Prompt: Based on a post by brinnabot, requested by alternativezucchini

It was never supposed to happen like this. He had never…he never wanted…Erik closed his eyes, his heart racing, his pulse thundering in his ears, remembering….

"Come on, just pull the trigger," Erik begged, his face twisted into a horrifically excited smile.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Got it." Charles swallowed, trying to focus and keep the gun pointed at Erik's forehead. His finger tensed, his hand shaking, as he stared into Erik's eyes. Erik reached out and touched Charles' hand, steadying it and sending a shockwave up Charles' skin.

"No." Charles ripped his arm away. "No, I can't," he said firmly. "I can't shoot anybody point-blank, let alone my friend."

Erik's smile melted off his face. "Oh come on. You know I can deflect it. You're always telling me I should push myself – " Of course, that wasn't the complete truth. What he really wanted wasn't to push himself. He wanted the cold metal pressed against his head. He ached for the fear, the spark of danger, something to make him feel. He could stop the bullet – probably. He had controlled guns enough before, hadn't he? What was the difference? And if not…if not, who cared? If not, he wouldn't have to worry about it. In fact, he wouldn't have to worry at all anymore. He wouldn't have to…Erik reached for Charles' arm, about to pull the gun back toward him, but his fingers paused on Charles'. Charles, the man who had cared from the start. The man who cared that he lived. The man who would care if he died. His fingers trailed down Charles' hand, slowly leaving the gun. Maybe he didn't need that after all.

Charles looked down at where their fingers were touching, frozen in time for what seemed like eternity, and then turned back to Erik, his eyes wide. "If you know you can deflect it then you're not challenging yourself. I'm sorry, but I can't. This isn't the way to – I could never get this close to hurting you."

"Okay, Charles. I'm sorry I asked you to do this."

Erik opened his eyes, only then realizing that his face was wet with tears. He stared down at the man in his arms. So he had had the power to deflect it this whole time. To deflect it from himself. But he had never thought – no, he had never wanted….

This was the man who had always cared, the man who couldn't hurt him even when Erik asked him to. He was lying paralyzed in the sand, and it was all Erik's fault.

If this – this sharp yet aching, horribly empty yet wholly consuming agony – if this was what he had wanted to feel with that gun barrel pressed against his head – if this was pain….he had never wanted this. Never.

Erik grabbed for Charles' fingers. They were cold and soaked in his own blood. Erik's hand slipped in their bloody grasp, but he intertwined their fingers and leaned down to Charles, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I'm sorry, Charles. I'm so sorry."