Author's Note: Charles and Xavier hurt my heart. I needed something to make myself happy again. So I wrote McKellen!Erik's slightly more emotive, less tight-ass soul, into Fassbender!Erik's body.

Incidentally, it might seem a bit disjointed in areas. That's on purpose because Erik is confused.

Also, he may seem a bit OOC. Please keep in mind that, despite being tossed ass backwards into his younger body, he is still a much worldlier, way older version of himself who's been through a lot and has had a lot of time to have regrets. This is the mother of all do overs for him.

On a final note: *this is an AU- canon divergence* certain events, i.e. deaths, will not be how things were in the movie or in the comics.

Ferrari gave it a quick read through because she is awesome and I love her. There's still probably all sorts of things wrong with this fic though. I apologize.

~.~

Regret.

It's something that Erik is more than used to- has had decades to sharpen it into a weapon to drive into his own heart- and as the darkness closes in around a set of brilliant blue eyes, he can only smirk.

He's got a large piece of shrapnel piercing various internal organs. He's bleeding profusely through multiple newly created orifices in his body, and breathing is starting to be more of a chore than anything else-

-but it's the irony that's killing him.

Years of idly looking for the right time, of preparing and planning exactly what to say and do and entertaining thoughts of forgiveness and now, when it counts the most, he doesn't have the air in his lungs. As it is, he barely has the strength in him to keep his eyes on the last thing he'll ever see.

Erik wants to say that he's always known that it would end like this, but that would be lying, wouldn't it? Because see, that would be ignoring that huge part of him that's never stopped reaching for Charles, that still hasn't stopped looking for the man who hadn't been at his side since that day on the Cuban shore, six decades ago. Even now it struggles, making Erik's broken, failing wreck of a body try one last time to make the connection it so dearly craves.

He's overjoyed when Charles reaches back, satisfied (for a given definition of the word) in the knowledge that there would have been a chance, atleast, if there had been time for such things.

Erik is at peace.

He blinks, then, and sees the sky through a haze, a large metal behemoth of a satellite dish- and he sees bright, blue eyes in the same shade, looking at him through tears and familiarity.

"What on earth-?" he mumbles, before the darkness drags him down again and he feels himself fall.

When he wakes up the first time, it's to those blue eyes again. And also Charles' face, except this version of Charles is so much younger than what Erik is used to anymore.

Specifically, he looks about 60 years younger, healthy and vibrant like when Erik had first met him, and it takes a surprising amount of self control to not reach out. Then again, his body feels as though it's made of lead, as though he's reached the absolute limit of his endurance.

That's twice he finds himself useful to do nothing but stare.

Maybe this is supposed to be his hell, he thinks idly (hazily, exhaustedly) as he looks on, maybe he's supposed to feel longing and guilt for the rest of eternity and ponder on the things he wishes he could have fixed. Or perhaps he's going to end up reliving every mistake he's ever made in regards to this man.

It would be apt, would be everything he deserved.

"I don't know what you're mumbling about, Erik," says not-Charles in the meantime, his calm voice at war with the frightened look on his face, and apparently, Erik has been talking out loud without realizing. "But discounting the fact that you seem to think that you're dead, I'm frankly a little insulted that you equate my face to brimstone and fire. I happen to think that I have a nice face."

"Of course you do," Erik finds himself saying before he's falling asleep once more, this time to the sound of panicked chatter.

"But then, you always did."

He's had this dream before.

The second time he wakes up, it's to the sight of familiar faces, drawn up in worry and tears- Raven, Hank, Alex, Sean- all so, so young and unaware of what their futures hold for them. It makes him ache, makes him grit his teeth against his own traitorous brain as it superimposes their faces with their long dead counterparts.

(Sean is the first to go, the bravado of his youth tempered only a little by age and responsibilities. He dies in a meaningless way, his face frozen in a rictus of pain and horror, the rest of him torn apart. They hurt him, and hurt him, in the name of science or maybe in the name of protecting humankind. They don't even see him for the scared young boy that he really is, don't even let him rest in peace once he's gone.

Seeing the pictures in Sean's autopsy report, seeing one of his boys reduced to nothing more than a number in a file, is what finally tips him over from Erik to Magneto.)

(Alex though, about two years after Erik is buried with the image of a grinning, redheaded, twerp of a boy-child branded into his brain, Alex is the one that digs him back up - kicking and screaming in rage and sorrow.

"It's alright, dude," he chokes out, blood oozing out of the gaping hole where most of his abdomen had once been, "Collateral damage."

"Don't call me 'dude'," Erik whispers frantically, even as he pulls the boy closer and tries to put more pressure on what he can reach. God, what has he done?

"It's alright," Alex whispers with his last breath as the world falls apart around him.

He doesn't die a soldier's death, not like he would have imagined. Instead, he takes his last breath at the hands of a man who had broken his heart years ago, who had given him a family just to rip it away again. He dies because Erik is careless, because Erik doesn't think of consequences when he's in the mood to single-handedly annihilate.

It's Erik who deserves it, but Alex who pays the price. The Sentinels don't stop coming.)

(Hank is next, although it's a few years after the first two. He, atleast, dies trying to protect the last of his team, the only person his own age that he has left from before.

His death is clean, for a given definition of the word, especially when considering that he takes a good chunk of what's left of Erik's soul with him. He just gets stabbed, right through the heart, and he's out before he even hits the ground.

It's possibly the most meaningless of the lot, though.

Raven gets captured not two hours after his death, and she spends the hours, days, months that he'd bought for her- had bartered for with his own life- in sorrow and torment.)

(Raven is the last to go, the entirety of her merged into a single point of clarity where she becomes almost single handedly responsible for the beginning of the end. She won't ever know though, because she is long dead, agony painting her features against the wires in her veins, the never healing wounds- all left there for nothing more than the ego and ambition of a single man monster.)

It's physically painful to have to compare the two versions, to see bright, young faces turned to masks of blood and war.

When the darkness takes him this time, Erik is glad for it. He manages to mumble something about them not giving Charles a hard time, promises to hug them more and take them out for a trip of some sort-has a few seconds to savor the words on his tongue despite how foreign they feel, before he's gone to the world.

He misses the way they settle in around his bed, as though for the long hall.

The third time he wakes up, he manages to drag himself (slowly, painfully, why on earth does he feel like he's been run over by a tractor?) to the bathroom, to stare into the mirror at his young, young face.

He still doesn't know if he's dreaming or if it is some other working of time. He's definitely leaning more towards this being a dream of some sort, but he can't discount being tossed back in time either. Lord knows time travel has been their biggest method of survival until now, until later, until whenever, and being young in his dreams has never made him hurt quite like this before.

'Mr. Lensherr,' he hears, a scolding voice that quickly turns into one of horror, before his body locks up and he finds himself slipping off again.

The fourth time he wakes up, it's to the feel of wispy, soft somethings (is that hair?) on his chest and to the hum of surrounding metal in his veins.

Only one of these is familiar enough to not make him want to run.

He's just steeling himself- and he must be in bad shape if the metal puns are coming out- but he's preparing himself to launch some sort of assault, gathering power at his fingertips when he finds himself shushed.

There's something covering his mouth, a foreign piece of metal injecting something in his veins, and someone just ignominiously cuts him off before he can get enough steam going to raze things down.

"Shh, Erik," he hears. "Do stop reacting to everything with violence, yes?"

He sounds sleepy, like he's just woken up, which- well, the wispy feeling against his skin makes a lot more sense now, atleast.

Erik opens his eyes to Charles- impossibly young, gorgeous Charles- and, just like that, the wind is removed from his sails, and he finds himself filled with hope. The man is as, as fluffy as Erik has always remembered him, ruffled and sweater clad, and there is a very distinct, highly terrifying possibility that he isn't dreaming all this up.

"No," Charles says, amused and impossibly fond like he hasn't been in too long, "I'm afraid to say that you are not." He pauses for a second before continuing on, suddenly somber in a way that Erik is too tired to contemplate.

"Honestly though, I'm not sure what to do about the fact that you seem to think of me as...fluffy, was it? I can't be fully sure if that's what you meant, seeing as I can only catch about two out of every ten words that you're saying. Still though, fluffy?"

Either he's reading Erik's mind or Erik really needs to regain control over his brain to mouth filter. Judging by the fact that Charles isn't trying to claw his eyes out over mentally implying that he's abusing his powers, Erik has to concede that it has to be the latter.

"Nothing. It's nothing." he rasps out, wondering at how much of a chore it is to use his powers in even such a miniscule way- it feels like he's moving a fucking boulder rather than a tiny little thing of metal and plastic. "What year is it?"

He then looks around and asks a more important question, "And where in the bloody hell am I?"

The somber look does not disappear from Charles' face at his question. If anything, he actually looks worse, as though he blames himself for something and hasn't been able to sleep because of it.

Erik knows a little of what that's like.

"What's wrong?" he asks, wincing a little at how he sounds like he's been gargling stones and watches, alarmed, as Charles' entire face crumples. He's not ashamed to admit that he's never known how to deal with Charles when he's like this, not even 60 years into the future, when things had been less new and more familiar despite the distance. Rather, he's never known how to handle things in a way that could possibly be perceived of condescending, or coddling.

"I am so, so sorry," Charles says meanwhile, sounding wretched and making Erik feel like he's just willfully and maliciously kicked a very small, very cute puppy. "So very, very sorry. I didn't mean for things to happen this way."

What in the world is that supposed to mean? What does Charles have to apologize about? Erik would be willing to swear in a court of law that Charles has never truly hurt anyone before. At least, not enough to sound like he does right now, as though he's gone and murdered someone's favorite aunt.

"You've been having seizures for the past few days, Erik," Charles responds very, very quietly, because apparently Erik still hasn't learned to think and not talk when he needs to, "each one worse than the last. None of the doctors could figure out why. But, apparently your brain waves have been incredibly erratic."

Well, that could be easily explained by how Erik had been suddenly thrown back in time, back into his younger body if Charles' lack of reaction is anything to go by. While it is concerning, it's more so in the long run rather than anything else and dependent, of course, on if they would continue to.

But that's not how Charles sees it, unfortunately.

"I should have never made you move that sattelite," he whispers, miserable.

Erik has a moment of clarity, an epiphany even because he recognizes this. This is a normal, everyday case of Charles taking responsibility for something he didn't do, something that Erik had put up with for years, even after they parted ways. Things would have to be handled with caution if Erik wants to get away without losing a limb, but it shouldn't be too, too difficult to settle things.

"When," he asks carefully, gauging Charles' reaction as though he were a ticking time bomb, "have you ever been able to make me do anything?" He chooses to ignore the fact that it had never taken more than a bat of Charles' baby blues to get Erik to grant him his every wish, even from the very beginning when they had barely known each other and Charles had asked Erik to stay. Despite the fact that he's regularly accused (or is it 'had been regularly'?) of being emotionally constipated, he knows that this isn't the time to point such things out.

Charles laughs wetly, like he's just barely stopping himself from crying. "This is very true," he hiccups. "Everyone knows that you're more immoveable than a bloody boulder, when you set your mind to something."

Erik nods as well as he is able. "Precisely," he says before pausing for a second. "Wait," he states then, because assuming that he hasn't gotten his timelines crossed…

"Wait, did I actually ask you to shoot me in a fit of adrenaline and bravado?"

For all that Erik's tone is mild (bored, even), Charles' laugh is a lot more genuine- and loud.

"So you do admit that asking me to do that was blatantly stupid? In terrible, horrible ways?"

How does an innocent question translate into an admission of stupidity? Even if Charles had actually gone through with it, Erik is 98% sure that he could've stopped it, even as untrained as he'd been- is now.

Of course, when Erik says as much, all Charles does is laugh, an indulgent look in his too blue eyes even as he combs his fingers through Erik's hair.

"Perhaps," he says, all mischief and better mood now that he knows that Erik isn't completely damaged and suddenly, Erik is hit by the desire to keep this, to never, ever let it go.

(Not again.)

Whatever it takes, he promises himself as he drifts off to the lilt in Charles' voice.

The fifth time he wakes up, he manages to stay awake and plan.

It doesn't actually take a lot for him to come to terms with the fact that he's back in the past.

Well, alright, it does take a lot to come to terms in the sense that everything is- is old. There isn't even a bloody proper cell phone in this day and age, much less the internet, much less a laptop, and Erik has never regretted not being a crotchety old man in his previous before, before everything had restarted.

Mistakenly asking to borrow a laptop ends with him being given a breakfast-in-bed lap table type thing, and asking for a cell phone gets him stared at.

He's also learned, the hard way, that asking for the year is not a stellar idea-because he's in a hospital for unexplained seizures, which means that they're on the look out for brain damage and various other whatevers that doctors look for when their patient's start convulsing for no apparent reason that they can see.

Long story short, asking for the year results in a battery of tests that have Erik wanting to rip someone's spine out just to beat them with it.

To boot, Erik is stuck reconstructing as much as he can from memory which, while it takes up time, is also tentative at best because it's 60+ years into the past now, which means that he spends a great deal of time second guessing himself.

It's all highly irritating and also somewhat unsettling, if he's to be honest.

There are things that have to happen, he knows, because if they don't, the world could have problems.

For example, Shaw has to die.

World War III needs to be averted. But it all has to be done with finesse so that when the times comes for Erik to make his move, Charles and the children don't get caught in the crossfire. Erik doesn't think that he can take losing them again, proverbially or not- knows that it would tear him apart to the point where he would, at the very least, actually go insane.

"Dude," Sean says, interrupting Erik's thoughts as he clatters his way in with an arm full of "real food" and the other full of balloons of some sort. Alex is in tow with his own armful of goodies. "You look zoned. But like, not zoned(1), you dig? Heavy thoughts, man."

"Shut up, Sean," Erik says, and relishes every word, in being able to pile affectionate abuse on the very alive young man, "Now bring that over here and don't think about it around Charles. You know how he gets when he thinks I'm dying."

"Right," Alex replies, voice dry as the Sahara, as he sits down at the edge of Erik's bed and watches Sean obligingly spreads out his loot, "because there's enough of a sample pool, that's you dying by the way, that the Prof's got just the reaction lined up."

Erik very calmly pushes Alex back off the bed; Sean laughs and tells him that using Hank's words doesn't make him smart.

"A smart ass, maybe," he smirks.

Alex flips them both the bird and only looks moderately ashamed at the stern look that Erik levels at him.

Erik has, apparently, lost his touch over the years- atleast, where admonishing his brats and instilling the fear of God in them is concerned. He can't quite work himself up over that though, because after all, he's got a lot more time now to fix that little issue.

That thought alone is enough to make him smile.

("Oh my God, what are you, a shark?! Put those things away!" Alex yells, and laughs and laughs as Erik chokes on his own spit.)

("I need an adult!" Sean yelps, pretending to leap behind a cabinet.)

(By that point, though, Erik is well prepared. "I am an adult," he deadpans and watches with satisfaction as the boys cackle until they're collapsing.)

Pleasant distractions aside, however, Erik really does need to sit down and think things through and being in this room isn't going to give him the space he needs.

The nurses are constantly watching him, the doctors are on some sort of rotation schedule just to torture him with stupid questions, and Charles and the children keep dropping by at random intervals which, while nice, is absolutely not conducive to plotting.

It doesn't take him long to decide to leave, the sound of panicked chatter like music to his ears as he climbs out the window and reminisces on his life the first time around- before Schmidt had come along to ruin everything.

Atleast, he thinks, the worst his mother had ever done was send him to his room.

He honestly can't say what would happen if the so called 'medical professionals' ever caught him, and he doesn't plan on finding out.

~.~

(1) 'zoned' in the 60's = stoned

End Note: R & R, please. No flames. Concrit only.