Prologue: Year 34
“Close your eyes.” Charles slid into Erik's lap and touched two fingers to his temples. He didn't need the physical contact, but it did help him focus, and this task was best completed without distraction. It wasn't about taking what he wanted, but giving something back. “Calm your mind.”
Erik didn't answer, but his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly as Charles entered his mind, skimming past surface thoughts, recent memories, crossroads deal and due dates until he found what he was looking for. There was a door (it was always a door; the simplest solution was always the most effective), hidden in the shadows, its gleaming black surface shrouded in darkness. It wasn't meant to be noticed, and even as Charles approached, the door seemed to fade in and out of his awareness as though trying to convince him it didn't exist.
When Charles stepped through to the other side, it disappeared behind him, leaving him standing on a muddy gravel road, rain pouring down and soaking through his clothing. Water slid down his bare head, falling into his eyes and temporarily blinding him until he wiped it away with his sweater sleeve and materialized an umbrella into his hand.
This was a memory long since past – the 1940s, maybe? Charles had never been any good with the concept of time. Shades of people long dead, whose faces Erik never remembered, passed around and through him, nudged onward by soldiers bearing symbols that made Charles cringe with disgust. He'd tortured his fair share of neo-Nazis and hatemongers in Hell, but their memories has always left a bad taste in his mouth.
“No! Mama!” A young boy's scream cut through the air and Charles perked up, scanning the crowd for its source. There, at the gates – a man an a woman wrapped in tattered blankets being taken away to the camps beyond, separated from their child. The boy, perhaps twelve years old, reached out to them in anguish, screaming for his mother. His feet lost traction in the ground and he slipped, a sob catching in his throat. Behind him, a soldier hauled him to his feet, dragging him away even as he thrust out his hands in some last, desperately instinctual gesture.
The corner of Charles' mouth twitched as the metal gates groaned and bent outwards, nearly folding themselves in half under Erik's command. The soldier, eye wide in astonishment, momentarily released his charge, and Charles took the opportunity to grab Erik by the wrist and yank him under the umbrella. Around them, the memory carried on as though Erik were still present, the bewildered soldier apprehending empty air while the boy stared up at Charles, drenched and breathless.
“Who—who are you? What is this?”
Charles only grinned, baring his teeth at the boy. “It's your lucky day. I'm breaking you out.”
“B-but my parents—Mama--”
Charles rolled his eyes. “They're long dead. I need you to remember. Well, not you, another you. The one whose head you've been trapped in.”
Erik swallowed, shaking his head. “I don't understand.”
“Look,” Charles tightened his grip on the boy's arm. “I wasn't made for this. I'm supposed to hurt, not heal. But here I am, in your head, trying to piece you back together because you're the only person I actually care about. So once again, I need you to remember. What happened after this? Where did they take you?”
“I don't...”
Charles followed Erik's wandering gaze up to a fifth floor window belonging to a building past the camp gates, its facade as grey as everything else in this rain-soaked memory.
“Perfect.” Charles dematerialized them both, and then the pair was standing in a sterile looking office, its desk occupied, unsurprisingly, by one Sebastian--”
“Schmidt,” Erik shrank back against the glass panes lining the adjacent wall, and Charles raised an eyebrow.
“Schmidt,” he repeated. “Really.”
Erik nodded meekly. “He said...he told me...”
Schmidt raised his head and smiled at Erik with false warmth. “I'm going to count to three, and you're going to move the coin.”
Erik straightened and stepped towards the desk, fulfilling his place in the memory, and reached a shaking hand out to the coin on the desk. Behind him, two soldiers held onto Erik's mother, who was murmuring something in German that Charles didn't understand.
“He counted.” Erik's voice was barely above a whisper.
“One.”
“And I tried.”
“Two.”
“I couldn't save her--”
“Three.”
The gunshot rang out, too loud in the small office, and Erik's mother slumped between the two soldiers, blood flowing freely from the gaping hole between her eyes.
“And then...” Erik's eyes filled with tears and he turned to the glass panes that divided Schmidt's office in two. “He saw what I could do, and he never let me go. Not even in death.”
Erik raised his arms, and the room beyond the glass filled with swirling metal – weapons, writing utensils, filing cabinet drawers, all colliding in a perfectly contained storm.
“Erik.” Charles grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. “You have to stop. You have to focus.” He laughed. “Isn't this ironic? It's usually the other way around.”
Erik struggled in his grip, but Charles held fast. “Listen, this was what, decades ago? A century? He can't hurt you anymore. We made sure of that, remember? Calm. Your. Mind.”
Erik froze and looked at Charles, really looked at him, as though seeing him for the first time. “Charles?”
“Yes. Good. We're getting somewhere.” Beside them, everything that Erik had sent flying clattered noisily to the floor, and Charles released him with a sigh. “Now take that coin and walk through there--” he pointed at the office door-- “and we can all get out of here before I lose what little self control I have left.”
Erik obeyed, picking up the coin before the approached the door, but paused just as his fingers grazed the doorknob. “What happens to me? You know, after this?”
“That's the best part,” Charles replied, lips curving into a smile. “You're free. You can do anything you want.”
Erik took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and glanced at Charles one more time, who nodded encouragingly. When he opened the door, Charles followed close behind, ready to nudge him in the right direction, but Erik was no longer hesitant. Together, they left the remnants of the memory and walked through to the other side.
Back in his own head, Charles blinked and dropped his hands to his lap. “Well?”
Erik's brow furrowed. “I...I remember.”
“Good.” Charles stood and pulled Erik to his feet. “Time for a test drive.”
Erik flexed his fingers and looked around. The rooftop was fenced in with an iron railing, a recent addition with the renovations. “He almost felt guilty for tearing it up, screws flying, that long forgotten, yet familiar, call of the metal resonating in his blood. This was different from the crossroads; it wasn't an outward pull, but a deep seated need to be connected to the world around him. He was innately aware of exactly where every lost screw fell, of the metal appliances in the apartments beneath him, of every single car trapped in the teeming traffic below, of the zipper and rivets in Charles' dark blue jeans. When had he taken to wearing jeans? Clothing just appeared in their shared closet, and at this point, Erik had stopped questioning it.
He refocused on the railing, still hovering in the air before him, and reshaped it first into an amorphous blob, and then into a large, predatory cat, which he sent padding up to Charles' side.
“Cute,” Charles, commented, scratching the cat's head between its ears as it nuzzled against his thigh. “What else can you do?”
Erik grinned, teeth sharp and gleaming. “Let's find out.”
~
Year 48
Charles had nearly forgotten about the deal. It had been ten years, after all. So when Erik arrived to pick him up, saying it was time to collect the Braddock woman, Charles tilted his head, thinking, before asking, “who?”
“The telepath that returned your memories,” Erik explained, only a little impatient. “You know, the one you asked me to make a deal with?”
“Right. I definitely remember that happening.”
Erik narrowed his eyes. “Do you?”
“Of course,” Charles looped his arm through Erik's as he spoke. “Sort of. I'm sure it's in there somewhere. Can we go now?”
They materialized into a familiar, oak panelled hallway, and Charles looked around, confused. “Are we in my house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she's still an X-Man.”
“Who?”
Erik took Charles' face in his hands. “Charles. We've been over this. We're going into that bedroom behind me, and then I'm going to rip out Elizabeth Braddock's heart.”
Charles lit up, something finally clicking in his fragmented mind. “Oh! Can I do it? I haven't done one in ages, and I did make the deal. Technically.”
Erik released him, considered. “I suppose there's no harm in--”
“Brilliant!” he sidestepped Erik and entered the bedroom, ignoring Erik's protests to slow down. The woman—Psylocke, Charles remembered, was the name she used here, was waiting inside, seated on the edge of the bed with her hands folded into her lap.
“I've been expecting you. Both of you.” She was in a different uniform this time, a long sleeved, lilac bodysuit instead of her usual darker choices. “It's ten years, almost to the minute, isn't it?”
Erik nodded “There won't be any coming back this time.”
“Oh, I don't know,” Psylocke mused. “We X-Men tend to be quite resilient. And Charles here seems to be doing alright.”
“I'm fantastic.” Charles raised a hand, nails fully elongated into razor sharp claws. “I'm the one who gets to kill you.” He crossed the room in three strides and thrust his hand into her chest, reaching up between her ribs until his fingers closed around her heart. A wet, strangled sound escaped Psylocke's throat, blood bubbling up between her parted lips.
“Give Emma my regards.” Charles turned around, heart in hand, and offered it up to Erik. “Huh. Deja vu.” He sucked on his fingertips, humming with delight at the taste of fresh blood while he watched Erik eat. “I've murdered a few of yours before, haven't I?”
“You know you have,” Erik frowned. “You said earlier you hadn't done one in ages.”
Charles blinked, fingers poised at his lips. “Did I?”
Erik tossed the remains of the heart onto the bed next to its owner's unmoving body. “Your memory seems spottier than usual, Charles. Should I be concerned?”
Charles shrugged and brought his arms up over Erik's shoulder's fingers loosely linked at the base of his neck. He'd retracted his claws, only the soft pads of his fingertips grazing Erik's skin. “It's been what, a few decades in your time? And far more than that for me. It's easier to store the older memories and keep what's important on the surface. Like you,” Charles kissed Erik's bloodstained lips. “And us.” Another kiss. “And the stars.” One last kiss, as though to emphasize his point.
“But you fought for those memories.”
“And I still have them. I just...put them away for now. For safekeeping. Is that so wrong?”
The remains of Psylocke's heart dropped from Erik's fingers to the floor with a muted thump, an he wrapped his arms around Charles' waist to draw him closer. “As long as you're not drifting away on me again.”
“Of course not.” He nuzzled up against Erik's throat. “Home?”
“Home.”
~
Year 50
Charles was restless. He'd circled the perimeter of his room three times, and no one had sent him a new soul yet. The last one had been so boring that Charles broke him more quickly than usual, leaving him nothing but a useless, comatose vegetable in a matter of minutes.
“Hello up there,” Charles called at the ceiling. “Trick or treat, bring me something good to eat!”
As if on cue, a door materialized a few feet from where Charles was standing, and a Cuckoo entered, poised and placid as always. “Ms. Frost would like to see you in her office.”
Charles rolled his eyes. “And she sent one of you lot to come and get me? Have I been bad?”
The Cuckoo pivoted on her heel without deigning to respond, clearly expecting Charles to follow. He trailed behind her all the way to a row of gleaming, silver elevators and raised an eyebrow at her, bemused.
“Can't we just, you know, poof! And we're there?”
The Cuckoo's eyes faded into a milky, unfocused white, apparently receiving instruction from elsewhere.
“That's fine, you just carry on your psychic conversation with your creepy clone sisters instead of answering me. I could peek, you know, but your collective consciousness is the last place I'd want to be.” Charles crossed his arms, impatient. “Is this thing coming, or what?”
The light above one of the elevators pinged on and the doors slid open, revealing a sleek, mirrored car as pristine as the endless white hallway they'd just left. Thankfully, the ride wasn't long, and the Cuckoo faithfully deposited Charles in Emma's office with a brisk nod before disappearing.
“Hello, Charles.” Emma was seated primly at her desk, the scene almost identical to Charles' initial arrival in Hell. The only difference, Charles noticed, was that it wasn't his file open before her. “Please, have a seat.”
Charles settled into the chair across from her, drawing his knees up to his chest, toes curling over the edge of the cushion. “Have I done something wrong?”
Emma frowned. “Why would you think that?”
“Because those are the only times you want to see me.”
Emma spun the file before her to face him. “Do you remember her?”
Charles barely glanced at the violet haired woman in the photo. “Maybe. Yes. I ripped out her heart.” He paused, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. “Is that why I’m here?”
“You convinced Erik to make her a deal after she was already dead,” Emma clarified, snapping the folder shut. “It was quite unprecedented.”
“So I am in trouble.”
“On the contrary,” she offered him a thin smile. “You’re being promoted.”
Charles stared at her. “You’re not serious.”
“Management wants you on crossroads. Specifically, recruitment.” Emma leaned forward, lacing her fingers together over the file. “Braddock is the best telepath we’ve had since, well, you, and they want you to find more.”
At that, Charles burst out laughing. “I traded years for memories. That’s it. I’m no crossroads demon. I need souls to eat, not bodies.” He recovered himself, wiping away a stray tear. “And you can’t tell me you’re alright with this. You need me.”
“Oh, believe me, you’ll still have plenty of souls to torture,” Emma reassured him. “Like I said, you’re the best I’ve got.”
“Then what?”
“Same contract, different terms.” A crisp, legal size sheet of paper materialized between them, freshly printed with plenty of fine print that Charles didn’t care to read. “This will nullify the Persephone contract once you sign, but it will give you more freedom.”
“Which means...” Charles rolled his eyes, impatient. He was already getting antsy, hunger gnawing at the edges of his mind and blurring his peripheral vision.
“Which means,” Emma continued, ignoring the way Charles shifted and fidgeted in his seat, “Eight months above, four below. That’s two extra months upstairs to get the job done.”
“Mm. Erik would love that.”
“And you?”
Charles rocked forward, balancing his weight on his toes. “I don’t suppose I have any choice in the matter.”
“It’s for the best, sugar.” She offered him a thin smile while he dug the sharp, clawed nail of his forefinger into the pad of his thumb and pressed his blood into the page.
“If you say so.”
It was only when the Cuckoo returned and escorted Charles back to his room, Emma following him telepathically until he began tearing into his waiting victim, that Emma allowed herself to relax. Two extra months. It wasn’t much, all things considered, but it just might be enough of a deterrent.
Emma sighed and swivelled in her chair to watch the security feeds rotating on her computer screen, her gaze landing on a massive, gilded cage. The door had been shut once more, no longer hanging haphazardly from its hinges, but the cage itself remained empty. The hounds were already out, she knew, sniffing around hallways and torture chambers, offices and endless hallways, searching for the inhabitant of that cage.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said to the empty room.
No response, but she wasn’t expecting one. It was enough to know that management was listening. They were always listening.
~
Erik entered Charles’ sanctum warily, maintaining a wide berth while he ascertained Charles’ current state of mind. Last year, Charles has nearly ripped his throat out, and the year before that, his memory loss had made him even less predictable than usual.
Now, Charles was crouched over a crumpled mess of a human soul, the panels of his domed walls playing short scenes of various gruesome murders on a loop – no remorse, no reason, just pure, unadulterated bloodshed. Erik waited until Charles was finished, when the last image on the wall had flickered out and Charles rose to his feet, cracking his neck and stretching his arms, to speak.
“Charles.”
He stiffened at the sound of his name and slowly turned to face Erik, his expression unreadable. Silence stretched between them, Charles just staring, motionless, until Erik approached him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Charles,” he repeated, his voice low but firm. “It’s time to go.”
Charles blinked once, twice, his eyes clouding. “I was supposed to tell you something. Oh!” he brightened, his smile at once innocent and predatory. “Eight above, four below,” he recited, evidently proud of himself for remembering. Unfortunately, Erik had no idea what that meant, and told him so.
“I’m on crossroads now. With you!” Charles took Erik’s hands, leading him in a quick, circular and mostly one-sided dance. “And also here, still. But Emma wants more telepaths. So now I have eight months with you, and four here.”
Erik’s brow furrowed as he digested this information, then broke into a grin and pulled Charles in for a kiss. “Happy anniversary to us, eh?”
“Anniversary?”
Time had never been Charles’ strong suit. Managing crossroads deadlines with him was going to be...interesting. “It’s been fifty years since I took your heart.”
“Both figuratively and literally,” Charles tacked on slyly. “Are we celebrating? Can we have champagne? I’ve never had champagne before.”
Erik started. “Don’t you remember? We had it for our twentieth. We sat on your headstone and shared a bottle.”
“I...” Charles’ face fell. “I would have kept that one. Where did it go?”
“Hey.” Erik took Charles’ chin between thumb and forefinger. “I’m sure you’ll find it. For now, let’s go make some new memories, alright?”
Charles only nodded, still shaken, and in truth, so was Erik. Charles’ mind had never been entirely reliable since his death, but his memories seemed to be eroding more quickly over the past couple of years. Hopefully, he thought, as they materialized from the room, a little more time away from Hell would change that.
~
“You made these?” Charles watched, fascinated, as the two metal rings hovered, orbiting each other, just above the palm of Erik’s hand. “For us?”
Erik shrugged a shoulder. “Gold would have been more traditional, but I work better with steel.” He took Charles’ hand and slid the ring onto his third finger. “With your new contract, we won’t be apart as often, but it feels right to have something tangible to help you...ah...”
“To help me remember,” Charles finished, eyes fixed on the floor of their bedroom. “You think I’m getting worse.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” Erik told him quietly. “And I know this isn’t much, but it’s something.”
Charles plucked the second ring from the air and slid it onto Erik’s finger. “This really is fantastic, you know. You’ll have to teach me.”
“What?”
Charles gestured vaguely while he spoke. “You know, whatever demonic telekinesis you used to make these.”
Erik stared at him. “Charles, I’m a mutant. You know that. I can control metal.”
“But Shaw took away your powers. Wasn’t I supposed to fix that?”
“You did.”
“Oh. Oh.” he bit his lower lip, embarrassed.
“Charles--”
“Stop it,” he interrupted. “Stop saying my name like it means something, like you think if you can say the right thing, find the right words, you can save me. I might be broken, and I probably always have been, but can you please, just for one night, stop trying to piece me back together?”
“Aren’t you the least bit worried?” Erik pressed, taking Charles’ hand in his. “Your memories are deteriorating at an alarming speed, and we need to find out why before you lose everything.”
“One night,” Charles repeated, and this time, a hint of telepathic command laced through his words. “One night of champagne and starlight and then tomorrow, I promise, we’ll figure out what’s going on in my head.”
Erik only nodded mutely, unable and unwilling to argue further. He could feel Charles creeping around at the edges of his mind, nudging him gently into submission, but he didn’t bother to fight the intrusion. He’d learned early on to choose his battles carefully, and when Charles was this agitated, it was best to let the argument slide.
Charles smiled brightly, his presence in Erik’s mind no longer threatening but not quite at ease, either. There was no denying that Charles was on edge tonight, and it wasn’t just because of the way Erik had pushed him. “Good. We should go somewhere. It is our anniversary, after all.”
“Like where?”
Charles shrugged. “Anywhere there’s blood and debauchery. I’m hungry.”
Erik couldn’t help but match his smile with a grin of his own. “You’re always hungry.”
~
The mansion was alive and busy when Charles and Erik materialized into the front foyer. Children and teens of all ages rushed to and from classes or out the front doors, brushing past the pair with a murmured apology as they went. Charles didn’t recognize any of them, but it had been five decades, and this school was an ever revolving door of new students. He didn’t even know who was on the current team of X-Men, but odds were pretty good that there was always a telepath around.
Sure enough, a young, red-headed woman was descending the main stairway now, bright green eyes and long crimson coat at once familiar and foreign to Charles. What really struck him, however, were the jagged tattoos tracing the curvatures of her jaw, like a row of gaping teeth.
“Always good to see you, Jean,” Charles greeted her. “And in the land of the living, for once.”
The woman frowned, bemused. “Jean passed away a few months back. I’m her daughter, Rachel.”
“Her daughter,” Charles repeated, his gaze still on her tattoos. “That tracks, I suppose. You’ve inherited her telepathy, though.”
“Yes.”
“And you know who I am.”
Rachel nodded. “Rumour has it you sold your soul for this school.”
“I did.” Charles jerked a thumb towards Erik, who had been patiently watching the exchange. “To him.”
Rachel between the pair, one eyebrow raised. “Let’s take this conversation to my office.”
~
Charles hated having other people in his head. It was his space, and sometimes it felt as though there was barely enough room for him in there, let alone for someone else to come snooping around. But he needed to know how his memories were disappearing, and he need Erik to stop watching him as if he might internally combust at any moment, so he gave Rachel free reign to do as she pleased.
“You didn’t lose them,” she was saying now, eyes closed while she sat across from him, venturing ever deeper into his mind. “It looks like you’ve hidden them away. Come and see.”
Charles’ eyes fluttered shut as well, following her further into darkness until a series of lights faded into view. No, not lights, he corrected himself, stars.
“What do those numbers mean?”
He squinted briefly, then remembered where he was and raised a hand to the stars. At his silent command, the entire “sky” shot closer to them, until Charles could trace the constellations with his fingertips. Sure enough, each star was labelled with a little translucent number, from one to forty-nine, tiny suspended footnotes denoting--
“Years,” Charles breathed, incredulous. They’re years.”
“Maybe one of these memories can explain why you felt the need to hide them,” Rachel said from behind him.
Charles shook his head. “There’s nothing like that here. But I can see the gap where it should be, as if it’s been deliberately removed.”
“You want to keep looking?”
Another shake of his head. “At least everything else still here, safe and sound.”
Rachel sat back in her office chair, simultaneously extracting herself from Charles’ mind. Charles blinked, only a little disoriented, and focused once more on the present. “I didn’t create that memory gap.”
“How do you know?” Rachel cocked her head to one side. “After all, you did stash away everything else of importance.”
“Because I know my own mind,” Charles retorted, frustration creeping into his tone. “And I can recognize my own work. I didn’t remove that memory.”
Rachel held up both hands in surrender. “I believe you. But that means someone else did.”
Charles crossed his arms, considering. “I’ve never met a telepath that could best me. I’m almost impressed.”
“I could help you, if you wanted to stick around for awhile.”
“It’s better if I don’t.” Charles stood and glanced over his shoulder towards the door, beyond which Erik was waiting. “But if you’re interested in selling your soul, I’d be happy to help. My boss would love you.”
A wry smile crossed Rachel’s lips. “No, thanks. We X-Men don’t live very long lives as it is. I’m not about to give up my time here for a one way ticket to Hell.”
Charles only shrugged. “Your loss.” He slipped out of the office without another word. Ordinarily, he would have pushed harder, made the offer sound more enticing, but he had more important things to worry about than an annual soul quota.
Erik was leaning against the wall across from Rachel’s office, arms crossed. When Charles approached him, he straightened, adjusting the cuffs of his leather jacket. “Well?”
Charles met his eyes, uncertain. Erik always seemed to view him as someone who needed to be coddled, protected. If he found out Charles’ mind was under siege, there was no telling how he would react. But, Charles conceded to himself, maybe this time he wanted that protection. Maybe, just this once, he was allowed to want to feel safe.
“She found my memories.”
Erik brightened. “That’s great!”
“I think it’s better if they stay hidden for now.” Charles looked away as he spoke, unwilling to face Erik’s darkening expression.
“And why’s that?” An accusation, one riddled with concern, but an accusation nonetheless. He could hear Erik’s unspoken question as clearly as if he’d said it aloud. What aren’t you telling me?
“Because...because someone’s been in my head.” Charles stumbled beneath the weight of his confession. “Someone’s violated my mind, Erik. And I can’t remember any of it.”
Erik started, but recovered quickly, drawing Charles into his arms and holding him tight. Around them, a few passersby threw them a curious glance, but a glare from Erik sent them hurrying on their way. “Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Charles returned the embrace, breathing in Erik’s scent and exhaling slowly. “They didn’t leave any trace behind. Only a gaping hold where the memory should be. I...I’m scared, Erik,” he admited quietly, a lump forming in his throat. “I’ve never been afraid like this. Not since Kurt, anyway.”
“You’re allowed to be scared, Charles.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He felt Erik tense for a split second, and Charles pulled back just enough to meet Erik’s eyes once more. “Collection time.” It wasn’t a question. Even with most of his memories packed away, Charles recognized the telltale signs the alarm going off in the back of Erik’s mind.
When Erik nodded, Charles mustered a feral smile, forcing as much enthusiasm as he could into his words. “Good. I’m hungry.”
~
[Chapter 2]
Year 51
When Erik arrived in Hell, Charles was lying on the floor, limbs askew, staring vacantly at the ceiling. This wasn’t unusual; Charles tended to gaze up at the stars of his memories to ground himself, and Erik didn’t think anything of it until he realized that there weren’t actually any stars above their heads.
“Charles?”
No response.
“Charles, it’s me. It’s Erik.” He materialized at Charles’ side and sank to his knees, gently lifting Charles’ motionless body into his lap. “Talk to me, my love. Tell me you’re in there.”
Charles’ eyes were a flat, matte black, devoid of their usual lustre, and he lay limp and unblinking in Erik’s arms, even as Erik stroked his cheek, first with the pads of his fingers, and then with the tip of a sharpened claw that broke skin and drew a thin line of blood. Finally, Erik raised his attention skyward.
“Emma, I know you can hear me. If you don’t get down here right now, so help me I will rip your cold, dead heart from your chest!”
Emma appeared almost immediately, buttoning the front of her crisp, bone white blazer as she spoke. “Will you cut the theatrics, I’m right—oh. Oh, no.” She was at Erik’s side in an instant, leaning over his shoulder to examine Charles’ prone form. “She shouldn’t have drained him. She’s supposed to know better.”
“Who?” Erik demanded.
Emma sighed. “Selene.”
“Shaw’s old lackey?”
“She’s more than that,” Emma replied bitterly. “Selene is a 17,000 year old immortal that sustains herself on the hearts and minds of her fellow mutants. Recently, she broke out of her prison and took a liking to my telepaths, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop her.”
“You can’t protect your own people?”
Emma drew herself up to her full height, folding her arms over her sternum. “She’s far older and far more powerful than I am. There’s a reason we kept her locked up.” She gazed down at Charles, still unresponsive. “Such a shame, really. Charles was the best I’ve had in centuries. I’d grown rather attached.”
Erik shook his head furiously. “No. I refuse to lose him. You have to help me get into his head.”
“There’s nothing left, sugar. She’s been feeding on him for too long. All that’s left is a husk.” Before Erik could protest, Emma added, “But I’m aware of exactly how pigheaded you are, so if it’ll get you out of my hair, I’ll do it.”
She closed her eyes, and Erik found himself yanked unceremoniously into a black, featureless void. “See? Nothing here. Time to go.”
“Absolutely not.” Erik glared at her. “Leave if you want, but I’m not going anywhere without him.”
Emma shrugged. “Your funeral.” And with that she was gone, leaving Erik alone in the wasteland of Charles’ mind.
“Come on, Charles, help me find you,” he said to the void, choosing a direction at random to start walking. “You’re stronger than she thinks. Show me the way.” He paused, something glinting in his peripheral vision. “There you are.” He pivoted and began making his way towards the tiny pinprick of light in the distance. He walked for what felt like hours, until the light became larger and larger, until it wasn’t a light at all, but Charles’ too pale, translucent form craving a stark silhouette in the otherwise absolute darkness. He’d curled into himself, fists clasped tight against his chest, and the mere sight of him was all Erik needed to break into a run and drop to his knees before him.
“Charles.” His name was a mantra now, something tangible meant to anchor and focus its owner. “Charles, it’s me. It’s time to come home.”
“Can’t leave.” His voice was barely a whisper, his eyes just as dull and lifeless as they were in the physical realm.
“You don’t have to hide anymore.” Erik reached out to him, fingers barely brushing skin before Charles flinched away.
“She’ll find me. Can’t leave.”
“Selene’s long gone.” A lie, perhaps. Erik had no way of knowing what had become of her, where she was now. “I’ve got you.”
Slowly, Charles opened his hands, the crack of his knuckles echoing in the void like a tree branch snapped underfoot. Through his fingers, Erik caught a glimpse of the glittering, jewel-like stars within Charles’fists. “I saved them. Most of them. But she took so much of me and I...I can’t...”
“I know. It’s alright.” Erik reached for him again, and this time, Charles didn’t protest as Erik gathered him into his arms. “We’ll pick up the pieces and put you back together again, like we always do. But first, I need you to focus.”
“Can’t,” Charles mumbled against his shoulder.
Erik bit back the immediate, impatient response on the tip of his tongue and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “You can, and you will. Emma left me stranded here in your head, and you’re the only one who can get us out.”
Charles remained silent for a long moment, and then Erik was jolted back into consciousness, nearly dropping Charles from his lap in the process.
“Now take me home,” Charles rasped, nails digging into Erik’s skin through the fabric of his Henley.
A quick glance around told Erik that Emma was long gone, and there was no telling how long he’d spent in Charles’ mind until they returned to the land of the living, where time passed in a more linear and reliable fashion. He dematerialized them both out of Hell, reforming on a doorstep that decidedly did not belong to Erik’s apartment.
“What is this.” Charles pried himself from Erik’s grasp, bare feet slapping against concrete, and wavered, vision blurring as he latched onto Erik’s arm for support.
“You’re weak, Charles. You need to eat.”
“Mm. Starving.”
“Exactly.” Erik moved to ring the doorbell, but the door was already opening, revealing a petite young woman in a French maid uniform.
“My lord,” she offered Erik a brief curtsy, but Erik waved a hand dismissively.
“Skip the court etiquette. I need to see Azazel.”
She nodded and stepped aside for the pair to enter. “Please wait here a moment, my lord.”
Erik rolled his eyes as she left, presumably to alert their host of his ‘royal’ guests. Despite abdicating decades ago, Azazel had practically begged Erik to accept a court position in lieu of Charles’ departure, and Erik had only accepted to cut short any further grovelling.
Azazel’s presence was announced by a puff of blood red smoke and the heady scent of brimstone. As the smoke dissipated, he narrowed his eyes at Charles, who was resting his forehead against the cool marble of a nearby pillar.
“Rough night?”
“Selene’s been feeding on him,” Erik supplied, keeping one eye on Charles as he spoke.
“And he survived?” Azazel snapped his fingers, and two other demons in matching black suits appeared behind him. “Have a few of our...guests sent up to the Black Rook’s suite,” he ordered, without turning around. “Three, I think, will do.”
The pair nodded in unison and disappeared, presumably to carry out their master’s wishes.
“That should do for now,” Azazel mused, leaning forward to examine Charles more closely. Charles, for his part, merely eyed him tiredly and said nothing. “She really did a number on him, didn’t she?”
Erik glared. “He’ll be fine.”
“Of course he will.” Azazel straightened and gestured to the grand staircase before them. “The Hellfire Club takes care of their own.”
“Why do you think I brought him here?” Erik materialized them into his suite, the room as large as his entire apartment and populated by a plush, king size bed and a massive fireplace, a fire already prepared and bathing the room in a soft, warm glow. A pair of wing back chairs sat across from each other near the fire, a chess set set up for play on a table between them. Three humans in various eras of formal wear stood in front of the oak wardrobe against the far wall, silent and waiting. They remained utterly still, barely even blinking, while Erik helped Charles sink down onto the bed, shoulders slumped.
“You should go,” Charles mumbled, fidgeting with the cuffs of his cardigan. “Just for now. I’m so hungry, Erik.”
Erik frowned. “I’m aware, love. That’s why we’re here.”
“I mean...” he swallowed hard. “I’m starving. I won’t...I won’t be able to stop. You can’t be here.”
Erik’s expression softened, understanding replacing frustration. “Alright. I won’t be far, though,” he said, tapping two fingers to his temple. “Call me if you need me.”
He’d barely shut the door all the way when a high pitched wail escaped from within, laced with just the right amount of agony and despair. He’d been absolutely right, Erik thought to himself, following the seemingly endless hallway back to the main staircase. Charles was going to be just fine.
~
Erik hadn’t been gone for long. An hour or two, at most, when he’d tired of exploring the Hellfire Club’s extensive library and the call of the crossroads grew too powerful to ignore. After all, Charles was still quite preoccupied, and on a bright, cloudless night like tonight, there were plenty of hapless humans ready to barter away their precious souls. Azazel, however, did not share the same sentiment.
“How could you leave him up there on his own? You’re the only one who can control him!”
Erik only smirked. “It’s cute that you really believe that. What’s the problem?”
“He’s burned through seven of my guests. Seven!” Azazel’s tail lashed out in time with his rising frustration. “And when I suggested he slow down, the little fiend decided that two of the maids were also on the menu!”
Erik’s smile widened. “Sounds like he’s feeling better.”
Azazel groaned. “Yes, wonderful, everyone’s favourite telepathic murder machine is back to normal. For him, anyway. Now will you please go up there and ask him to stop eating my staff?”
“I won’t make any promises.” Erik dematerialized upstairs, knocking lightly on the door of the bedroom suite before entering.
“Just me,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Azazel tell me you’ve been---” he paused, taking in the scene before him. Bodies were haphazardly strewn about, some whole and untouched, while others appeared to be ransacked for their internal organs. Blood dripped down the walls, seeped into the previously pristine carpets, left dark, blotchy stains on various furniture. “--busy,” Erik finished belatedly.
Charles was crouched on the floor, right in the centre of his self-created carnage, balancing his weight on is toes as he tore into yet another of Azazel’s demons. “Oh, you’re back!” he grinned up at Erik, teeth stained red, and held up a fresh, still bleeding heart. “Help yourself.”
Erik shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ve just collected.”
“Such restraint.” Charles was on his feet in an instant, letting the heart fall from his fingers to tug Erik down by his shirt collar for a deep, oddly insistent kiss. Still riding the high of a long overdue meal, Charles demanded even more, a low growl sounding from the base of his throat as Erik snaked an arm around Charles’ waist to pull him in close.
“Good to see you’re feeling better.”
“I feel amazing,” Charles breathed the words against Erik’s lips, bloodstained fingers tracing the line of Erik’s jaw. “I want more.”
“Azazel doesn’t want you eating the help.”
“Then maybe the help shouldn’t taste so good.” Another kiss, nearly as aggressive as the first. “I’m bored now, anyway. And you taste far better than they do.”
Erik huffed out a laugh. “I should hope so. Have you put your memories back where they belong?”
“Some. Not all.” Charles undid the first three buttons of Erik’s shirt as he answered. “The rest can wait.” He brought his mouth to Erik’s throat, teeth grazing skin, and Erik arched against him in response.
I remember the taste of you on my tongue. He bit down just above Erik’s collarbone, eliciting a low moan as Erik dug his nails into Charles’ spine.
I remember how you like to be touched. Charles hand slid lower, mouth still fixed on Erik’s throat while his fingers dipped beneath the belt to locate Erik’s growing arousal. And I remember the first time you let me inside of you.
Erik cupped the back of Charles’ neck and kissed him hungrily, the warm metallic taste of wam blood hitting his tongue as he nipped at Charles’ lower lip.
“Not here,” he growled, dematerializing them both back to their own, massacre-free bedroom, where Charles immediately tugged him down onto the bed. Erik started toslide Charles’ cardigan from his shoulders, but paused, uncertain, when Charles’ eyes shifted from pure, shining black to a clear, lazuline blue.
“What’s wrong?”
Charles bit his lower lip, eyes already pooling black once more. “Nothing. Everything. Just...I need to feel something other than her.”
Erik kissed him softly, reverently, and then Charles’ fingers were tangling in his hair, arms pressing against the back of Erik’s neck in a rough, crushing embrace. “Kiss me like you mean it, darling.”
The words were a breathless, snarling command against Erik’s mouth, and Erik did exactly what was asked of him without a second thought.
~
Afterwards, Charles slept fitfully, mumbling unintelligibly as his fingers clenched around empty air. Every so often, Erik’s name escaped his lips in a desperate, plaintive cry, and Erik would murmur reassurances in his ear, curling protectively around him and lacing Charles’ restless fingers through his own. Erik, for his part, didn’t sleep; not now, nor ever, really. He didn’t need it, and it had always seemed like a waste of time. Charles rarely slept either, but between the sex, the binge feeding, and Selene, he was utterly spent, and there was still the question of his memories.
He shuddered suddenly, violently, and shot upright, knocking Erik backwards as he gasped for air. “I can’t—I can’t breathe—Erik--”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Erik rubbed Charles’ back in slow circles, adding, “we don’t need to breathe, remember? It’s just habit. Calm your mind.”
Gradually, Charles returned to himself, his trembling subsiding, head bowed. “I don’t want to go back. I can’t go back.”
“Don’t worry about that now. We’ve still got plenty of time.”
“No, you don’t...” he shook his head, glancing sideways at Erik. “I can’t do it. Not now, not in eight months.” Something seemed to occur to him, and he leaned in closer, fingers curling around Erik’s knee. “Is this how it felt for you? After Shaw?”
Startled, Erik dropped his hand from Charles’ back, unable to form a response. He hadn’t thought about Shaw in years, Charles having eradicated that particular threat from their lives.
“After Shaw, I didn’t want to keep going,” Erik admitted quietly. “My mind, my body, what remained of my soul...none of it belonged to me anymore. When someone comes into your life that destroys your autonomy, violates you that thoroughly, there is no getting over it. There’s only survival, from one day to the next. At least, that’s how it was until I met you.”
Charles seemed to mull over Erik’s answer for a minute or two, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. “You’ve always taken care of me. You’ve always put my desires first, always protected me even when I didn’t need it. If I stay up here, with you, I know I’ll be okay.”
“Of course. You know I’ve got you.”
Charles shivered, tugging the duvet along with him as he manoeuvred further into Erik’s lap. Erik automatically shifted into a cross-legged position to oblige him. “But the idea of sitting in that room, alone, wondering if shes going to walk through the door and drain me again and again until there’s nothing left to save.... I can’t do it, Erik.”
“Emma’s the only one who can break your contract. You’ll have to speak with her directly.”
“...Which mean I have to go back.”
“Yes.”
Charles exhaled heavily. “That sounds like a problem for eight months from now.”
“Agreed.”
“Especially since I still have to let the rest of my memories out,” Charles added. “But I need to use the real stars as a guide to fix mine.”
“Sunrise was a few hours ago, so it’ll have to wait.”
“What should we do in the meantime?”
Erik dipped his hand between Charles’ legs, and Charles arched against him, head dropping back against Erik’s shoulder. “I might have a few ideas.”
~
“I told you, I don’t want to go back.” Charles, for once, was sitting properly in the chair, back straight, one leg crossed over the other. He’d wanted Emma to take him seriously, to appear confident and unafraid, but judging from Emma’s stony expression, it wasn’t working. “It was meant to be my own space, and you let her invade it, invade me, and I--” his voice cracked and he closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. “I can’t trust you. Or anyone, for that matter, except for Erik.”
“You need to understand that this was out of my control, Charles,” Emma’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Someone let her out. There wasn’t much I could do about it, other than send you away for a little longer and have you find some new telepaths to distract her appetite.” She sighed. “I was hoping she’d be back in her cage before you returned, but things rarely work out as planned, do they?”
Charles lifted his chin, defiant, and willed his voice not to betray him again. “But you knew what was going on. You knew what she was doing to me, and you just let her have me!”
“Charles--”
“You didn’t even have the decency to tell me it was happening, so I could defend myself. You just sat back and watched while she drained me and then erased herself over and over again!”
“She didn’t erase those memories,” Emma blurted out, cheeks colouring. “I did.”
Charles stared at her, entirely at a loss for words. “You...what? Why?”
“Because you were suffering, and I thought I was helping you.”
“By leaving me helpless?”
“By preventing your mind from fracturing!” Emma spun her computer monitor to face him, so that he could see the dark haired woman pacing the massive cage on screen. “This woman is ancient. She’s older and more powerful than most things in this dimension, do you understand? I couldn’t raise a hand against her, but I could extend one to you, so that’s what I did.” She pushed the monitor back into place. “Look, management wants you back on duty immediately. They don’t care that you’ve been tortured, because that’s what Hell is for. Demons, humans, it’s all the same to them. That being said, I have been granted a little room for negotiation.”
Charles narrowed his eyes. “Put me on crossroads full time.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Then give me my freedom.”
“Charles--”
He held up a hand to silence her. “Let me finish.”
Resigned, Emma folded her arms across her chest and nodded for him to continue.
“No more time share contracts. No more fine print telling me where, when, and how I’m allowed to exist. I’ll keep doing my job here—because apparently I don’t have a choice—but I want to be able to come and go as I please.”
Emma’s eyes unfocused for a moment, shifting into the same milky white as her Cuckoos, before she responded. “Done. But if you end up with a backlog of souls, that’s on you.”
Charles only shrugged. “I’ll just find you more telepaths. Granted, none of them will be able to replace me, but I’m sure I can find a few decent recruits to lighten the load.”
“Fair enough. If you think you can manage your own time and maintain productivity, then we have a deal.”
“Oh, I’ve never been good with time. That’s what Erik’s for.” He stretched, limbs cracking, and stood up. “Are we done here?”
A fresh sheet of paper appeared on the desk, and Emma tapped a manicured fingernail to the signature line at the bottom of the page. “New rules, new contract. Sign here.”
Charles eyed here warily. “No hidden clauses? No traps or tricks?”
“Just the one caveat,” Emma conceded, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth. “as part of the terms of your employment. There will be no running off with your boyfriend and shirking your responsibilities. You will do as you’re told, and you will do it well, or you’ll be right back where you started.”
“Always with the rules.” Charles bit into the tip of his thumb and pressed his bloodied print to paper. “I’m going to my room now. I need to eat before I see him again.”
“Does it ever bother you that you’re constantly on the brink of murdering the one you love?” Emma asked, her tone nonchalant.
He froze, halfway to the door. “Erik knows I would never.”
“I wasn’t asking about him.”
Charles breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. “What do you care? If I did kill him, I’d have no reason to leave Hell anymore. I’d be all yours.”
“I know. So you’d better take care of him.”
“What?”
Emma swivelled to face her computer, already typing away at something on the screen. “I’m well aware that he’s the only thing currently keeping you in one piece. It seems only fair that you’d afford him the same courtesy.”
Charles turned away from her and fled the room without another word. From behind her desk, Emma only smiled and continued her work.
~
Year 52
It had been two months and eleven days since Charles had returned to Hell, Erik was certain of that. His internal clock worked meticulously as always, informing him of the due dates for every single crossroads contract he held at any given time. He was in the middle of finalizing one such deal when Charles appeared out of nowhere, materializing between Erik and his client and throwing his arms around Erik’s neck with enough force to send him stumbling backwards.
“What are you—mm--” Before he could finish, Charles’ mouth was on his, stealing the words from his lips.
“Did you miss me?” Charles was practically vibrating with excess energy
“Of course.”
“Did I surprise you?”
Erik chuckled. “You know you did. Not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing here?”
Charles’ grin widened. “New contract, new rules. I can come and go whenever I want!”
“Seriously?”
“Right? Even I wouldn’t trust me with this much freedom, but here we are,” He took Erik by the hand and danced a small circle around him. Erik pivoted on his heel to keep up, still a little off kilter. “I still have to put in the work, though. Crossroads with you, torturing souls downstairs. And you’ll probably have to pick me up sometimes,” he added, tilting his head to one side. “You know I have absolutely no concept of time. Which reminds me!”
“Hold that thought.” Erik extracted himself from Charles grip and approached the young man who, for some reason, was still standing at the side of the road watching his and Charles’ reunion. “Close your mouth before you catch flies.”
The boy complied, gaze flicking from Erik, to Charles, and back again. “Maybe I should just--”
“Finish what you started? I agree.”
He glanced back at Charles. “Who’s that?”
“None of your concern. Do you want the deal or not?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good.” Erik kissed him quickly and waved him off. “See you in ten years.”
“Don’t I need to sign something?”
“You just did.” He turned back to Charles, who had been amusing himself by rifling through Erik’s recent memories.
“It really hasn’t been very long, has it? It’s nice to be back early. Everything feels more familiar, more...constant.”
Erik gently nudged Charles out of his mind, taking a quick mental inventory as he did so. Charles might mean well, but his self control left something to be desired. “What did you want to tell me?”
“Right. The stars.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet as he elaborated. “After Selene, I put all my memories back where they belong, but they still feel disorganized. I think I might have numbered them wrong, and I need you to help me put things back in order.”
“Of course.”
“I figured if I actually put some effort into it, instead of just throwing memories into random constellations, I might be a little less...”
“Manic?” Erik supplied, only half joking.
“Broken,” Charles finished sheepishly. “But that too, maybe. I don’t know what’ll happen. But I do know that I want to keep my freedom, and that means I need to be a little more self aware. What’s that saying? With great power comes great responsibility, etcetera.”
“Well then, what are we waiting for?” Erik laced their fingers together and materialized them both to their usual rooftop. “Let’s get started.”
~
Later, lying shoulder to shoulder on a blanket under the stars, Charles was, as always the first to break the comfortable silence between them.
“Didn’t they renovate up here recently?”
“They did,” Erik confirmed. “But winter is coming, so all of the new seating and gardens have been wrapped and covered for the season.”
“Oh.” Charles rolled over onto his side to face Erik. “I haven’t been up here much in the winter, have I?”
“Not really. That was the deal with your original contract. Persephone always spent the winter with Hades.”
But now, I can come up here whenever I want.”
“Yes,” Erik agreed.
“Even in winter.”
“I would assume so.”
Charles hummed softly in amusement. “You’re always so serious, darling. And I can tell when you’re worried about me, which is pretty much all of the time, but especially right now.”
“I can’t help it,” Erik protested, twisting to look at him. “In my experience, when things are going to well, something’s bound to come along and ruin it.”
“Not this time.” He trailed two fingers, down Erik’s cheek with uncharacteristic tenderness. “Selene is back in her cage. I’ve got all of my memories intact for once, and we’re finished with all of that Persephone nonsense. We can be together anytime, no strings attached.
“I know, but...”
“No buts.” Charles’ left eye twitched almost imperceptibly. “You’ve always taken care of me. Let me do something for you.” He reached deep into Erik’s mind, smoothing over the innate anxiety and trepidation that cast a shadow over his every thought.
“What are you doing to me?”
“Sshh, it’s alright. I’m just convincing your brain to produce a little extra serotonin and chase away all of that doom and gloom.”
Erik shivered, the ever present weight in his chest lifting as he closed his eyes and succumbed to Charles’ ministrations. When he opened them once more, he found Charles, watching him expectantly.
“Well?”
Erik sat up slowly. He must have drifted off there, because he couldn’t remember the question he was meant to answer. “Sorry, what did you say?”
Charles sat up and leaned in to press a quick, reassuring kiss to his lips. “Nothing important, darling. Come on, let’s go and have a little fun.”
~
[Chapter 3: Epilogue]
Year 56
Charles loved his job. He loved the screams of the damned when he shoved them headfirst into their deepest darkest fears, the memories of bloodlust and pure carnage that covered his panelled walls, the intensely absurd positions into which one could contort the human body. But all god things had to come to an end, and Charles was beginning to feel as though he’d been working for longer than usual. He nudged his current victim with his bare toes, but they didn’t so much as twitch in response.
“Well, that was fun while it lasted. Emma?”
Yes, Charles?
Charles spun in a slow circle, willing the images on his walls to flicker out one by one. “How long has it been since I was last upstairs?”
A little over eight months, in their time, came the response. Why?
“You know why. Erik should have been here by now.” There was a chance it was his own fault, Charles considered. He had been tampering with Erik’s mind more often, gently pushing any negative thoughts into the background. At first it was just to help Erik relax and make the most of their time together, but he found himself skimming bits of fear and concern more and more often to both sate his constant hunger and reduce any chance of conflict between them.
He felt Emma’s sigh in his mind. Stop sulking and go after him, then. Take advantage of the freedom you wanted so badly.
What if he’d taken too much? What if Erik had stopped worrying about Charles to the point that he no longer bothered to come down and check on him? If Erik wasn’t clocking their time anymore, Charles was in deep trouble, because Erik was supposed to be clocking crossroads deals for the both of them. He closed his eyes, reaching out for Erik’s mental signature, and found...nothing.
Charles raised on eyebrow and materialized to the rooftop of their apartment building, concentrating on the familiar landscape of Erik’s mind, the blood connection between them. Still nothing. Not a whisper in his mind, no thrumming in his veins to let him know they were in proximity to each other, just complete and utter silence.
“No, no, no.” Charles materialized from the roof to their bedroom, from there to a few of his regular crossroad haunts, the roads most frequented by his prospective clients, and finally to the Hellfire Club, already knowing that his search was futile.
“Is there something I can do for you, Charles?” Azazel stood in the doorway of Erik’s room, watching Charles pace in front of the unlit fireplace. “Fresh out of Hell and already hungry?”
Charles was on him faster than Azazel could react, fingers closing around Azazel’s throat and slamming him against the adjacent wall.
“Where is he?” Charles snarled, already tearing through Azazel’s mind. “Useless. All of this is useless.” He shoved Azazel to the carpeted floor in frustration and disappeared, headed for the only other place that he knew would be able to help.
~
It was near sunrise when Charles entered the mansion, not trusting himself to materialize safely inside. This house had been destroyed and rebuilt so many times that he could scarcely remember whether the layout remained the same since his last visit. The side door that led into the kitchen was unlocked, presumably by the students that had started the bonfire in the woods down the way, and wasted no time locating an elevator than would take him down into the sublevels. Distracted by his task, he didn’t even bother to telepathically mask his presence; it wasn’t as if anyone was awake anyway--
“Hey!”
The Pryde girl, intangible and undetectable, had followed him down into the elevator and out into the hallway. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Sleep. Charles heard a dull thud behind him as she hit the floor, unconscious, but Charles didn’t stop walking until he reached a round, steel door. He leaned into the blue light at its centre, willing his eye to shift into it’s original blue long enough for the tinny, computerized voice to acknowledge him. “Welcome, Professor.”
Considering how often he’d been in and out over the past few decades, it was a wonder that no one had removed his ID from the security protocols, but as he crossed the catwalk and laid a hand on the helmet waiting for him on the suspended platform, he was thankful for the oversight.
“Hello, old friend,” he said softly, fingers tracing the network of cables that linked Cerebro to its control panel and, by extension, the rest of the massive, spherical room.
Charles fitted the helmet over his head, its curves perfectly contoured for his head. Cerebro had been made for him, in the beginning, and despite its many upgrades over the years, it still fit him like a glove. Charles had spent so much time here locating mutants that needed a safe place, a chance to belong, losing himself in the thoughts of thousands of people just like him. This time, however, he only cared about one mutant in particular, and it was Erik’s face he saw when he flipped the main switch, toggling various controls until the room fell away and left him standing in a vast, empty space.
“Okay,” He said aloud. “Breathe. Find him.”
A dense haze of fog settled around him, taking on the forms of miscellaneous people, places, objects, and then the voices crowded in around him, so many of them, too many, it was too much--
“STOP!” White, empty space surrounded him once more. “Please, I have to do this. Come on, Erik, where are you?”
Breathe in. Erik’s lips on his, the taste of fresh blood and champagne. Breathe out. Erik’s arms encircling him, safe and warm and real. Breathe in. Fingers intertwined on charcoal sheets. A promise, a connection stronger than blood, stronger than death itself.
Charles’ eyes snapped open, a slow smile creeping across his face. “Found you.”
~
“All you have to do is let me go, and I’ll return the favour.”
“It’s still a no from me,” Erik replied, for the fourth time that morning. “A contract, once sealed, cannot be broken.” He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of an intricate, hand painted devil’s trap. This one had been modified slightly, with added symbols meant to immobilize mutants as well as demons, and for all intents and purposes, rendered Erik completely powerless.
“Stay here and rot, then!” Warren Worthington III stalked away from him, wings rustling, and then something seemed to occur to him. He spun back around to face Erik, eyes wild. “Is this how you want to spend eternity? Trapped in an invisible cage because you refused to break one measly deal?”
“How exactly did you picture this going?” Erik stretched and rested his elbows on his knees. “You’ve only managed to prolong the inevitable.” He remembered every detail of this particular deal, the blood pouring from a pair of jagged wounds on Warren’s back as he begged for the return of his wings and the chance to fly one more time. Ten years later, here he was again, begging for yet another chance. “It’s pathetic.”
“Yeah, well, the longer you stay here, the longer I get to stay in the skies.” Warren ran a hand through his thick, golden blonde hair.
“Really? Because you’ve been holed up with me in this absurdly indulgent penthouse for weeks.” the smallest of tugs at the edge of his mind, like a word at the tip of his tongue.
“You could set us both free,” Warren insisted. “Just say the word.”
“I told you, that’s not how it works.”
“Then make it work.”
Found you.
Erik flashed his captor a jagged grin and climbed to his feet, never breaking eye contact. “I believe your time is up, Mr. Worthington.”
Charles’ arrival was a crack of lightning, a blur of violence, and, faster than Erik’s eyes could track, Warren was dangling from Charles’ grip, a thin trickle of blood escaping from his throat where Charles’s clawed thumb had pierced skin.
“Break the trap,” Charles sounded eerily calm, almost monotone.
Warren forced a nervous laugh. “You can’t kill me. I made a deal.”
Charles’ head snapped around to face Erik, who nodded in assent. “He’s overdue.”
“I wonder why.” Charles’ upper lip curled and he forced Warren to his knees at Erik’s feet. “I’m not in the mood for games. Break. The trap.”
Warren’s expression went slack and he used the sleeve of his suit jacket to rub mechanically at a section of the outer circle until it was gone.
“Good boy.” Charles moved as though to grab onto Warren and haul him upright, but paused and braced a hand against the young man’s shoulder. With the other, he grabbed onto Warren’s left wing at it’s base and, in one one motion, tore it clean off.
Warren screamed, high and wailing, despair mingling with what Erik assumed was unimaginable pain, but Charles wasn’t finished. He dropped the wing he was holding to the floor and Warren cried out again as Charles wrenched the second wing from his back, the sound of tendons ripping and bones shattering nearly drowned out by his screams. Charles crouched before him, draping the second, blood spattered wing across his knees, while he waited for Warren’s sobs to recede into a low, moaning whimper.
“Was it worth it?” he cooed, black, starless gaze boring into Warren’s red rimmed, watery eyes. “Did you get everything you wanted?” He gave Warren a two fingered nudge to his shoulder and Warren tipped over onto his side, curling into a fetal position. “Because it seems to me that you flew to close to the sun, little Icarus.”
Erik remained where he was, utterly fascinated as Charles tore into Warren’s mind, his arrogant former client now reduced to a writhing, blithering wreck on the floor. When Warren spasmed one final time, and went still, his consciousness slipping away, Erik stepped forward and laid a hand on Charles’ shoulder.
“That’s enough.”
“I’m not finished.”
“Charles, my love.” Erik pressed a kiss just behind Charles’ ear. “I still have to collect his soul.”
“He took you away from me.” Charles’ hands balled into fists. “He made me think you were gone. He has to pay.”
“He has. And he will.” Erik knelt down next to the near-corpse he was meant to claim and glanced up at Charles. “You don’t want to be in his head when I do this.”
Charles blinked, refocused, and pulled back into the safety of his own mind. “You’re so calm.”
“One of us has to be.” Erik thrust his claws deep into Warren’s chest to retrieve his barely beating heart and tore into it immediately, making quick work of the organ and sucking every last drop of blood from his fingers. Charles turned away while he ate, surveying the remainder of the devil’s trap.
“This is my fault.”
“What? Of course it isn’t.” Erik slipped his arms around Charles’ waist and Charles leaned into him, breathing in deeply. “This was just a contract gone wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time,” he added wryly.
“I’ve been feeding on you,” Charles confessed, the words coming out in a rush. “Specifically, I’ve been feeding on your fear, and your anxiety, and every time I have, you’ve grown a bit more relaxed. I thought it was fine, because it just meant you were enjoying yourself more, worrying less, but I think I’ve just made you complacent.”
Erik released him and took a step back. “And you’ve been doing this...on purpose? Why?”
“I’m not downstairs as much anymore, and I get hungry,” Charles answered weakly. “And you always let me feed on you before, as long as I didn’t take anything important.”
“It sounds like you’ve taken something important this time.” Erik crossed his arms. “You spent two years at the mercy of someone who drained you without your knowledge. I would think you’d have the good sense not to do the same to the one you love.”
“Erik, I didn’t mean to!” You’re constantly on the brink of murdering the one you love. “I just got carried away. You understand, don’t you? It’s not like I haven’t done worse!” He clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Emma was right,’ he whispered, and dematerialized from the room.
Erik stood there, dumbfounded, surrounded by butchered body parts and gore stained furniture, with absolutely no idea where to go or what to do next. He had to find Charles, first of all, but if Charles didn’t want to be found, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. What he could do was catch up on his backlog and in the process deal with the haze of hunger overpowering his senses Then, maybe, he could focus on locating Charles and sorting out whatever mess he had made this time.
~
Charles didn’t realize where he was going until his feet touched he ground and the walls of his estate rose up to greet him. He was outside by the pond, underneath an old oak tree that had been split in half by some kind of kinetic blast. Across the water, a group of preteens sat in a loose circle, laughing and chatting and eating lunch. They hadn’t noticed him yet, and he kept to the shadows, as he slipped behind the tree to lean against its trunk, slumping down to hug his knees to his chest.
“You running again?”
He looked up to find a familiar, burly figure standing over him, shining metal claws retracting into the tops of his hands. “Not far enough, apparently. Hello, Logan.”
Logan smirked and sat down across from him, tugging off his cowl to reveal dark hair styled into two distinct points. Charles found himself wondering if that was a choice, or a side effect of wearing that cowl. “You want to talk about it?”
“It’s weird that you’re still here. Hasn’t it been like, half a century?”
Logan shrugged. “I have a healing factor. Keeps me from aging with everyone else. And you’re one to talk.”
“I’m a demon. I hurt people, to sustain my own existence,” Charles mused. “Including the one person I actually give a damn about.” He cut off abruptly, suddenly self-conscious, but Logan merely nodded.
“Been there.”
Charles was well aware of Logan’s checkered past, of the women that he’d killed, and that had been killed, because of him. The two of them shared a connection based on similar experiences of torture, stolen memories, uncontrollable blood lust, and years spent in the role of both the abuser and the abused.
“We’ve been together for so long, Erik and I. He’s always been there for me, always come for me even when I lost myself to the madness and the torture. Even when I fell too far into the minds of my victims and couldn’t drag myself out, he was there, pulling me out at the expense of his own sanity. And in exchange? I fed on him, same as any soul sent to me in Hell. I treated him like he was expendable, but he’s not. He’s all I have. He’s my entire world, and I’ve shattered it.” Charles was crying now, fat, wet tears splashing onto his knuckles as he gripped his kneecaps. “I’m a demon. I was created to hurt, to torture to wreak murder and mayhem wherever I go. But with him, I was more than that. He treats me like a real person, with feelings and everything, and all I do is take and take and one day there will be nothing left of him and it’ll be all my fault--” He cocked his head to one side, swiping his sleeve across his tear stained cheeks. “How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough.” Erik stepped out from a nearby grove of trees, coming to stand beside Logan. “I’m surprised this one didn’t say anything sooner.”
Logan stood and brushed a few blades of grass from his jeans. “I figured you two had a few things to work out. I’ll be in the house, if you need anything,” he told Charles, before ambling towards the winding gravel path that circled the pond.
“There’s a lot to unpack here, but first, let me ask you this.” Erik sat down beside Charles, elbows just barely touching. “Do you really believe our relationship is that one-sided?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Charles sniffled and rubbed at his eyes. “Emma says I’ll be the death of you.”
“Emma says a lot of things she shouldn’t.” Erik exhaled heavily. “Alright. I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to listen carefully. You can read my mind as well, so you’ll know its true.”
Another sniff. “Okay.”
“I love you.”
Charles started to interrupt, but Erik shushed him. “I loved you when you were alive, and you called me over and over again and selfishly, I came to you every single time. I loved you when I found you in Hell, distorted and terrifying, and barely a person anymore. And I’ve loved you every single day after that, whether we’ve spent them counting stars, collecting souls, or convincing you of my identity for the umpteenth time while your hands were at my throat.” he looped his arm around Charles’s shoulders and Charles laid down in his lap, resting his head on Erik’s thighs. “You have never taken more than I’ve been willing to give. Do you understand me?”
A small nod against his leg, and Erik added, “Plus, Emma is full of shit. She was probably just trying to rile you so you’d spend less time with me and more time working for her.”
“It’s true though,” Charles insisted in a small voice. “You have always taken care of me, and I’ve given you nothing in return.”
“Oh, Charles,” Erik shook his head with a smile. “You’ve given me everything.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“It was because of you that I dared to hope again, to dream. You woke something inside of me that I thought was long dead. And you helped me stand up to my abuser after decades of fear and avoidance. I wouldn’t call that nothing.”
Charles sat up, then, one hand still braced against Erik’s leg. “You really mean it?”
“Of course I do. You can look for yourself.” Erik kissed him softly, and Charles hesitated only for a second before deepening the kiss, hungrily teasing into Erik’s mouth with his tongue.
“I missed you.”
“I missed too, love.”
“I thought I’d lost you. The trap muted your blood and your thoughts and I couldn’t—it was awful.”
“Hey.” He pulled Charles close to murmur into his ear. “You think a month or two in a glorified pentagram is going to keep us apart?”
“No.”
“You think Emma Frost, holed up in her fancy office treating us like pawns, knows anything about the way I feel about you?”
“...No.”
“Good.” He rested his cheek against the smooth, hairless skin of Charles’ skull. “Now let’s get out of here, shall we? I’ve still got plenty of overdue souls to collect.”