A/N: This story mainly revolves around the idea what if canon!Erik pisses off a mutant with his mutant supremacy, humans must diediedie ideals and has the power of consciousness transference (is that even a power?) and he is mentally pushed into a universe where he's very much human (mutation is tied to DNA yes?) and an actor for a profession like his husband Charles, think Brangelina, and gets first hand experience of what it feels like to be ordinary though at the same time also gets to experience what it is like to be a part of a family unit (comes A/B/O dynamics) and being in a relationship with a Charles whose Erik haven't disappointed yet to ridiculous levels and is wholly devoted to him.

Then of course we have Actor!Erik being the unfortunate schmuck that gets stuck in Canon!Erik's body as well. A consciousness swap in layman's terms. So we've got canon!Erik in the Actors!AU!Verse and Actors!Erik in the Canon!Verse. This is an AU of Proper Care of Actors meeting Canon!Post!XMEN!DOFP. Hope you enjoy.

Summary: Erik goes to bed after kissing his children goodnight to the sight of his mate's turned back, exiling Erik to the other side of the bed for a cold night ahead. It's not the first time Charles' mood swings got the best of him. He reckons Charles will calm down in the morning and he'd be there ready to kiss and make up. He sure as hell didn't expect to wake bleeding in an alley, missing Charles, his children, then meeting a man who looks every bit like the love of his life except for two glaringly obvious things. One, gone was the baby bump of his five months pregnant mate and two, the man before him is, mein Gott, in a wheelchair.

While Erik Lehnsherr, husband and father sinks in denial, across the multiverse, Erik Lehnsherr, escaped mutant convict jerks awake to the sound of little fists pounding on a door all the while wrapped up in a warmth he didn't think he still had any right to before staring stupidly at a pair of sky-blue eyes lovingly gazing down at him.

"Good morning. I'm sorry, darling. I love you." The man with Charles' face says, closing the distance between them with a gentle, sweet kiss and Erik's suddenly startlingly sure the mutant he'd tried to collect had singlehandedly sent him to the afterlife.

Chapter 1: This Side Up

It's been five months, three weeks, six days and eighteen hours, not that he was keeping track, since Erik said his goodbyes, closing the chapter in his life containing Charles and everything between them, good and bad with a finality that still leaves him reeling most days.

Having dropped a stadium on Charles' head and nearly killing him the second time, the logical thing to do was to say good riddance and go on his way with a skip on his step. Or whatever the bloody hell the equivalent to that was when you're tied to a bloody chair for the rest of your bloody life. Surely not holding on to the foolish hope that Erik would see sense and come back to them. To him. So they could pick up where they left off. Plans for the future. Opening up the school. Teaching mutant children to harness their gifts, to welcome them to a place where they can be accepted, encouraged. Providing shelter, a safe haven for their kind, those who doesn't have anywhere else to go. Side by side. Together.

Once upon a time he truly believed it could have been, until Erik decided he rather liked the sound of mass human genocide and stomped all over Charles hopes and dreams, leaving him with nothing but a broken body and a broken heart.

Charles had been in pain both emotionally and physically, lonely, depressed, angry for most part of the past decade and still is. There's no moving past the utter sense of betrayal he feels for Erik anytime soon, angry hate sex in planes notwithstanding.

He should forget him, close the whole book shut, rip out the pages that has Erik in it and toss them to the fire until there's nothing but ash and dust. Yet no matter how much he tries to keep his once lover, former friend from invading his daily thought, out of sight, out of mind they always say, it remains a futile attempt. There continues to exist a gaping Erik-shaped chasm inside of him that he wants to fill, yet knows with stark clarity will never be able to. It's completely pathetic and he hates himself a little bit more every day for such helpless longing.

It wasn't always depressing, thank God for small mercies. Raven's return to the mansion had been a pleasant surprise, a welcome respite from his continouos failings, bringing along a Logan needing a place to crash with no memory whatsoever of Washington.

They might have averted the creation of Sentinels, though he still has his doubts about Trask Industries, and the existence of mutants have been met with a percentage of acceptance higher than what he'd initially expected, but it still doesn't change the fact that anti-mutant organizations have been forming, causing trouble and trying to persuade the public that mutants are dangerous and deserve to be put down before they could get the chance to annihilate the human race, operating on blind fear and willful ignorance.

If Erik, no— Magneto continues to give them cause to act on that fear, then he's afraid Logan's trip to the past would have been for naught.

It is with this understanding that Charles decides to seek Erik out, hoping by some miracle he'd find him without that godawful helmet on. One last plea to change his mind, reach out to the good he felt within him once before, to the part that loved his human mother unconditionally, the man who confessed his love to an idealistic fool, who promised him an After in the height of passion once done dealing with Shaw, before everything went to hell in a handbasket.

If he was to be perfectly honest however, a large part of Charles has been resigned to find nothing but aching void in Erik's place upon using Cerebro, that it thoroughly caught him offguard to find Erik so fast and so near, a mere twenty minute drive away.

It's like coming home after a long journey to be able to brush against Erik's mind, warmth and exhiliration filling him no matter how shortlived.

Erik's surface thoughts hits him like a tidalwave, broadcasting confusion but with a complete and utter pointed focus on Charles, Erik's thinking of him, searching, worried, all wrapped up in an overpowering emotion he dares not hope still exists within the man, the sheer enormity of it leaving Charles reeling and gasping for breath. Of all the things he thought he'd find inside that head, it sure bloody hell wasn't that.

It almost blindsides him, the unexpected turnaround in Erik's thought process he nearly missed the presence of another mutant a short distance from where Erik was, thoughts mainly of anger through fear— of Erik, which Charles finds even more surprising given Erik's singleminded focus on him— a deep sense of needing to hide, to be left alone. A young mind.

Charles telepathically yells for Hank and Raven as soon as he's wheeled himself outside of Cerebro, instructing them to come and retrieve Erik much to the outrage of his sister and the quiet but simmering disapproval of his closest friend, practically brother.

They put up a token protest for all of three minutes before submitting to Charles' kicked puppy eyes, always good to know he's still got it, granted the eyes only works when he doesn't look like a hobo like he did a year ago, grudgingly admitting that he could not be swayed, but not before spewing a ton of perfectly understandable complaints on their way to the door.

It was only when Charles mentioned the other mutant that they stopped grumbling altogether, a probable mutual understanding passing between them to keep young impressionable mutant minds away from Magneto.

Left with nothing but his thoughts and the gentle lull of white noise from multiple minds in the background emanating from the Eastern Wing where the children and a few adults like Logan were staying, Charles can't help think that Hank was right in dubbing his most recent change of heart, where megalomaniac mutant supremacists are concerned, as another bad decision in a long line of bad decisions.

No matter. It still does not stop him from wheeling back to his bedroom and making sure he appear presentable for his guests. Charles resolutely does not think of what he'd seen inside Erik's mind, does not dare hope that Erik would love him enough to turn his back on his beliefs.

That way lay madness.

There's a voice asking him if he's okay, or at least he believes that was the question, he can't be too sure since for all the urgency the tone is giving off, the words are coming across as if he's underwater. There are hands on his shoulders, coaxing him to stand, asking if he can walk, tight grip on his waist. He feels something warm trickle down his temple, a coppery smell, he half guesses it might be blood. His blood? Shit. Did he get into an accident?

Someone yells to be careful with him, he thinks again Charles, but then his face is mushed into a warm patch of skin and he inhales, ready for the intoxicating scent of his mate to penetrate his senses only to instantly recoil because, nope, nope, not Charles. Where's Charles?

It's probably Remy he decides. Not that he'd even have an inkling of an idea how that pretty boy moron would smell like. But of course it can't be Remy. For one, there's none of the incessant French nattering his assistant deems appropriate to annoy him with on a near daily basis.

Everything feels sluggish and slow and he's not coordinated at all is he, Erik realizes as soon as he's upright. The grip on his waist tightens before a presence supports him on his right side. Smaller. Female. A whole lot of hair annoyingly tickling his face. He can barely feel his legs, head heavy as it lolls forward, listing precariously on unsteady, ungainly feet. The sensation's fairly reminiscent of a whole night spent binge drinking with Charles resulting in a fantastically terrible hangover in the morning, then multiplying it by ten.

He's sure that's not the case though. Charles is in no way shape or form fit for alcohol intake, his angry, tear-filled eyes just the day prior having been seared into his brain. He's in the doghouse, he knows that. God, he hates it when they fight.

He probably drank himself to oblivion rather than try to patch things up between them. He's not exactly dependable when it comes to reconciliation methods despite the years he's been a husband and a father. He's always tried his best to be as understanding and accommodating as possible. Made it his life's goal to never give Charles cause to be angry. But inevitably there are those moments when he slips and his temper gets the better of him and he's left at an impasse, not really knowing what to do.

He better talk to Mama soon. She always gives great advice. On second thought, maybe not. Mama's going to be righteously furious at him if she hears he and Charles had a fight and he refused to be the one to take that first step.

Why did he have to be so stubborn? He knows full well Charles becomes impossibly moody when pregnant and can't be held responsible for his current aggravating behavior adding on top of Erik already being stressed as all out with work.

He struggles to open his eyes, squints at a foggy image of a damp ground. Something horrible rushes up his chest and out his throat, then he's dry heaving, stomach in knots and head pounding like he's been bashed against a wall far too many times.

The drinking into oblivion scenario is starting to sound very plausible by the minute. He doesn't remember drinking however. Shouldn't he have sober memories of the previous night if that were true? The last he recalls doing was putting the kids to bed and kissing them goodnight.

"Get a hold of yourself, Magneto. Jesus, what did you get yourself into this time?" someone says in thinly-veiled disgust, decidedly female. Erik can do nothing but try to control his insides from making a hasty exit through his mouth, the disgusting smell of people's trash, what the— are they in an alley? making the nausea so much worse.

And what the fuck's a Magneto?

"What is he even doing out in the open like this. And why are we helping him at all?" comes the grumbling reply by his left and Erik's suddenly relieved at the familiarity. He'd know the voice combination of these two lovebirds anywhere.

"You heard what Charles said, Hank."

"The Professor doesn't exactly think rationally when Magneto's involved, Raven.

"It's Mystique."

"Whatever."

Charles. He rasps, dismissing the ridiculous name he's pretty certain was aimed at him in favor of asking for his husband's whereabouts. Nothing comes out anywhere close to articulate though, he kind of sounds like a drunk seal, the fuck's wrong with his tongue, so he gets ignored, as they talk over him, increasingly sounding in the middle of a lover's spat.

"Wasn't there supposed to be another mutant?"

"Well, you can't expect them to wait on us, especially if what Charles said was true. Hurry up."

A frustrated groan follows. "I'm not your lackey."

He gets hoisted over a shoulder, irritated at himself for not having enough motor control to stand on his own two feet. Or smack Hank at the back of his head at least once with the tone he's having. Like helping Erik out is the last thing he wants to do, right there below scrubbing public toilets. Erik's sure they were past that level of animosity.

"Jesus, this guy's a dead weight."

A car door opens and he's none-too-gently deposited on the backseat. He looks up slowly, squints at the cobwebs and the black and white spots in his vision and yep, there's Hank, and his twin, looking like the world's grumpiest kittens.

"Here. Get that wound patched up. It doesn't look too good. Don't let him bleed on the leather." Oh, there's Raven at the driver's seat, all three of her. "He looks concussed, Hank."

"He is." There's a penlight in his face. Ugh. Too bright. Since when did cameramen started bringing medical stuff with them? He weakly swats it away, and fails. "Pupil's dilated. Reaction time's very slow, then there was the vomiting. I'm gonna need to do scans. Erik, how many fingers am I holding up?"

Erik tries to answer ten, he's pretty sure it's ten, though there's only one hand, maybe, but his tongue still feels like lead so what comes out is another rendition of a slightly-less drunk seal.

"Don't fall asleep." Hank tells him like Erik can't figure it out by himself that falling asleep with a concussion is dangerous. "What do you reckon happened?" Hank asks Raven. Erik follows the movement of heads turning in synchronization. This seeing double, triple business is starting to get on his nerves.

"He was probably recruiting and whoever it was didn't like his ideas." Raven replies, looking pinched or constipated, Erik can't tell from this distance. "I think the other mutant must have used their powers on him if he was offensive enough. He's kind of garbage when it comes to recruitment speeches."

"You followed him."

"Don't start, Hank."

"Sorry. Didn't you say he took his helmet back?"

"Yes. Last I've seen him."

"He's not wearing it."

"I noticed."

Well, of course he's not wearing a helmet, Erik inwardly bristles, not liking the implication that he could ever go back on his promise to Charles. Despite the rather confusing situation he found himself in, he wasn't anywhere near a motorbike to warrant protective head gear that much he's certain.

After the accident on set involving a highway speed chase scene from his movie Bourne Apocalypse, he never liked letting stunt doubles do the heavy work much like Charles, with Erik riding a motorcycle and crashing from a harness malfunction, his heavily pregnant fiance by then made him swear up and down while he was recuperating from his injuries to never ride one again, especially in their daily life, not when they have perfectly functioning cars.

You scared me to death, damn you! Don't you dare put me through that again.

Charles who was so easy to forgive Hank with what happened in the Canary Islands and was so level-headed in making Erik see sense and apologize to the traumatized young man, pretty much lost it with Erik's crew, screaming at anyone who so much as tries to reason it was an accident and demanding people be fired for their sheer goddamn recklessness.

It was the first he'd seen Charles so distraught, the light and happiness gone from his eyes, replaced by a constant deluge of worry and fear for Erik's life, it broke his heart over and over just watching him in the few lucid moments in between sleep and waking when he wasn't hopped up on painkillers.

He vowed to never be the cause of such crippling devastation and heartache taking residence on that sweet, beautiful face ever again, even if it meant no more motorcycle rides in his free time when he wanted to get away from the celebrity life, or letting doubles do the more of the dangerous stunts in his films. He's resigned himself to never go over forty-five miles per hour for as long as he lived.

"Don't tell, Charles." Erik says, throat feeling like sandpaper though pleasantly surprised to find his tongue finally starting to cooperate with him. He brings up a hand to his head, groans, before it falls uselessly to the side. "Don't want.. to worry him. Just, hospital first. Can't.. see me hurt."

"Stop talking crazy, Magneto. We can't just waltz in to a hospital. In case you forgot, you're a wanted criminal."

"What?" Erik manages after close to a minute once he's done blinking and squinting at Raven, trying to make sense of what she just said. Then he recalls, his current role is that of a Special Ops turned fugitive and has to wonder what the hell is Raven smoking?

He looks to Hank, hoping he prove to be saner of the two. "What's she talking about?" he asks, can't quite suppress a pained grunt from escaping as he lists sideways.

The car's moving. Okay, good. That, that's good.

He feels his stomach rebel at a sudden turn and has to suppress the urge to vomit out his spleen. He breathes through his nose as he tries to ride out the highly uncomfortable sensation.

"I mean it, Hank." He says after a while when he feels remotely in control. "Hospital first."

"We can't. Raven's right. You're a wanted fugitive. The authorities are gonna be on you faster than Peter if you show your face in any establishment."

And now they're dropping names again that Erik has no bleeding clue as to who they belonged to. First Magneto, then there was the mention of mutant ninja turtles he's pretty sure, then him being a wanted criminal, and now there's a Peter Whatshisname. What the ever loving—

"Magneto, you're not in any condition to—"

"Raven, I swear to God if you call me that ridiculous name one more time, I don't care if you're like a sister to Charles I'm getting you fired." Erik snaps, empty threats, but he's well past caring the point of playing nice. He needs a doctor and a hospital before coming anywhere near Charles and these knuckleheads are not working with him. He shifts sideways to glare at Hank, a tick to his jaw and body sprung tight as if ready to lunge. "I'm not in the mood." he grits out, almost a growl, which lasted for all of thirty seconds before he slumps against the car-seat, like a marionette whose strings has been cut.

"Hank, what's wrong with him?" Raven asks, just a hint of worry in her voice.

Nothing's wrong with him he wants to say, aside from the physically obvious, its them and their crazy talk that's wrong and not making a lick of sense. He wants to glare and snap at them and tell them they're not goddamn funny but his tongue's decided to turn traitor again. He feels too damn weak all of a sudden to do anything other than lie back and stare down uselessly at his legs, his vision steadily turning dark in the corners. That can't be good.

"He's confused. I can't tell exactly how confused, I'll be needing scans to form an official analysis, but for now, it doesn't seem like he's really understanding what we're trying to tell him."

"What? He forgot he's really a criminal on the run?"

"I don't think we're looking at a simple concussion. Something must have shaken loose in him. There's no telling as of this point how extensive since we have no information on what the other mutant's powers were. If you know, we're going with that theory." Hank says, grudging concern creeping into his voice. "Erik, what's the last thing you remember?"

By sheer force of bullheadedness and refusal to give in to unconsciousness, he was not about to swoon in Hank's presence like a fucking damsel not matter how distressed he feels, he manages to glare at Hank in cold silence, conveying how stupid he thinks the question is and them by extension.

"Humor me, Erik." Hank insists, pulling out the soulful, gentle puppy eyes that's nowhere near as powerful as Charles, but is affecting him all the same in his diminished state. Damn it. Fine. He was not about to reveal how he fucked up with Charles the other night though while sporting a concussion with Raven listening in.

"Putting the twins to bed. Lorna." Erik says and gets a blank look for his trouble.

"And whose Lorna?"

"Hank." The irritation's rising again.

"Just answer the question, Erik."

"My daughter." Erik hisses, feels a sort of vindictive glee to see the shock crossing the younger man's face. "Is there a reason why you're asking these stupid—" he trails off as he brings a hand up to his head in an attempt to ward off the incessant pounding. The silence in the car has Raven asking stupid questions again while Erik stares at his hand in growing horror at the absence of the gold band.

"Did you just say your daughter?" Hank ventures, sounding as dubious as he looks, questioning Erik's mental capacity no doubt, not that Erik can even be bothered to feel offended when he's too busy not freaking out.

"Where is it?"

"Erik?"

"Where the fuck is it?" He was not gonna get hysterical. Absolutely not. No.

"What?"

"My ring."

"What ring?"

"Don't play stupid." Erik grits out, too many teeth and looking just a tad bit homicidal, the glassy look in his eyes not helping the deranged look any. He's got his fingers curled tight around Hank's collar and squeezing. Something decidedly metallic rattles. "My wedding ring."

That gets a splutter for a response and Hank struggling to get out of Erik's grip which pathetically enough isn't really much of a struggle at all.

"You're married?!" It was Raven near shrieking in the front seat confusing Erik all the more by the genuine surprise he can detect in her voice. "When did this happen? To who?!"

"What do you mean to who?" He snaps, head jerking back and forth between Hank and Raven probably too much too fast for what his body's currently capable of dealing with since there goes the world spinning dizzyingly again and oh bugger, he's gonna pass out this time he just knows it. He sags sideways, cheek cushioning against the car's headrest and putting forth all effort in just trying breathe and not fucking faint.

"Erik, who do you believe you're married to?" Hank presses on unhelpfully. "Erik?"

"Charles! You both know this. We've been married for five years." He grounds out weakly, more of a pained and exhausted murmur than anything else but there is no mistaking the words that just came pouring out of his mouth, the sheer need to get the information across and making a goddamn point. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

There's silence, then Raven's sucking in a gasp coupled with Hank's, oh dear and as much as Erik tries to stay afloat in the sea of crazy, he sinks.

TBC

A/N: Updates will be every Thursday or every other Thursday, depending on how much time I can squeeze in finalizing the chapters I've already got written down what with juggling two jobs and all that rot. Uhhh, care to leave a feedback? Comments? Violent reactions? Still a novice in writing in general. Would greatly appreciate your input :) Thank you.