This is written by both myself and MonstrousReg.
Blanket disclaimer: We own nothing.
This has been a thing since the third or fourth chapter of Space Jam was written. Surprise. ;)
Prologue
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This was not how things were supposed to be.
This was not how things were supposed to be at all, really, but now that he thinks about it, none of this from the start should have ever happened, yet here they all are and everything's gone to shit and it's all his fault.
He could laugh, he really could, but at this point his laughter might come out a tad bit hysterical and then he's also a little afraid of what will come after his laughs have run out.
Even if he were ready to fall apart and let the madness take him, maybe even sustain him through what he knows is happening, Erik is not entirely his own man. He has his crew, the fine men and women surrounding him here in the bridge, to think about. He can't let himself go.
Then again, it's likely that no one will hear him over the alarms anyway.
Charles looks over across the bridge towards Erik, and the War-Prince is already looking back, meeting Charles' gaze in grim realization. The bridge is awash with several different colors of light as the main screen flashes several different warnings and monitors go wild with an outpouring of readings, detailing all the things that are going wrong. Erik's face is illuminated by each flash of light, features thrown into stark contrast, and for a moment all they can do is stare at each other, deaf and blind to the rest of the world, and Charles' mouth goes dry because they both know.
It's too loud over the blaring alarms and the shouts of the crew to hear anything, but Charles can still read lips and as he looks over at his Commander, his best friend, the love of his life, Erik mouths very slowly, "No."
And Charles can only look back at him helplessly because he knows Erik knows better than that—because yes, yes, oh god, yes.
It's like a punch to the gut, and for a moment his lungs press in tight and refuse to work.
"Fuck, goddamn it, our fucking shields are fried, we can't fucking hold them," Scott is shouting, and he's trying to do something on his screen and if Charles' mouth wasn't so dry he might've summoned up the courage to tell the TO that it was pointless, there's nothing to be done now, "they're going to fucking rip us to pieces—"
"Two of our engines are down," Logan announces over the din grimly, nearly biting through his cigar, "we're fucking sunk, boys—"
"Evacuate the ship," Erik says, utterly calm, his voice cutting across everything else even as he maintains eye contact with Charles, never blinking, "I want everyone off. There's still enough time yet to get everyone away."
"And what the fuck are you going to do?" Scott demands, throwing rank and decorum out the window entirely as he whirls around in his seat to glare accusingly at the War-Prince. That's the thing, though, isn't it—Scott already knows too, and even so he's still addressing Erik as an equal, as a friend, rather than as his Commander.
Perhaps he'd rather remember Erik that way instead. Maybe he even thinks he can say or do something that will sway Erik, make him change his mind.
Charles doesn't bother asking, or hoping. He already knows too.
Erik holds Charles' gaze still, even as the Heartsteel gives a violent shudder beneath them and the whole bridge shakes. "You know as well as I do," he says quietly, and yet somehow his voice is still crystal clear, "the captain always goes down with the ship."