Archive of Our Own ^beta

And so, you built a life on trust

Though it starts, with love and lust

And when your house, begins to rust

Oh, it's just, metal and dust

Desolate. Erik's gaze strayed over the abandoned grounds and sprawling greenery. Vines crawled up the sides of the mansion, the once grand shrubbery now overgrown and in ruin. He could feel the veins of metal twisting through the estate, the alloys pumping in time with his pulse. A peculiar tug pulled at his core, urging him toward the home that used to make him feel so welcome. He could feel the once familiar steel of the pots and pans in the kitchen, the aching, copper ducts, the delicate pewter chess pieces. Erik's fingers twitched.

There was light coming from one of the upper rooms, its balcony doors flung open. It had been so many years, but Erik could still sense that it was Charles' room. The air around it discharged the cool iron of his bed frame, the silver in his bedside lamps, and the traces of zinc in the wardrobe. The pull of that particular blend of metals seemed to hit him in the chest, so familiar and homely that his heart ached. That same alloy ran throughout the entire estate, reappearing in matching sets of furniture and wiring. Home. This had been the first place Erik had truly felt safe since he lost everything so long ago, becoming the monster he was today. He doubted his childhood dwelling still stood, so this truly was his only home.

Hello, old friend.

Erik started at the sudden intrusion. Charles' voice itself was clear in his mind, but his tone and emotions were thick and cloudy. He rarely forced messages into other's minds without permission, his principles always virtuous enough to make Erik uncomfortable. His power could be devastating but his respect for others was too great.

A lot had changed since they had last been here together.

He found himself making his way through the mansion and up the familiar stairs instinctively, finding his way down a dark corridor using the pull from the blend of zinc and iron in the room he was blindly trying to find. The door was open. On a nearby table, a mostly empty bottle of amber liquor lay among discarded chess pieces. Across the room, a wheelchair was backlit with moonlight, the outline of a figure sitting in it, head tilted up to the stars. Erik anticipated the stab of guilt before it hit him, forcing the punch to feel dull and raw. This is your fault. This time, Charles' voice in his head was just a memory, yet it still sounded clear as day. He thought he saw the figure in the wheelchair twitch but it was likely his imagination. Erik moved forward, feeling distinctly unwelcome and yet as though someone was yearning that he move faster. Charles did not look at him as he took a step forward to stand by his side. The stars were mostly hidden behind swift carmine clouds that contrasted oddly with the deep blue sky. Cool night air brushed against his cheeks and he dared a glance down. Charles had cut his hair. He looked much younger, like the man who used to smile brightly at Erik whenever he saw him and earnestly argue that humanity could be more. That man was gone and this time Erik was unprepared for the sharp guilt that rose in his throat like bile. Charles flinched, but did not look up.

You've hurt so many people. You hurt me so much. 

Charles' voice inside his head was not loud, but it seemed to ring relentlessly in his mind.

I know. 

They both stared at the sky. The clouds were moving swiftly with the wind, starting to blend into the darkness of the sky as the sun disappeared. Erik couldn't apologize. He had done too much wrong. He could see as though mapped out, every time Charles had pulled him straight, down a better path, and every moment that he spiraled off it, shooting out into darkness like the branches of the trees below them. There was a trunk of black, leading to the thick veins of a path of retribution, revenge and justice. As Charles’ mind pressed against his own, a sheen of white shot though the branches like a spark, memories of water spilling over his head, hands scrabbling to pull him up, strangled breaths, and you're not alone. 

Charles looked up at Erik. Watery cerulean eyes met leaden ones. Churning emotions radiated between them, impossible to tell their origin. An intrinsic need to protect, a gut wrenching guilt, terrified scrabbling to keep old wounds closed, a hesitant question.

The beginnings of hope.

Erik knew when he said goodbye to Charles in front of the White House, he would not allow himself to return for a long time. He had an impossible amount of mistakes to make up for until he could allow himself to think about the one thing he truly cared about. 

Long ago, Charles had taught Erik not just to channel his rage, but his serenity. Charles had taken him in, given him a home, a family, a reason to live after finishing Shaw. Charles was his serenity, and without him Erik was all resentment, wrath and anger. He was blind to the good in the world, and without Charles he always would be. Erik needed him, and he could feel the longing reflected in the quick brushes of Charles' mind against his own. Have I gone so far astray, even you cannot save me?

Charles remembered Logan's words to him. The professor I knew would never turn his back on someone who lost their path, especially not on someone he loved. He reached over and grasped Erik's hand in his own. A flood of warmth spread between them, starting at their intertwined fingers. For the first time, Erik did not resist as Charles dove into the his mind, searching deeply, realizing that this time was different. There were no underlying obligations, no conflicting duties. There was regret and there was pain, but there was so much love.

Charles stared into Erik's shining eyes and projected an ardent sense of hopeful second chances. All that time spend fighting each other, Erik.

Erik's voice was rough. "Let's take it back."