Monster in the basement
It had taken a lot of convincing just to get Erik to come back to the mansion. It had taken a lot of convincing to get Erik to lay his claim to anger down.
Now, Erik was back in the mansion, back in the school-suddenly very aware that he had no place with all of the children, and no place at the brotherhood.
The idea of him and Charles running off somewhere sounded more and more appealing everyday. For now, he would wait, and go back to the brotherhood camp. If everything there had stayed intact, then he might follow Charles… like he always had.
As for now, however, Erik was stuck tracing the halls of school. He could still remember when it’s halls were empty save for the first class of X-men. Now, it was bustling with people all hours. Kids going between class, running and playing, and even sneaking around for snacks at night.
After the ceremony for Raven, there wasn’t much for Erik to do. Hank was cold, and talked seldom to him. It seemed that whatever state of rage he’d been in had left the scientist behind with regret and mourning. Erik could appreciate his situation, and found it best to give him space.
Most people moved around Erik like how Hank did. They avoided him, casting glances, like they couldn’t make up their minds. Erik couldn't bring himself to mind much.
However, there was a clear contrast from what he could remember from before Raven’s death.
Of course the house had been sent into a deep mourning. Raven was a hero to the children, a teacher, and a friend. Someone they all looked up to, had died. Died at the hands of another student no less. But it was more than that. The life of the house had been sparked out, and the whole place felt oddly… quiet.
It had struck Erik on the third day of staying in the mansion that of the few familiar faces he knew, he had seen one less. Of all the noisy, the noisiest of all was silent. Where on earth was that persistent speedster?
“He’s in the basement. In the medical wing.” Jubilee said to Erik one day. “Is that where he’s been?” Erik asked. The girl nodded, hoop earrings bobbing with the movement. “He’d want you to visit him.” Jubilee said, voice even but stern, like it wasn’t much of a suggestion at all.
Why would Peter of all people want to see Magneto?
Erik couldn’t work it out in his head, even while he paced around the halls, and took up odd jobs that Charles assigned to him.
-
“You still haven’t gone down to see him?” Ororo asked one day, helping Erik clean up one of the living rooms. Erik’s brow furrowed, “Why does everyone want me to visit him so badly?” he gruffed. Ororo shot him a deep glare, “Because he was hurt. He deserves more respect and care, especially-even from you.” She said, stumbling to correct herself. Erik grumbled something out, and went back to cleaning.
-
“I’m going to leave soon. Will you be joining me?” Charles asked one night. Erik was perched in front of a partially large window.
The windowsill had been scratched and stained, no doubt from hundreds of children sitting on it for several years. One mark on the windowsill in partial had caught Erik’s eye however. Engraved in the wood were the incessant markings of fingertips tapped deep into wood. Like a fidget gone wrong. (Only, because it was a fidget gone wrong. Peter often sat at the window, tapping his fingers into the wood absently, only to find he’d done it in superspeed-- and ruined the sill).
Charles had noticed Erik’s attention slide across the marks. “Peter did those by accident.” Charles supplied. Erik glanced at Charles, then back to the wood. “Everyone keeps talking about that little imp.” Erik said, voice smooth and nearly fond through a vail of thin confusion.
Charles smiled gently, “Maybe you should listen to them.” He supplied, trying to be helpful. “It’s not like he’s some monster in the basement, Erik.” Charles said, leaving out that part where he admitted that instead of a monster he was a son….
--
Erik stepped out of the elevator and down the hall. The sound of his echoing footsteps rang out uncomfortably in the dead silent hall.
Erik paused in front of the medical bay door. He stared at it for a moment too long, before finally entering.
He moved into the back, standing over Peter’s cot. The boy wasn’t much of a boy anymore. Something about that nelry tugged on Erik’s heart strings. He’d met the speedster several times over, and had grown to know him better than he knew most other students.
The speedster in question was laid gently across a cot, tubes and such tapped and tacked into every arm and place Erik could see. In truth, it was a horrifying miracle to see the ever hyper Peter so still.
Erik stared at the once thin frame, which had grown taller and thickened with muscles. Still, it seemed Peter had mostly bulked up thanks to the layers of plaster on his arms and legs.
Absently, Erik danced his own, long fingers across Peter’s wrapped knuckles. The soft touch stirred Peter into as close of a state of awareness as he could get.
Peter’s silver hair shifted on the pillow, and his head lolled ever so slightly to the side. Big, deep, dark eyes flittered open so slowly. The dark eyes roved until they found Erik’s face through the fog.
Peter’s orbs latched onto Eriks, holding his gaze with a strange sort of determination in the face of lacking strength and dignity. Erik uncousnisly looped his fingers around Peter’s.
“Everyones been telling me to come down and visit you.” Erik said simply. Peter just blinked slowly, like even such simple movement required extra concentration. “Why is everyone so eager we meet?” Erik asked.
Peter’s fingers twitched under Eriks, and his bottom lip quivered. Still, no noise followed the small movements, and instead a deep inhale of air pierced the silence.
“He can’t speak. Hell, he’s probably not even lucid.” Ororo said, coming up behind Erik. Erik pulled away, fingers sliding away from Peter’s. Peter rolled his head as far away as it could go at that; not that anyone noticed.
“Why not?” Erik asked. Something worried and protective flared up in him. Had jean paralzied him, or done something he couldn’t recover from?
Ororo frowned, “It hasn’t been that long since the accident. Peter only became conscious a little over a week ago.” She began. “He’s on a lot of painkillers and sedatives because his immune system burns through them so fast.” Ororo continued.
Erik nodded in understanding.
“He should be ok to start coming off of them in a few days.” She said after a moment. “If you want to stay, and get your answers from him.” Ororo offered.
There was a strange temptation in her offer, and Erik couldn’t but want to stay. Especially now that he’d seen Peter’s condition. To know he was only a few days out from seeing the young man in a better state than this seemed good enough reason to stay.
Not that he’d admit that to anyone. Afterall, he could just say he stayed for the answers Peter could provide.
Ororo left shortly after, and Peter was once again alone with his father.
Erik stared down at the pale face before him. Peter’s face was slack and near emotionless. Eyes half lidded, kept open by sheer willpower. His silver hair was tousled against the pillow that rested softly under his head.
With nothing better to do, Erik let the paternal instincts take him. He fussed over the younger mutant. The first thing on Erik’s mind was Peter’s hair. Erik drew his long fingers through the feathery silver locks, pressing them flat and down into place.
Next was Peter’s pillow, which was moved to better match the position of his head. Then were Peter’s blankets, which were pulled back before being relaid against the porcelain skin.
Erik took each moment of fussing to stare at Peter’s wounds. Each one tightly wrapped or bound in some form of gauze or plaster.
Throughout the ordeal, Peter’s eyes would start to flutter close, before Erik would jostle him, and the doe eyes would snap open again.
At one point, when Erik was trying to find something else to fuss over, Peter had attempted very hard to speak.
All that came out was a scratchy, uneven sound. It was akin to a frog eating toast, or rocks caught in a motor.
Erik made a face at the atrocious sound, and tutted at Peter. “I’m sorry my friend, but you won’t be using your motor-mouth anytime soon.” Erik laughed. Peter, in his barely coherent state, wished he could laugh too.
Instead, he just rolled his head over in misery due to boredom.