Erik had always been drawn to pain—the way it radiated from a wound, wave after wave, lighting up the skin around it. He supposed it had everything to do with Shaw. Shaw had wielded pain like a weapon, sticking needles and other medical instruments into Erik’s body. Erik had hated it then, hated the helplessness, the agony. Yet, ever since he escaped Shaw—and especially after Shaw’s death—pain had become something he craved.
He couldn’t deny the visceral pull of it: the sight of blood spilling from an open wound, vibrant and red; the lingering ache of bruises that painted his skin in shades of blue and purple. Pain wasn’t always physical, either. Erik often found himself drawn to the mental anguish, the kind that carved deeper into his soul. It was mad, he knew, to think of pain as an anchor, even as a kind of nirvana. But it grounded him, tethered him in a way little else could.
Pain had been his constant companion, and he had chased it for as long as he could remember. Now, sitting alone in his room at the Charles Xavier School, while students and teachers filled the mansion with their purposeful lives, his thoughts inevitably returned to it.
In the beginning, when Erik decided to stay and help rebuild the school, those thoughts had been quieter. There was work to do, purpose to be found in brick and mortar. But now, with the mansion restored and no tasks to occupy his hands, the emptiness crept back in.
Charles had spoken to him about taking on the role of a teacher. It was an intriguing idea, but Erik wasn’t sure if he could handle the responsibility—not yet. He felt adrift, his mind drifting back to pain as though it were the only thing keeping him afloat.
The only times those thoughts quieted were in the evenings—sitting at the table with everyone, sharing a meal, and later, playing a game of chess with Charles. During those moments, the craving for pain became more bearable, easier to endure.
It was during one of their chess games that Charles first asked. Erik had been quieter than usual, his moves slower, almost hesitant.
“Erik,” Charles said gently as he placed his knight into position, “are you alright? You seem... distant lately.”
Erik froze for a moment. Had he really been distant? He had been so wrapped up in his own head that he hadn't even realized it. After a couple of seconds, he collected himself, his lips twitching into a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine, Charles. Just tired, that’s all.”
Charles hesitated, searching Erik’s face for any sign of honesty, but he didn’t push further. He respected Erik’s boundaries, even when he doubted the truth behind his words.
Eventually, Charles won the match, and they both decided to retire to bed. As they lay together in the darkness of the night, Erik snuggled closer to Charles, seeking an anchor. Charles leaned into the touch, a contented sigh escaping his lips. After a while, Erik closed his eyes and fell asleep.
It had been a few days since that night, and if Erik were being completely honest, he was losing it. The need for pain was tugging at him, relentless and consuming. It gnawed at the edges of his mind, whispering that only through suffering could he find release. He needed it desperately; to him, pain was a sort of salvation, a way to ground himself in the chaos of his thoughts.
Each passing moment felt heavier, like an invisible weight pressing down on his chest, making it harder to breathe. He couldn’t escape it. The urge to feel something sharp and real, something that could drown out the noise in his head, was overwhelming. Oh god, did he need it badly. His hands trembled slightly as he clenched them into fists, trying to fight the urge, but it was like trying to hold back a storm. The memories, the guilt, the unrelenting pressure—it all blurred together into a cacophony he couldn’t silence.
He hadn’t spoken to Charles about this, couldn’t bring himself to. How could he explain that the very thing he needed to feel alive was the thing that tore him apart?
He didn’t dare tell Charles. He couldn’t bring himself to, not when Charles was already so deeply consumed with his own responsibilities. Between teaching classes, grading paperwork, Erik didn’t want to be another source of worry for him. Charles had enough to deal with—Erik refused to add his own troubles on top of it all.
It wasn’t that Erik didn’t trust Charles—he did, more than anyone else. But there was a part of him that couldn’t stand the thought of seeing the concern in Charles’s eyes. No, it was easier to suffer in silence, to bear the burden alone. If he could just get through this… if he could find some way to push the dark thoughts away without dragging Charles down with him, he would.
But the weight of it was becoming unbearable.
And even more so today.
He stood off to the side, watching Alex lead the P.E. class. The children were running around the soccer field, their laughter and shouts filling the air, but Erik could barely focus on them. His mind was a whirl of thoughts, each one darker than the last. He kept his eyes on the ground, as if it could somehow anchor him, but even that wasn’t enough to keep the storm inside at bay.
Alex jogged over to where Erik stood, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “You alright, man? You’ve been quiet.”
Erik’s chest tightened, and he forced himself to smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Yeah, just thinking.”
Alex raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You sure? You’re not acting like your usual self. You look…” He trailed off, searching for the right word. “Off.”
“I’m fine, Alex,” Erik said quickly, his voice a little too sharp. He took a deep breath, trying to mask the tension that was coiling in him like a spring. “Just tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”
Alex wasn’t buying it. He crossed his arms, studying Erik with a keen gaze. “Come on, man. I know you better than that. What’s going on?”
Erik forced his gaze away, feeling the weight of Alex’s concern pressing down on him. “It’s nothing, really. Just some… personal stuff.”
Alex didn’t push further, but Erik could feel the subtle shift in the air between them. Alex knew something was wrong, but Erik couldn’t bring himself to say it. Not to him, not to anyone. The walls around him felt taller now, the pressure building with every passing second.
“I’ll be fine,” Erik muttered, his voice quieter now. “I just need some time to sort it out.”
Alex seemed to accept that, though his frown lingered for a moment. “If you say so. Just don’t push yourself too hard.”
Erik nodded, but the words felt hollow. He was already pushing himself beyond the limit, and the more he tried to hold it together, the more it felt like he was breaking apart.
Alex decided to stand by Erik while the children continued their game. He didn’t say anything else, and Erik was grateful for that. The silence between them was a relief, even if it was a fragile one.
Erik’s gaze drifted across the field, but he wasn’t really seeing the children playing. His hands were shaking, his fingers twitching in small, involuntary movements. His breath grew ragged, each inhale sharp and jagged, as if the air itself was too thick to breathe. The thought of blood—of pain—was electrifying, a burning desire that coiled tightly in his chest. It was like a whisper in the back of his mind, insistent and cruel, pushing him to give in, to feel something—anything.
He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, trying to ground himself. But then it happened.
One of the children came running over, their elbow raised as if instinctively shielding the injury. The child stopped in front of Alex, showing him the bloody wound on their elbow.
Alex knelt down, carefully inspecting the cut, his face calm, focused. Though Erik couldn’t clearly see the wound, he saw enough—the blood was fresh, dripping in bright red streaks down the child’s arm. It was a small injury, a harmless scrape, but the sight of the blood…
Fuck, he couldn’t take it anymore.
His body trembled, a sharp wave of heat rushing through him. The air around him seemed to grow thicker, suffocating. He felt his own pulse in his ears, louder and louder, until all he could hear was the pounding of his heart and the sickening thought that he needed it—needed to feel the same sharp, biting sting that was now on display in front of him.
His vision blurred for a moment, the edges of everything darkening as his mind fought to hold onto control. His hands shook violently now, his breath hitching painfully in his chest as the urge swelled inside him like a tidal wave. He tried to turn away, to walk off, but his legs felt unsteady, as if they might give out at any second.
“Erik?” Alex’s voice broke through his haze, concerned, but distant, like it was coming from far away. “Hey, you good?”
Erik didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He could barely even breathe, let alone speak. His body felt like it was on the verge of breaking, the edges of his control slipping away faster than he could hold on.
He couldn’t hear Alex’s voice, but he could feel it—the weight of his concern, the way Alex had called his name. But it was all distant, muffled beneath the roar of his own thoughts. The only thing that mattered now was the overwhelming need that pulsed through his body, louder than any sound, stronger than any voice.
Erik turned sharply, his movements quick and jerky as he made his way back inside. He didn’t pause, didn’t slow down. His steps were automatic, driven by something deeper, something darker. Before he knew it, he was in his bathroom, the cold tile beneath his feet a sharp contrast to the heat rising in his chest.
In his hand, the sharp edge of a knife gleamed in the harsh light. His fingers wrapped around the handle with a tight grip, trembling with anticipation. His breath grew ragged, each inhale jagged and shallow, his chest rising and falling in desperate gasps.
He brought the knife closer to his arm, the cold steel inching toward his skin. His heart thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else. This was it. This was what he needed. The relief, the clarity that only came with the bite of pain.
Just as the blade was about to touch his skin, something halted him.
He looked up, locking eyes with his reflection in the mirror.
For a long moment, he stood frozen, staring at himself. The man in the glass was a stranger—a person he barely recognized anymore. The person who had lived through unspeakable things, who had pushed everyone away, who had learned to survive through pain and violence. But now, standing there, his reflection seemed like a ghost, a shadow of the man he used to be, or perhaps the man he had never truly been.
What had he become?
He tore his eyes away from the mirror, unable to face the reflection any longer. It felt like looking at a stranger—someone who didn’t deserve the pity in his own eyes. He couldn’t afford to think, couldn’t afford to feel. The ache inside him was too much, the weight of everything he carried too heavy.
Without wasting another second, he looked back down at his arm. His hand moved with a sudden, brutal precision, and he drove the knife into his skin. The sharp sting of the blade was immediate, cutting through the tension like a rush of air. He barely registered the pain as he sliced again, the knife carving into his flesh, crisscrossing the surface of his arm in quick, shallow lines.
The blood welled up, dripping down his skin, but it wasn’t enough. It never was. The numbness inside him fought back, and he needed more—more cuts, more pain, anything to drown out the chaos swirling in his mind. He kept going, each slice a desperate plea for something to stop the noise, to stop the crushing weight of everything he couldn’t escape.
His breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale shaky, each exhale more broken than the last. His body shook, but not from the pain—no, it was the release. The relief, however fleeting, that came with the blood. He wasn’t thinking anymore, wasn’t even aware of the tears that were starting to blur his vision.
It was all he had left.
----------
After witnessing Erik’s sudden, panicked departure, Alex stood frozen for a moment, his stomach sinking. The way Erik had run off, the sharpness in his movements—it wasn’t normal. Something was deeply wrong, and Alex could feel it in his gut. The protective instinct kicked in.
He didn’t waste any more time. “Class is dismissed!” Alex called out to the children, his voice louder than usual, more urgent. The kids, sensing something was off, scattered quickly, leaving Alex with only one focus—getting to Charles.
Alex didn’t bother to explain, didn’t stop to question what had just happened. The look on Erik’s face, the tension in his body, had spoken volumes. He needed to find Charles.
Without another word, Alex bolted into the house, his heart pounding with the thought of Erik and what he might be doing in his panic. He rushed through the hallway, barely sparing a glance at the familiar surroundings before heading straight for Charles’s classroom. He had to get to him. Now.
----------
Charles was in the middle of teaching, his voice steady as he guided the students through their work, when suddenly, a spike of emotion hit him—sharp and raw. Urgency. Pain. Panic. His heart lurched as the intensity of it nearly made him stumble. It didn’t take him long to realize that these feelings weren’t his own. They were Erik's.
The classroom fell into a hushed silence, and Charles's breath caught in his throat. His connection to Erik had always been strong, but this was different—this was a rush of pain so visceral it nearly overwhelmed him. His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to regain his composure, but the feeling was suffocating.
With a sense of urgency, Charles tried to probe deeper into Erik’s mind, reaching out to him, to make contact—to understand what was happening. But the second he made the attempt, his mind was instantly bombarded with a rush of sharp, searing pain. It was as if Erik’s suffering had become a wall, one that he couldn’t push through.
Charles gasped, recoiling from the force, his breath shallow. His vision blurred for a second, and his hand flew to his head, gripping it as if he could hold himself together. The connection had been too much, too strong. He knew, though, that he had no time to waste.
"Class is dismissed," Charles said, his voice distant and detached, though his words were still clear. His attention was elsewhere now, his focus entirely on Erik.
The students exchanged concerned glances, sensing the sudden change in the air, but Charles didn’t have the luxury to care. He had to get to Erik. Now.
Charles quickly stood from his chair, moving towards the door, but before he could reach it, the door was thrown open, revealing Alex.
“Charles,” Alex panted, his eyes wide with panic. “It’s Erik—he’s—something’s wrong. I think he’s in trouble.”
Alex didn’t wait for a response; he didn’t need to. Charles's eyes met his, and without another word, Charles darted past him, running for Erik’s bedroom.
The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, but when Charles reached the bathroom door, he didn’t hesitate. He threw it open. His breath hitched as his eyes locked onto the scene before him.
Erik was on the floor, surrounded by blood. His skin was pale, his eyes unfocused, and the knife that had caused the damage lay discarded beside him. The blood—too much of it—was pooling around him, a stark, terrifying reminder of just how close Erik had come to breaking.
“Erik!” Charles’s voice cracked as he rushed forward, kneeling beside him, but it was like his world had just shattered. His heart was racing, his thoughts jumbled, but all that mattered was getting Erik out of this, getting him back.
He gently cupped Erik’s face, his hands trembling as he tried to bring Erik’s focus back to him. "Erik, look at me. Please... stay with me."
Alex appeared in the doorway, standing in shocked silence, his breath still ragged from the sprint. His eyes flicked between Charles and Erik, fear and helplessness written across his face. "What happened?" he asked quietly, his voice tight with concern.
Charles didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He could only focus on Erik now, on getting him stable, on stopping the blood. His thoughts were a blur of fear, panic, and an overwhelming need to protect.
“Erik, please say something,” Charles pleaded, his voice breaking as he gently held Erik’s face, his fingers trembling. Every part of him screamed in panic, but he refused to show it. Not now. Not when Erik needed him more than ever.
Alex moved quickly, his face pale with worry, leaving just as quickly as he had arrived. “I’ll find Hank!” Alex called out over his shoulder, his tone tight with urgency. The door slammed shut behind him, but Charles barely noticed. His entire focus was on Erik.
Erik's eyes were glazed, heavy with fatigue, but they still held onto Charles's gaze. There was a quiet desperation in them—an apology, a plea, a confession all wrapped into one.
Charles’s heart clenched. He could feel Erik slipping away, but he wouldn’t let him go. Not like this. “Erik, please… you’re going to be okay,” Charles said softly, his words more of a promise than a reassurance. “You have to stay with me.”
Erik’s eyes fluttered, and he fought to keep them open, but the weight of exhaustion and pain was too much. He winced, his breath shaky as he whispered, “I... I tried to fight off the urge. I really did.”
The words came out broken, almost like a confession, as if Erik blamed himself for what had happened. Charles’s heart shattered at the sound of Erik’s voice—so fragile, so filled with self-loathing.
“You don’t have to fight it alone, Erik,” Charles whispered urgently, his hand moving to Erik’s arm, trying to staunch the flow of blood. “You’ve never had to fight alone.”
Erik blinked slowly, trying to focus on Charles’s face, but the effort was too much. His breath hitched again, weaker now, his body trembling. “I… I didn’t… want to burden you…” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to be like this…”
Charles could feel the tears welling up in his own eyes, but he forced them back. He couldn’t break down now—not when Erik needed him to be strong.
“Erik,” he whispered fiercely, gripping his hand tighter. “You’re not alone. You’re not like this. You’re just… hurt. But we’ll fix it.”
But the fight was leaving Erik. His eyes were slipping closed despite his efforts, his head lulling to the side as his breathing grew more shallow. Charles felt a cold rush of panic flood through him.
“Erik, no, stay with me!” Charles urged, but his voice was too weak, too desperate. He could feel Erik’s pulse—slower now, faint against his skin.
A final, labored breath escaped Erik’s lips, and then his body went completely limp in Charles’s arms.
For a moment, Charles just sat there, holding him, his heart pounding in his chest, the reality of the situation sinking in. Erik was unconscious, and all Charles could do was pray that Hank would get here in time.
----------
Erik slowly became aware of his surroundings as consciousness tugged at him. His head felt heavy, like it was being dragged through thick fog, and his body ached in places he hadn’t even realized. For a moment, everything was disorienting—the dim light filtering through the curtains, the steady beeping of a machine nearby, and the soft scent of antiseptic in the air.
His eyes fluttered open, squinting against the faint light. It took him a few moments to realize where he was. His bedroom. And Charles was there.
Charles sat quietly beside him, his gaze fixed on him, though his expression was a mixture of worry and relief. The chair beside the bed creaked slightly as Charles shifted, leaning forward just slightly, his face showing the strain of hours spent waiting.
“Erik,” Charles said softly, his voice carrying a weight of exhaustion. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”
Erik blinked, trying to sit up, but his body felt too weak, too spent. He let out a ragged breath, his throat dry, and his gaze flickered over to the bandages on his arm. The memory of everything came rushing back—how close he had come to losing control, how he had spiraled into that darkness.
The guilt, the shame—he felt it like a physical weight pressing down on his chest.
Charles must have noticed the flicker of distress on Erik’s face, because his voice softened further, almost a whisper. “What happened, Erik? Why did you do it?”
Erik swallowed hard, his throat tightening. He couldn’t hide from this anymore, couldn’t push it down and pretend it wasn’t there. But the words were hard to find. “I… I thought I could handle it,” he began, his voice rough, like it had been dragged through the pain. He paused, collecting his thoughts. “The urges, the pain—it kept getting louder. I thought if I kept ignoring it, I could push it away. But it didn’t stop. It only got worse. And I… I didn’t know what else to do.”
Charles’s expression didn’t change, but Erik could see the pain in his eyes. Pain for him, for what he had been through, for what he had been hiding.
“I don’t want to burden anyone, Charles,” Erik continued, his voice small, almost pleading. “I didn’t want to burden you. I thought if I could just… release it, if I could just feel something, maybe it would go away. But it didn’t. It only made everything worse.”
Charles’s hand moved to rest gently on Erik’s, a silent reassurance that made Erik’s heart ache. “You don’t have to carry it alone, Erik. Not anymore,” Charles said softly, his voice full of compassion. “I’m here. You don’t have to fight this on your own.”
Erik closed his eyes, the weight of Charles’s words sinking deep into his chest. He wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that he wasn’t alone in this—hadn’t been alone from the start. But the doubt still lingered, gnawing at him. Could he really face this? Could he really let someone else in?
“I… I don’t know how to fix this,” Erik whispered, his voice breaking slightly.
“You don’t have to fix it alone,” Charles assured him, his voice unwavering. “We’ll figure it out. Together. Whatever this is, whatever you’re feeling—it doesn’t define you, Erik. You don’t have to fight it in silence. Not with me by your side.”
Erik opened his eyes, meeting Charles’s gaze, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t see pity. He saw understanding.
“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” Erik whispered, the rawness of his emotions catching in his throat.
Charles nodded, his hand squeezing Erik’s. “We’ll take it one step at a time, Erik. And I’ll be here, every step of the way.”
Erik’s chest tightened with a mix of relief and fear, but it was a different kind of fear now—a fear of change, of facing the darkness within him, but also a fear of the unknown.
But Charles’s presence was grounding, and for the first time in a long while, Erik felt the faintest flicker of hope. He wasn’t alone. Not anymore.