Author note: So I was watching X-Men: First Class. It's AMAZING! And Charles and Erik are SOOOOO slashy. It's so obvious that all my friends were like "oh god. they're so slashy." Best 2+ hours of my life. So great. And if you pay attention, when Charles senses Erik on the ship, he practically swoons. Then he completely acts like he knows him entirely. It got me thinking, what if it was because they had a telepathic connection that let Charles see Erik's life as it's happening. It was awesome and I decided to write it.

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: First Class or any of the characters. All I own is the idea and any original characters I introduce.

Charles POV

The boy screamed, attempting to escape from the soldiers holding him. The wool from his jacket irritated his skin and he could feel the imprints from the medals of valor the soldiers wore. His throat felt hoarse as he screamed and screamed. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he screamed, the soldiers held on to him with their iron grip. His vision grew blurry as he started to tear up. But the image of his mother, tears mixed with grime sliding down her face, being carried further and further from him was permanently burned into the backs of his eyes.

His head was getting light, his vision going dark around the edges as he started to lose consciousness. He was drifting, his body going light. Then something within him clicked into place and he felt a part of him that he had never felt before come forth. It was a part of him that viewed survival as the most important thing. A part of him that had a desire to live. An almost animalistic side.

Then it was like something slammed into him. His anger peaked and his vision became red. He screamed all the more and didn't feel a thing even as the soldiers clung to him so tightly he would have bruises later. He just kept screaming; the part of his mind that wanted to survive was fighting anyone and everyone around him. He felt a twist in his guts as his ears filled with the screeching of metal bending. Then something slammed into the back of his head, causing a flash of white to fill his vision before he passed out.

Charles Xavier awoke in his bed, screaming. Images of his dream flashed before his mind. A young boy bearing a yellow Star of David on his chest, his light brown hair tasseled, blue eyes flashing like ice daggers as he thrashed against his captors. The woman who he recognized as the boy's mother being carried off in wave after wave of people trying to escape the Nazis. The boy's face streaked with tears as he screamed for her. Then the twisting of metal as the gates pulled towards the boy, magnetized towards him. He felt the nervousness of the prisoners, the curiosity of their destination, the hope that the promises of the Germans were true, the fear that the rumors of the concentration camps were true. The pride of the task the soldiers had been given, their hatred towards the prisoners for being abominations, the pleasure they took in destroying the imperfections. But worst of all, he felt the absolute terror and agony of the boy. The pure hatred and mind blowing pain as he was ripped from his mother and contained in the arms of the soldiers. Then he felt something snap within him as he lashed out, his desire to survive overpowering his conscious.

Charles didn't even realize he was crying until a tear streaked past his nose and hit his pillow. Sitting up in bed, Charles began to sob, his body feeling all the pain and suffering mixed with the pride and sense of justice. The fact that he felt that way about the deaths of thousands had him rushing to the bathroom. Dropping to his knees, he began to wretch all the contents of his stomach into the white porcelain toilet. When his stomach finally ran out, he began throwing up bile. Exhausted, Charles collapsed onto the tile floor. The cold seeped into his cheek and forehead. His throat was sore, which only reminded him more of the boy. Charles couldn't seem to get the image of the boy's face twisted up in agony out of his mind. His stomach heaved again and Charles got up again, dry heaving into the toilet. His whole body complained as spasms racked him, going up and down his spine. When the tremors subsided and he was finally confident the process was over, Charles got up and lay back in bed.

Just as he was beginning to drift back to sleep, Charles felt another presence in the house. Eyes flashing open, he pulled back the covers and slipped out of bed, grabbing the bat propped behind the door on his way out. As he walked the halls, Charles mind began processing. The presence didn't belong to anyone he had felt before. It was not anyone he knew. Walking into the kitchen, Charles saw a bright red dress sticking out from behind the open refrigerator. Her curled blonde hair styled back, my mother's image searched through the contents of the refrige.

"Mother," he called, lowering my bat, playing along out of curiosity. He wanted to know who this person was and how it was they could create such a perfect replica of his mother's persona. "What're you-? I thought you were a burglar," he said, walking towards the kitchen with a measured pace.

The thing shut the door in surprise, quickly gaining composure and slowly turning to face him with leveling eyes. If he did not know for a fact that this thing was not his mother, he might have believed she was, that was how perfect the replication was. It had gotten even the accent down to a T.

"I didn't mean to scare you, darling ," it said, resting its hand upon its hip as it smoothly replied, "I was just getting a snack." There it was, Charles thought. That word. His mother never, never, called him darling or any other sort of endearment. "Go back to bed," it said. Charles stayed where he was, unable to move from the spot. If this wasn't his mother, then who was it? "What's the matter? Go on, back to bed," it said, it's voice hinted with panic as he didn't move. Leaning down, it looked at him with what it must have believed to be how his mother looked at him. It made him choke up. His mother had never looked at him with such love in his entire life. " I'll make you hot chocolate," it said, probably figuring that to be the motherly sort of thing to do in this instance.

"Who are you?" Charles asked. His head swiveled around to look at the wall where the only picture of him and his mother being seemingly docile hung. In that picture he was garnished in his Sunday best, and his mother was wearing the latest trend; an American design dress in red. The exact dress it was wearing now. Well, it seemed the thing could only copy what it saw. "And what have you done with my mother?" Charles asked, turning to face it again. Then he reached to its mind, speaking there instead of aloud. "My mother had never set foot in this kitchen in her life. And she certainly never made me a hot chocolate," Charles said, his throat choking up." Unless she can't order a maid to do it."

For a moment Charles thought it was going to fight, but then a look of resignation crossed its face. A ripple ran through its body, starting at its head and going down the spine all the way to the bottom. It was like watching a bird ruffle its feathers. One instant his mother was standing there, then a short, young, blue-skinned girl with slicked back red hair stood before him. "You're… not scared of me?" She asked, seeming to be trying to cover his rather exposed body. But Charles didn't feel in the least bit indecent as he openly stared at her in astonishment. It was amazing. He knew he couldn't be the only one, and here she was, living proof of this.

"I always knew I couldn't be the only one in the world," Charles breathed out, staring at her still. "The only one who was… different," he said, forcing himself not to say mutant. No matter how good-naturedly he said it, women, he found, took it rather offensively. " And here you are." Snapping back to reality, Charles realized just how rude he was being. He hadn't even introduced himself! He smiled and stuck his hand out. "Charles Xavier."

"Raven," she said, hesitantly taking his. Charles shook her hand, trying to send soothing messages through the gesture. He wanted to show this girl she was safe with him, she would always be safe with him.

Then he practically banged his head against the wall. She was rummaging through their refrigerator! The poor girl must be starving and here he stood, the idiot he was, shaking her hand. "You're hungry and alone," he said, releasing her hand. He gestured all around him with his hand. "Take whatever you want. We've got lots of food, you don't have to steal," he said, looking her in the eyes. And looking at her, realizing he wasn't alone, he thought of the boy from his dream. Erik. His name was Erik. And then he made up his mind. "In fact," he said, staring into her eyes but only seeing Erik's blue ones, "you never have to steal again."

What do you think of the first chapter? Should I continue? Please read and review. If you do, I'll make the Charles/Erik smut sooner!