the medical room while he went over the controls of the sub and tried to override the autopilot. Below the inmates still slept on peacefully, along with the rest of Shaw's crew.

Considering the controls with a critical eye, he began to puzzle out the panel of commands. Nearly jumping out of his skin when he heard movement, Erik whipped his head around to see Sinister slinking around the door.

"You made yourself scarce," he grumbled, returning his attention to the controls.

"Hmm," Sinister hummed vaguely. "Had to get my bearings. Where is Charles?"

"Medical room," he said shortly. Sinister gave him a long look before walking out of the room.

…

Charles dabbed the alcohol along his cheek, hissing at the sharp burn. But it was a welcome distraction. If he let himself think too much he'd be taken back to Shaw's face right before his voice died. That moment had been Charles' awakening. Now he went about cleaning his wounds in a state of disbelief. What he'd done to Shaw – well, it felt like someone else had done it. Someone so angry and brutal that Charles shied away from the feeling it had inspired. But it was intimately familiar to him. Was it him? Or just a jagged piece of himself?

Distracted by his thoughts, Charles didn't see Sinister until the mutant was standing over him. He jumped and jarred his shoulder badly, gasping before it dissolved into a self-deprecating chuckle. "Mister Sinister," he acknowledged, mouth twisting as he shifted over to allow the mutant space to sit. He waited until Sinister had settled next to him, brilliant eyes boring into Charles with undue intensity. "Did you see Erik?" Sinister's head tilted thoughtfully, one hand wandering over to finger the surgical knife Charles had used to pry the alcohol open. When it became obvious that Sinister wasn't going to answer, Charles swabbed the lip of the bottle with a fresh cotton ball before wiping it over another cut.

All the while Sinister stared at him with a detached sort of irritation shading his features. He was absently toying with the surgical knife.

"I never got a chance to tell you, Sinister," he said, "But you were a great help with the Sanctuary. You were just as much a part of that as anyone." He stared down at the contrast of his purplish bruising against the crisp white of his bandages. "Perhaps you'll build a new life, a new Sanctuary-"

His blue eyes grew wide when the surgical blade slid into his side.

Sinister's laugh was cold. "Oh, sugar, I don't think so."

Charles gasped, the strange gushing of heat out his middle secondary to the absolutely chilling realization that Emma Frost was currently pulling a bloodied blade out of his body, her mannerisms now crystal clear even as she wore Mister Sinister's skin.

"It's a form of projection," she said by way of explanation. "Or I suppose you could call it more of a possession." Teeth flashed in a grin. "To make it real simple, sugar, I threw him out of his body and into mine."

His hand weakly moved over his stomach as the truth slammed into him of what Emma –Sinister – had tried to tell him before he fell to his death. Charles looked down at the spreading stain of blood. There was no pain. But Charles didn't want that; it meant his body was shutting down, heart thundering both with shock and raw horror at what he'd accidentally done to Sinister. He looked up into Emma's eyes, seeing her smug cruelty shining through Sinister's face.

Erik, he whispered. Erik.

Emma twirled the blade in her fingers. "Maybe I'll slit your throat, Charles." Rolling the butt of the knife against her lips in thought, she finally decided, "No. I'd much rather watch you bleed out. This fool's mind limits me too much to have stopped you from killing Sebastian, but I suppose I can still honor him by letting you suffer." The blade flashed and she turned it again, its hypnotizing pattern drawing her gaze more than Charles' fading blue eyes. "Things will be different now with a woman in charge." She laughed easily. "Maybe I should thank you, Charles-" She froze as the blade in her hand turned against her grip. Glancing up at Charles, she saw relief in his gaze right before the knife buried itself between her eyes.

Erik leapt over the falling body to press frantic hands to Charles' stomach. The man was deathly pale, bone white. He gasped against the tears that fell, sobs pulling at his chest as he snarled through his teeth. Blood defied his hands and continued to spring forth and soak Charles in red. Teeth bared, he took the knife and reshaped it, creating a malleable plate. It drifted down and sealed itself over the stab wound, bleeding down into fit the puncture and press the flesh until the blood no longer had an opening to breach. Any hope that this was a solution was a blatant lie. Erik tried to catch Charles' eyes as the telepath keeled over.

"Charles," he yelled, shaking him, his shoulder screaming as he called out, "Charles!" He'd die. He'd die if Erik didn't get him to a hospital. Helpless to do anything more, Erik pulled himself onto the cot and cradled Charles in his arms. With his power he reached out and took hold of the submarine with newfound strength, urging it up to the surface at a reckless pace. He only hoped the pressure monitors could keep up with his speed.

Burying his face into Charles hair, terrified when he was met with silence, Erik pleaded, "Charles, answer me. Can you feel me? Please!"

The next second the sub was rocked by an external vibration. Erik could feel it through the metal. Counting to three, he screamed through his teeth when he lifted Charles while one arm lanced with pain as he carried him to the control room. Charles' glazed eyes revolved like they had vertigo. He staggered when another vibration rocked the sub, and he could hear sharp crackling of static on the sub's radio. Coming closer to the panel he saw a huge signal on the radar, approaching them swiftly on the surface.

A familiar voice cut through the static. "-stand down!"

"Moira," Charles murmured dreamily, blood flecking his lips. "Erik, politely notify her that I am dying and need medical attention posthaste, would you."

"Shut up, Charles," Erik snapped. Unclipping the radio he called through to the others, "Charles is in critical condition. We'll meet you topside in-" he checked the gauges "-five minutes. Is McCoy with you?"

Moira seemed flustered, "Is this… Lensherr?"

"Answer my question, Captain," he growled.

"Yes, I'm here!" came Hank McCoy's voice. "What's happened to Charles?"

"Stab wound, abdominal," he gritted out, hugging Charles closer to his chest.

Hank's voice was hard when it crackled over the radio, "We'll need to move fast."

…

Darwin stood outside Charles' hospital room. He was alone in the hallway, stationed like a sentinel on watch. As the hours slowly ticked by, he took a deep breath and glanced through the small window set in the door to Charles' resting room where he'd been recovering from a harrowing surgery finished hours before.

Erik was aware of the guard outside, there more for his sake than Charles. He had no doubt that they would try and return him to custody once Charles awoke. Of course Erik had no intention of going back, only of moving forward. Over the last twelve hours, he'd done nothing but fret. Now that Charles slept peacefully under his watch, he'd taken the time to think. Of Shaw, of Emma, of their blatant betrayal and the lie they'd made out of the cause Erik had dedicated his life to. When Charles woke from this healing sleep, where did they stand? Though he had no intention of leaving Charles' side, the reality was that staying was impossible. He was a wanted criminal, escaped from jail. Furthermore, they knew about his ability. The government would want him subdued for the danger he could pose. And would pose.

Even with Shaw's death, Erik couldn't accept that the cause would die with him. There was no one to say that those humans who'd held him wouldn't have done the same awful things without the setup. The hatred was still real.

But what of Charles? Running long fingers through his hair, Erik watched the feathery tresses brush across the pale brow. Long eyelashes brushed the apples of his cheeks, partially obscured by bandages. A proper sling supported his arm; shoulder still swollen after the doctors had popped his arm back into its socket. The same was done for Erik, though he'd long since removed the sling. His shoulder still smarted with each movement, but he hadn't the time to coddle his wounds. There was nothing to spare outside of his concern for Charles. The doctors still hadn't confirmed if he would wake at all, though the surgery was successful in stopping internal bleeding, though they'd had to remove a piece of intestine. Erik hadn't listened too thoroughly to the details. All he heard was that Charles would live, but the coma could hold. If he didn't wake up…

If he didn't, Erik would travel into Hell to avenge him.

Laying his head down on Charles' chest, he listened to the rhythmic beating of his heart. IVs led from his good arm, patches monitoring his vital signs decorating his bare chest. The soft beeping of the machines told him Charles was alive, but Erik was desperate for more. Running his fingers over smooth skin, Erik traced the bandages covering his side, curling over the protruding hipbone. Checking the door to make sure Darwin had returned to his spot outside, Erik hefted himself onto the bed, careful not to disturb the IV.

Light as a breath he brushed his lips against Charles' mouth. They were warm, still red as blood. He kissed him again, swiping his tongue along Charles' lower lip to taste him. And he called out mentally, Charles. Charles, do you hear me? He lifted his face away and stared sadly at the quiet drops of salty tears fallen from his own eyes. Waiting in silence, Erik gave up after a few minutes, succumbing to the steady beep of the machines. He settled his head on Charles' chest to continue to listen to his heart.

Erik.

Jerking up, Erik stared down as Charles' eyelashes fluttered while his eyes moved beneath closed lids. "Charles," he uttered hoarsely, gripping the telepath's arm. "Can you open your eyes?"

My friend, you've come for me.

"I never left. I've been here the entire time," he whispered back, willing Charles to open his eyes. He desperately needed to see them. "By your side. Oh, Charles, open your eyes."

Kiss me again. There was a faint curl of amusement. That will break the White Witch's spell.

Erik practically fell onto him, eagerly pressing their lips together. He moaned when a hot tongue darted out. And when he drew back, tired blue eyes crinkled warmly in a smile. Charles' red lips were wet, a quiet blush stealing over his cheeks. Everything in the entire world fell away from them. Nothing else mattered. Not Shaw, not the cause, not the forces that would keep them apart.

"You think you're Sleeping Beauty?" he murmured, grinning when Charles laughed silently.

That would make you my Prince Charming, wouldn't it?

His smile broadened, hand stroking Charles' hair and face reverently. "I'm not very charming." Bending his neck, he caught Charles' mouth again; jaw working as the other man opened beneath him. He fought to calm his pounding heart as he was swamped with heat and want. With a careful flick of his power he melted the lock on the door. Thrilled amusement danced on the edge of his consciousness as Charles brought up a hand to grip the back of Erik's neck, guiding him in deeper.

It would be hours yet before anyone found them. Darwin had mysteriously fallen into a light sleep, and the nurses couldn't remember why they hadn't checked Charles Xavier's room on their rounds that evening. When they finally got into the room it was to find Charles sitting up in bed, calmly reading one of the medical periodicals kept in the side table. Erik Lensherr was nowhere to be found and upon questioning, Charles made no indication that he'd even seen the mental-bender after he woke.

But before the enchantment ended, before Erik left Charles with a heartfelt promise to find him, it was only Erik. And only Charles.

…

The End.

…

A/N: Thank you everyone who continued on this journey until the end.

-Villain