He heard it. Felt it. The dull thud of the metal cracking skin, tearing it wide open. He knew it even before the sound of a scream reached his ears.
And he ran towards him. Took the bullet from his flesh, while the body trembled beneath his hands. Erik remained strong, for the battle would be lost if he gave in. Yet now his brother lay cradled in his arms, blood seeping from the smallest of wounds. He had removed the cause; but whatever he tried, he could not stop the aftermath.
It only strengthened his belief. If the humans made them – made him – into this, caused him to injure the only friend he'd ever known, then surely they were the root of all this anger, all the fear. The prophecy of history repeating.
"I want you by my side," he said. Knowing Charles would decline the offer, he actually had no idea why he put himself through the pain of hearing him do so. Maybe he just needed to convince himself, one more time, that they were different. That attachment made you vulnerable, not stronger. He'd felt more like himself than ever before when he was around his friend, but in this age of battle he could not afford somewhere special, somewhere safe. They would take it from him, again and again.
Charles' hand, pressed against his shoulder in reassurance, pride even. He had not even needed the voice inside his head to speak the words he knew were said between them, unspoken. "I knew you could do it." Charles would say. "I've always believed in you."
It was a strange sensation stirring in his guts, the knowledge that no one would ever know Charles as he did, or the other way around. And every once in a while he would think of removing the helmet that shielded his thoughts, aching to hear those words again. He would remember chess games and lengthy conversations, the ghost of a smile.
He would remember friendship. Cut open the scar that never healed.
Bleed.