Hello! An angsty fic. The first one I write in full wish of it being angst. Or something. I hope it's any good. And yes, I know it's another beach scene, but angst in it's purest forms in this fandom is the bloody beach scene. So you get this.

For all who have written angst for this fandom in the last few days. I most likely have read it (and shamefully might not have reviewed) and enjoyed it.

Enjoy!

Warning: Hints of Cherik (yay!) and maybe more than just hinting. ^-^ There is death here also. And more than likely the writing could have been better. Oh, well.

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own the X-men or anything related to it.

You did this

You did this...

"You. You did this."

The words startled Charles, they were like an echo of his own thoughts. He opened his eyes to see Erik's face, not looking at him as he had believed (hoped), but something else. Charles was faintly surprised to see the rage in the other man's face, a little worried when his mind registered that the same rage (desperation) had been laced into those echo-like words.

Erik spoke again, but Charles could not hear it any more, because there was someone in pain close by. Looking to the pain (And Erik. What was so important for him to not be looking at Charles?), he noticed Moira, the poor woman standing still, her fingers scrabbling at her dog tags around her neck, trying to strangle her.

Charles dimly realized that Moira was the one Erik had been talking to and that the dog tags were made of metal. Meaning that the strangling must be done by Erik. But why would-

Oh.

Charles opened his mouth and tried to speak (He could not reach Erik in his preferred way, not when that blasted helmet was there), but his mouth was dry and he could only make a strange little wheeze come out. At least it brought Erik's attention back to Charles, of which he was very glad.

"Charles? Charles, my friend. I-"

Charles swallowed and tried speaking again. "Erik... don't be... daft." Why was he talking so slowly? Why was it a huge effort to get enough air into his lungs to even try to speak? Charles hoped reverently that Erik did not notice that. He could imagine the look the other would wear on his face then, and he did not want Erik to look that way. "This... wasn't... Moira's fault."

Erik's brow creased with confusion, the light in his eyes showing clearly to Charles that he was in denial of something. "What?"

Charles raised his hand with difficulty and placed them on Erik's fingers. Or he thought he had, but the feel beneath his fingers was that of an arm rather than a hand. "This wasn't... her- Oh... for heav-", sharp inhale, "-en's sake... Erik! Don't... tell me... you didn't... realize?" It angered and hurt him, to think that Erik denied his own part in what had happened. "This... Erik... you did this."

That froze everything up. Moira stopped struggling because the strangling had gone on for too long and she had lost consciousness. (She would die soon if not released) Erik tensed, his face utterly blank and in denial of Charles' statement. Everyone else froze too, shocked that Charles, Charles, would say that to Erik.

Erik unfroze everything by letting out a little sound from deep inside his throat. "No..."

Charles wanted to smile, but strangely he could not. He felt Erik twitch, and he knew that the other still saw the smile in his eyes. "Yes, Erik... You... did this..."

He watched as Erik loosened up a bit, ignoring the sound of his success as Moira fell to the sandy beach like a sack of potatoes. He watched as the blankness was replaced by hurt, pain and guilt, as the denial changed to a kind of horror of understanding. He watched as Erik opened his mouth and spoke with trembling lips, "Charles... I-"

Charles closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them again, Erik too, had changed. Not only his expression, but his very demeanour had become stronger. More unreachable. From the man who had hurt a friend gravely to the man who had denied that very same friend's opinion and used him to kill a man.

Now, Erik spoke again. This time his voice (lips) steady and his eyes (conviction) sure.

Charles thought that Erik looked beautiful then.

He ignored the grand speech Erik let out, ignored the words and meanings. He just concentrated on the sight before him, and the knowledge of what had happened. And why it had happened.

When Erik asked Charles to join him, that they were brothers, he gave the other a small smile, silently trying to ask for forgiveness for his next words. "No, my friend... I cannot." He knew that this would hurt, but...

"But we want the same thing, Charles-!"

Charles shook his head. "No. I'm afraid... we do not." It was surprising how easy breathing had become again. Now what stole his breath was the pain, a pain that was swelling and conquering ground inside him, his mind and body.

Erik stared at him, for one second the mask of confidence leaving, and Charles could again see the man he called friend, the one who would weep this very night for what had happened here. But then Erik was gone and Magneto (Magneto...) had come back.

"Very well", he nodded.

When Erik stood up and let small Sean (Hank was too dangerous now and Alex had been deadly to begin with) come to take his place holding the wounded man, Charles closed his eyes and finally allowed the pain to overcome him. He barely noticed Raven coming towards him, quickly smiling at her and telling her to go with Erik.

This would hurt her too. This way they could help each other, ease the other's pain.

Charles watched as his sister walked over to Erik and how the now late Shaw's companions decided to join Erik's cause (Brotherhood, how ironic). He watched with happiness in his heart as the five were teleported away.

Good... Now they will not see this.

Maybe he had realized it when Erik had become Magneto for the first time, when he had put on that helmet that blocked Charles' telepathy. His mind and companionship.

His life, his destiny, was decided on that realization.

He loved Erik.

Charles loved Erik so much, he was glad he was broken mentally and physically. He was glad he was bleeding on the ground. After all, it was Erik who had done it.

.-.-.

Officially, the story goes that Charles Francis Xavier died from the wounds he received while trying to prevent World War Three. President Kennedy gave his next of kin a medal of honour of the highest kind for his sacrifice.

The unofficial, untold story goes that he died with a smile on his lips on the Cuban beach. Alex, Hank, Sean and Moira were left with nothing but anger and the small consolation that their beloved leader, teacher and friend died content.

Now that you have read this (of which I thank you heartily), I ask you, with trepidation in my heart, to review. I would like to know if this was any good or not. Also, do you think I could have left out the last piece about 'how the (un)official story went'? Your comments would be much appreciated.

Ta!