I was thinking about the movie, and how there is that awkward slowing down bit directly after Charles got shot. I thought I could use that to my advantage. I also am experimenting with different styles, hence the italics. I am kind of on the fence about them currently, so if I could get some feedback about that, it would be awesome. The ending is kind of meh, but it is always hard when you work with a new style of writing.

Also, I have a head canon where Sean comes from this huge family and no one ever sees him as really important. So when he got handpicked over all his siblings he felt like he was special for the first time in his life. I keep meaning to write a one-shot about that…enjoy!

The second that bullet ricocheted into Charles' back, he lost all his control. It was just for a moment, but in that moment all of time stood still. His own carefully constructed walls (youdidn'tthinkhehadtoworktostayoutofyourhead, didyou) crumbled in the face of physical pain. He let out a soundless scream, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the mental.

Thoughts, feelings, emotions, memories that weren't his poured into his head like a never ending river. Fear Charles was dead. Guilt that they had caused it. Anger at those who had. Worry for the man who had become a family to them. Disbelief that the man who always seemed to have the answers, the man who appeared immortal and omnipotent, was struck down by something as insignificant as a little oblong piece of metal (heissoweakheissostrong).

A memory of meeting in a tiny room offering sanctuary from a curse that had already hurt too many people. Of the reflection in a fish tank of a man who saw past his freckles and outer façade to truly see him. Of a British accent that exposed his secret to the world but at the same time welcomed him into a world he had feared for so long. Of a voice suddenly in his head saving him from himself. Of a young boy with a bat and no hot chocolate that changed her entire life. Of the first man to see her without lust in a long time. Of a father, a mentor, a brother, a friend.

It was startlingly clear all of a sudden how he had been used, how he had been tricked. He had blindingly trusted all of them and they had let him down. He could, for the first time, see the truth in their minds that had so long hidden behind half-truths and deceit. How could he have been so blind? When he realized that he had literally and figuratively been stabbed in the back he mentally laughed, a dark chuckle that spoke of depths of heartache and betrayal.

His hands had magically flown to the spot (alittletinyholecan'tcausethatmuchdamage, canit) where his frail body had been hit. They twitched as he attempted to move them to his head so he could block out everything. He let out a gasp of pain and the world began to move again, albeit slightly off course.

He felt the rage building in the others. Using all his strength, he forced himself to speak.

"No, my friend. This is your fault."

He lost his legs. But the second that bullet ricocheted into Charles back, he lost so much more.