Author's Note: Saw this movie a couple weeks ago and just got around to writing something.. I ship Charles and Erik HARDCORE. Well, anyways, I was watching it (and yeah, we all know what is supposed to happen) but I hated it soo.. I'm writing an alternate ending.

I'm not the smartest X-Men groupie out there and I admit I don't know all the facts but I'll try my best to keep this on track. I'll continue if people inspire me to continue (cause it could end here w/o the smut and hardcore shipping.)

I do not own X-Men or any of the characters in this fanfiction.

ONWARD.

Charles rushed across the sand, kicking up the bits against the back of his legs and flinging it behind him in a hurry. His stare was focused solely on stopping Erik from doing something regrettable; Everyone's eyes were watching as the metal bender turned every single missile back upon their masters. The control over so many large objects was enough to shock anyone but Charles took himself in stride.

He tackled the concentrating man, forcing him into the sand and forcing him to break connection with the bombs. They wrestled along in the sand, struggling against one another's physical power, hands and arms and legs and knees scrambling to get in a good enough hit to throw the other off, to beat the other. But Erik had always been the bigger man and thus he slammed Charles to the ground with a rough shove, jarring the telepath's head against the gritty beach. Erik stood, wiped himself relatively clean of sand and then gave a good long stare out at the ships, the humans. The bombs all dropped, drooping from their power burst and each exploded one by one; Erik's eyes watched slowly, his breathing heavy.

"Get up," Erik commanded, the fury and rush of exhilarating power making his words sharp, harsh. His stance stiffened, his fingers curling to fists by his side. He was pulsing, rushing with ability; He could do anything. When Charles stared at him, awestruck by Erik's sudden increase in power, their sudden break in connection, he didn't -couldn't- move from the sand. There was something else in that expression the telepath held and it was something he'd never had with Erik.

Fear. He feared for Erik's stability and for his best friend's mind. But he also feared for the humans out along the oceans, the many men who did not understand the situation, did not understand Erik. And he feared for his group, his companions. This power could make a man go mad.

"I told you to get up!" Erik roared. His eyes met Charles' and Charles didn't need telepathy to tell that Erik wasn't fucking around. He scrambled, slipping in the sand, to his feet.

And he tried to reason with his closest friend, hurrying closer, "Erik, you don't need to-Ow!" His face contorted into a grimace of pain and surprise at the death grip on his upper arm. "Erik-" His eyes were wildly trying to search that familiar face under the helmet and all he could find was rage.

"Shut up." Erik snapped into Charles' face, holding tight enough to bruise. Those angry eyes bore into the telepath's stare before he stated, far more calmly, "We're leaving."

"Leaving?" Charles echoed, alarmed and while he exclaimed, "Erik, what in the world has gotten into-" His fingers tried to pry that stone cold grip from his skin. And then he saw, he saw all the stares of his teammates. They were watching him and he met Raven's suspicious narrow-eyed look. Her lips were open as though she thought to say something but found her voice absolutely gone.

Charles' heart rambled and beat against the confinements of his chest rapidly. What was that look? "Raven-" He began but they'd been staring far too long to have the conversation as Erik had motioned Azazel close with the rest of the opposing team. They linked hands and Charles received one heart wrenching sentence pulsing through his mind from his oldest friend.

I knew you'd pick him over me.

And then they were gone.