Author Note: Hello! This is my first fanfiction, and I admit I am not too good at writing now that I read this haha... I'm not super good at grammar and spelling is a hit or miss. Also, I want to point out that there is German in this story, but I don't know how accurate it is. It should only be in this chapter since eventually Charles learns enough to piece things together to English.
Things are a bit different in this story, too. I'm trying to follow what happens in canon (primarily the movies) but I wanted to change the times a bit to make things more coherent? I don't know if I succeeded haha so let me type out the gist of this below:
Erik isn't separated from his parents for one. Not immediately, anyhow. For one, you learn specifically about his family further on in the story - what happened to them - and he's still with his mum. He's in the Warsaw Ghetto, in case I was awful in my research and didn't describe it well enough. I go into more detail about it in the later chapters. But he's still with his mum and if I had to guess what year it was, I would say 1940-ish since the U.S. hasn't changed their Neutralization Act due to Pearl Harbor. It's before Auschwitz was even made, if my research serves me right, and there is a reason for this later on. Besides him not being separated from his parents immediately, everything else should remain the same.
Charles is a bit different from the movie as well. We never got to see what truly happened to him in the movie, so I got to run away with my imagination haha... I won't spoil anything else of my own story though. :)
I hope you enjoy?
If you recognize the fandom, I definitely don't own it.
Chapter 1
At first, Charles was fairly certain that he would hate Poland.
World War two was raging high and things seemed to be differing farther and farther from what they should just be always: equal and together. Placing people against their neighbors, friends, and family simply because of looks or religion? The boy wasn't so naïve as to think that any of this was right and didn't involve him. Events like this affected the world and if the allies planning attack after strategic onslaught against the axis was anything to go by, it was going to be an awful result. In wars like these? It didn't really matter who won because the consequences weighed on everyone's shoulders once you consider exactly what could have been prevented.
But he was getting ahead of himself. Charles at that time wasn't aware of any of this. All he knew was that a war was going on, a terrible one at that, and that he had to move to be closer to it.
It was for family business purposes. At least, that was what his father told him when he questioned why he was being taken out of his private schooling. Charles didn't know if his father was moving simply to side in this treacherous war, or whether he was going there for another reason. All he did know was that when your father was a nuclear scientist, as his father loved to praise, any involvement that came with the title didn't end well.
Being an only child, however, Charles didn't bother putting up a fuss for something his father clearly wanted to do. It wasn't becoming of him. It wasn't what he was supposed to do nor was it how he was supposed to act. A scientist's son? He was to act smart, biting, sarcastic, and utterly respectful in the best and worst situations life could throw at him.
That was what his mother taught him early on.
"A disrespectful man doesn't earn the respect of those he converses with, Charles. And a man who is overcome with manners will always retain the high ground above those who choose the lesser path." Her words rang with a sharpness only reserved for teaching lessons and judgement of those around her. She was a mother, not quite a mum. He could talk to a mum about his misfortunes and thoughts. In a mother's eye he was to remain impeccable without any connections.
Another reason for his silence and quiet brooding.
The travel it took to get to Poland was turmoil between several checkpoints. Some were American. Some were English. Some were of a country he hardly knew at all. Either way, their passports were stamped, approved, and they were sent on their way to Warsaw as easy as if a war wasn't going on. His father remained in good spirits, staring in the distance with thoughts of nuclear experiments perhaps. His mother glance turned disinterested against the cloudy countenance of protruding gray storms brimming on the horizon. Charles himself remained quiet and wondered what they were both thinking.
Were they different people then their looks give? Was his mother a loving individual who wanted nothing more than his happiness and wellbeing? Was his father maniacal and terribly off-kilter to the point that he was unstable? Were looks simply all that the word implied?
Sometimes, Charles secretly hoped he could read minds so he could understand the two people how have been around him all his life. But that was silly. Ridiculous. It couldn't be possible.
…
Daily Herald
Monday, September 4, 1939
WAR DECLARED BY BRITAIN AND FRANCE
THE FLEET MOVES INTO POSITION
Great Britain declared war on Germany at 11 o'clock yesterday morning.
Six hours later, at 5 p.m., France declared war.
Britain's resolution to defend Poland against Nazi aggression was described by the newly-formed Ministry of Information in one it its first announcements, as follows: -
"At 11:15 this morning (Sunday) Mr. R. Dunbar, Head of the Treaty Department of the Foreign Office, went to the German Embassy, where he was received by Dr. Kordt, the Charge d'Affaires.
"Mr. Dunbar handed to Dr. Kordt a notification that a state of war existed between Great Britain and Germany as from 11 o'clock B.S.T. this morning. This notification constituted the formal declaration of war."
…
Sometimes, Charles wondered what would occur if he was not born into a wealthy family. One with a scientist as a father and a status keeper as his mother. Would he have been joined the Royal Navy in their attempts against the Germans? Against Hitler himself?
Would grime, blood, sweat, and tears grace his uniform as comrades died in his eyesight and bullets strayed and randomly hit their targets – sometimes purposefully and sometimes forlornly? To be honest, Charles didn't know if he had it in him. His father would not have allowed him, he feared, no matter how much his pride may strike him. He could strategize. Yes, that was what he was known for. He could scheme and manipulate and do quite well in anything with a mental backstory to it, but anything physically had Charles at a disadvantage.
He liked to picture himself in the uniform. Carrying the rightful weapons of interest and holding the weight and honor of the Her Majesty herself.
But he wasn't and he wouldn't be one of these people. He was instead stuck in a small flat-like house in a district in Warsaw. The windows were cloudy like the rest of the city, and the floors and walls were dusty. Nothing a day of cleaning could fix, if his mother allowed him such at task.
"That's what we have servants for, Charles." His mother tended to say every time he tried to make himself a meal, or when he attempted to get himself ready for a school day. In reality, he was more than capable of being independent, but as long as his mother's keen eye was watching him, it wouldn't be possible.
He was as free as a bird in a bird cage. A metal bird cage not allowing the smallest of feathers to escape.
…
The day he met Erik was a day like no other in retrospect. It could ultimately be described as one of those days that he would never forget. A blip of light in the otherwise murky setting of his distant past.
The best part was that it was entirely by mistake.
As a Xavier, Charles wasn't allowed to make mistakes. It was frowned upon. So the boy often refrained from such actions and took precarious caution with every step he ever took.
Except for this one, fateful day.
If he were to be honest? It was the best mistake he could have made.
His mother was in the middle of entertaining some high-class aristocrat in their home, servants bustling around with solemn expressions as they fetched wine and fragile glasses only polished with as much as his mother used them. He wasn't in there with them. Grown up business, Charles.
So he left the house. He couldn't stand the suffocating perfume they drowned themselves in anyways. The hats that appeared like dead birds fitting to their awful heads and sneering expressions powdered far too deeply for any aesthetic liking. It was like looking at marble statues put together by Picasso and not for any praise of the art.
The ground clicked against his loafers as each heel met nothing more than cold stone. Everything here was cold. Not only literally but figuratively as well between the ghastly people and the solemn persona they preached through haunted eyes. Their lips were always thinned in fear. Their hair always frail and unkempt as if finding the effort worthless. Charles wondered what went on in their head, too. What did they imagine was waiting for them? Did they think the Germans would invade this city, too?
He didn't know.
Charles didn't meet many of their eyes, and it wasn't for lack of trying. Every so often he would meet the gaze of some passerby and offer a kind smile, but their response was always an expression so stricken it was as if kindness was a death sentence. A weakness.
He tried to not let it get to him. Most days it was easy.
Today was not one of those days.
After the third face telling him that smiling was not what he should be doing, Charles could feel his face that his mother told him to keep fixated slip. His lips were beginning to thin like those around him and his eyes burned with an emotion he couldn't even begin to show because of pride and status. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to breathe and it hurt to look at children and adults alike giving him looks as if he was an outsider that didn't understand.
He already knew that. He didn't need unsaid words to match what he already knew. He didn't need the added certainty.
Charles didn't realize he was frantically running through the streets of Warsaw until he felt his hair lift and fall with each forced wind. His eyes stung, but his feet never faltered. He could have cared less about muddy puddles staining his trousers or how his kept hair was becoming untidy and falling in his face. He could care less about looks entirely.
By the time he stopped, he was panting and his heart was racing. Had he raced a horse? Did he participate in a competition of running? It sure felt like it. He couldn't remember the last time he felt the need to do what he just did.
The need to escape.
There were no men – German soldiers he hears often – in dark green uniforms. There wasn't any rubble from where he heard whispers of bombs. He had never seen them, but he heard they were awful. He had never seen this much rubble and broken buildings back home. It frightened him a little.
But here there wasn't any of these. It was almost… normal.
Now, he had no idea where he was. Yes, logically, he knew he was still in Warsaw. There was no way in human nature for someone to somehow run out of a city in less than thirty seconds unless they were a super hero! Which, sadly, he wasn't.
Leaning against a building wall, he stared up and furrowed his brows at the abnormally large wall protruding his vision. It was dark and looming and seemed to have a bridge connecting the two parts of it on either side of the street. If Charles tilted his head further, he could vaguely make out other buildings. Buildings that were in horrible states as he could see small patches in the roof as well as broken windows. What was this place? Where had his feet taken him?
Curiosity got the best of him. Charles couldn't help inching closer and closer to the cold wall. When he finally was in front of it, he placed his ear against it, hoping to hear something. It might be vain, yes, but he truly wanted to know if anyone lived there. In this place? It seemed impossible.
"Hello?" He asked out loud, keeping an eye out for any passersby. Oddly so, there weren't any. It seemed they all disappeared, or maybe they completely avoided this place.
He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hello? Is anyone there?"
For a while, there was nothing. It was quiet and it seemed like a response and any signs of anyone even living was gone. Giving a small sigh, Charles closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.
Of course there wouldn't be anyone in there! That would be silly. What are you even thinking, Charles? If mother caught you here she would tear you a new one with your look and disrespectful attitude!
"H-Hello?"
Charles blinked and immediately placed both of his hands against the cold, mist covered wall. He strained to hear any signs of the voice he just heard because there definitely was a voice. At least a moment of it! He wasn't mental. He knew what he heard and it was a boy. A boy like him, perhaps?
"Hello? Is there anyone there?" He asked tentatively, not wanting to scare the new arrival.
"Ah… you… speak English?" The accent was incredibly thick. So thick that it was clear English wasn't his first language. German from the sounds of it. There was plenty to go around from what he had heard since he got here.
"Yes! Do you?"
"Not much. Ein bisschen." A little.
To be honest, Charles didn't know much German. He knew certain words more than others, but he was still in the middle of his tutoring on the subject. He couldn't speak fluently and surely not as well as the next native! Still, he didn't want to lose this boy simply because of a language barrier.
"Um. Wie heißen Sie?" He hoped he didn't butcher that (Especially on something like asking what the boy's name was!) and for a second, when the silence persisted, he thought that he might have.
"Erik."
Charles was grinning brightly. "Fantastic! Um. You can call me Charles."
"Charles?"
"Ja!" He exclaimed, giddiness taking over him despite the solemnity of the tone the boy had as well as the people he had seen prior. Everything seemed forgotten at this moment. "Warum bist du da drin?"
The wall was huge. So huge it seemed like it wanted to hide a secret. Why could the boy be in there?
"Der Krieg." The war.
Charles excitement dimmed at the phrase and he sighed. "Well, my friend, that is unfortunate." He didn't know if his friend understood what he said, but he was almost positive that he could sense the emotion in it and didn't take it kindly. Next time he spoke, his voice had chilled over to a certain coldness and Charles could feel the link wanting to break.
"I don't want your pity."
Charles bit his lip before replying bitingly. "Well, for a boy who says he doesn't speak much English, you seem to know more than you let on." Stop it, Charles. This isn't respectful in the slightest. His mother's voice sliced into his mind and he took a deep breath. Right. He had to remain level headed. He should have expected the reaction. "I'm sorry. I was out of turn. Can you tell me how much English you know? It would make conversing much easier."
"I know small phrases. Greetings. Enough to make do." The voice was dull, no doubt affected by Charles' earlier tone.
"I see. Hm." He sat down on the stone path, something Charles mother would screech into disbelief if she caught him doing, and leaned his head against the wall. "How about a… compromise? Do you know that word? I think the similar word is… Kompromiss. Forgive me, my friend. I know as much German as you do English." He laughed heartily and heard a small chuckle on the other side of the wall.
It was still quite an eerie thing. This place that held Erik so resolutely and distant. It was as if it was a separation of morals, two lives, a different fate even. Charles wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It seemed as if there was a darker power at the hands of the place Erik had found himself to be. If the buildings and their destitution didn't alert him, then the tone he carried did. It was solemn and terrible to the heart.
There was a hidden agony in his voice. Something Charles didn't want to prod at but truly wanted to understand. Which, in truth, was probably incredibly foolish. He had only just met the boy today! They hadn't even conversed longer than fifteen minutes.
"Charles?"
"Hm? Yes?"
"You said you had a… compromise. What is it?"
"Ah! Right!" Charles cleared his throat and allowed a momentary grin to grace his features. "If I learn more German, learned to be fluent at it, will you be here every day to speak with me?"
It took a while to respond. Charles wasn't sure if it was because Erik was translating his English or if he was giving it some thought. He hoped it was a mixture of both, for that at least meant he was contemplating it.
"Why?"
Charles didn't have a reason for the why. He couldn't think of a really good reason besides one. "Because I… find your company, however brief, pleasant. Nice if you will. And I was hoping that, perhaps, we could be friends?"
"Friends. Freunde." Erik repeated this so quietly that Charles had to strain his ears to hear a single bit of it. "Yes. When?"
Charles looked up and tried to gauge what time it was. Usually, he had a watch he would wear, but in his haste to escape a crowd too fake to be ever given an ounce of reality, he had forgotten it on his end table. If he were to go by the clouds, and what light they allowed to pass through, it had to be about noon. Maybe an hour after.
"When the sun is at its highest? Noon?" Charles tried to put it as simply as he could, but he realized quickly it was rather difficult and hoped that Erik understood enough.
"Mittag. Like now?" Charles wanted to nod excitedly, but quickly realized Erik wouldn't know if he had. He couldn't see him.
"Exactly like right now!" He beamed brightly instead. "Every day we will meet right here. No exceptions! Jeder von ihnen!" His tongue kept on moving and moving, faster than the speed of light as he continued to ramble on nonsense to this boy he just met. It was just so exciting! Making a friend. His first friend since he came here.
His words did slow down as his rational came to him.
But, even though the boy didn't seem to recoil from him and his words, Charles didn't want to scare him away or use so much English that he was overwhelmed. His mother embedded manners into him for a reason. Manners make a man, Charles. If you lack these, you are no better than criminals, savages, and beasts of nature. Manners separate you and make you the person you are.
Charles sometimes wondered if his mother wrote a book on manners. Just another thought that added to the endless questions he held for her and his father.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he slowed down his speech and spoke clearly when he said his next thought.
"Ah, but I understand if you can't. You probably have family, too, as do I. We have duties and... I'm sure there are things that need to be done. But… let's try our best to be here, okay?"
Silence then "Okay. I can try, Charles. Noon."
A smile broke out onto Charles's face when Erik said his name. It sounded thick and important when it rolled off his tongue. He felt like a "cheeky little thing" as the servants seemed to call him on his good days, and he couldn't find the words to argue it. He was practically on Cloud Nine and he couldn't be brought down from the exhilarating excitement and happiness that came with talking to the strange boy behind the tall, ominous wall.
Even though he was saddened slightly to say goodbye to him, he couldn't help the little skip in his step on the way home.
When he walked into the doors, even his mother's terrible screams and pinching of the cheek couldn't have deterred his mood. Even as he was scolded to the point criminals would be ashamed, he couldn't help but look forward to the next day when he would see the boy, Erik. He looked forward to it. For once in a while, he actually… had someone to talk to.
That alone kept him in good thoughts in his slumber as the questions of the wall and what occurred behind it came to his subconscious.
…
Daily Herald
September 4th, 1939
London Hears Its First Raid Warning
London was calm yesterday when it heard its first air raid warning. This is the official statement issued by the Air Ministry: -
At 11:30 a.m. yesterday an aircraft was observed approaching the South Coast.
As its identity could not be readily determined an air-raid warning was given.
BLACK-OUT TIME TO-NIGHT –7.40…
…
Each day thereafter, Charles would bound out of bed, ready for a new conversation, a new world. His tutor would come by at 07:30 promptly and seemed to be impressed by Charles's new eagerness in the language and learning it.
It was a bit funny really. The late-adult thought it was maybe the thirst for knowledge, like the one his father was known for, but that was not the case.
Charles liked to think he understood his father and all the science words that came with him, but all he knew was that the man was very smart – and that apparently he was, too. He knew enough to get by with talking to him, but the second it went into "nuclear" territory, Charles was as lost as possible.
So, thirst for knowledge definitely wasn't the cause for this new bounce of ambition.
No, it was the fact that Charles had made a compromise, one he intended to keep until it was impossible to do so any longer. When he made a promise, he was serious about it – almost like it was a death sentence against his loyalty and honor. It made him feel almost like a knight made to keep his word. A lot better sounding than being as stubborn child.
And if that meant listening to 3 hour lessons of tedious languages and German etiquette by a strange man in green uniform and cap then so be it. He wanted to talk to Erik freely and completely – not choppily cut off between English and German.
On Erik's part, he was extremely patient. He would politely correct Charles's grammar and words if they seemed to be wrong, or chuckled softly and would repeat what ridiculousness spouted out of Charles mouth instead of a simple "How was your day?" Once Charles mispronounced a few words to where he talked about a rabbit named Erik rather than asking him what he did that day. Erik never let him live it down and would tease Charles with "rabbit Charles" throughout the conversation.
It was refreshing. The teasing and joking and soft talk of what was going on around them. Nice and different than the solemn faces and the unstable atmosphere his home seemed to grow steadily.
The conversations only got better each day. It seemed as if they would talk more and more than the day previous. For the moment it was only small things. Erik being good at making things with his hands, Charles knack for guessing what others were thinking, the sun, the stars, everything that didn't touch them specifically.
Safe subjects. Subjects that didn't produce discomfort or awkward silence.
Never had they touched upon the subject of the wall or why Erik was seemingly stuck behind it. The first time Charles broached the subject, Erik shut down and refused to speak until Charles was frantically begging for the boy to speak up, apologizing profusely for his rudeness. Ever since then, Charles carefully skirted around the subject. It was clearly touchy.
They didn't talk about family either. On either sides really. It wasn't to keep anything from him, Charles concluded to himself quietly on his way home one day, but a subject that had to wait until Charles was better at speaking. Charles intuition was an odd thing, but on this fact it didn't seem to be disagreeing with him.
And, eventually, his efforts paid off. His vocabulary got a lot better and in turn his ability to make sentences and understand them. He wasn't a professional, not even close (half of his understanding the language was still entirely guesswork honestly), but Erik seemed to have deemed his German well after a month or two. Or, at least, that was what Charles concluded. Otherwise, why would he have told him all he did? All that he… kept for so long while the ignorant boy wished aimlessly for Erik to be more open.
He should have been careful for what he wished for.
Truly so. His mother always told him not to prod. He should have listened to her.
The day he learned about the shadows of Warsaw were one of the worst days for Charles. Much like meeting Erik was easily one of his best mistakes, wishing for more knowledge, to know more in general, felt like the worst. Asking too much. Asking far too specifically. He should have been careful, but what did he know at that age? He was but a kid who knew nothing of the world and yet sensed everything was not good at all.
It started off with Charles's tutor yelling at his father that morning as Charles descended the stairs. It was harsh and seemed to drain the color from his father's face more and more, whatever the man was saying. Charles tried to understand it, but it was spoken too fast for him to understand. All he could pick out was "job" and "failure," both which seemed to cause years to age his father's form.
When his father caught sight of him, he quickly cut off the man with a "Later on. Not now," and told Charles to go out for a stroll. There would be no tutorials today. He didn't have to guess why.
He tried to ignore his mother's prayers as he walked out, her eyes blank but glossy as she stared emptily outside the window. Charles had an inkling of a feeling that his mother knew more than everyone gave her credit for, and a part of him wanted to sit next to her quietly, head bowed, and see if she would share her insight. But she wouldn't. A woman's role was to be quiet and unheard (that was what he heard a lot of men say. He didn't really believe it), something his mother was well at, even in the worst times.
He supposed this moment was one of those times.
His mother usually never prayed – not quite the religious sort – but the expression in her eyes were wishing for it to work the one time she did it. Charles didn't know if it would.
He didn't really trust miracles too much, anyways.
The people were ghostly that day. Pale. Skeleton-jutted bones that were shadowed with sallow cheeks and dark bags under the eyes. No smiles. Not even a grimace. They all seemed empty. Shells that lost their souls. It was frightening to see, terrible to experience, and a fear Charles began to cave into – the fear that he may become one of them.
He was almost tempted to run again. To outrun their sad faces and their shuffling feet and their dread that wanted to soak every ounce of happiness Charles had managed to keep thus far. He almost wanted to outrun all of it again and only his pride kept his feet to a walk.
He wished one of them would express emotion. Just one. Enough to show that maybe the whole city wasn't being drained of life. He even attempted smiling, something that always got the greatest variety of reactions, but nothing changed in their dead eyes.
All they did was stare ahead but not seeing. Occasionally they would look behind them or around them in the general direction of the wall that Erik was. It was telling but Charles didn't know what to make of it. Was something going on? Was something wrong?
As he made his way to the wall, he spotted something he never saw before. A man in uniform. It was dark green and his face was stoic. He seemed to be talking at the place Charles usually sat waiting for Erik. Hiding behind the corner, he watched as the man muttered words too faint for Charles to translate, before leaving, walking under the bridge and down the street that led away from the wall.
Charles hesitantly crept forward, eventually leaning his ear against the wall, straining his hearing to get anything. Just something to tell him that Erik was there. For some reason, the soldier gave Charles a bad vibe, and the boy wanted nothing more than to confirm his friend was okay.
"Hello? Erik?" He whispered, fearing of speaking any louder. The German, thankfully, came easy to him at this point, his mind automatically translating the best it could. Or at least the phrases and most words that he forced his head to memorize.
"I'm here, Charles." But the voice was frail. It was so weak and quiet and almost as uncertain as the first day Charles had talked to Erik. "But perhaps you shouldn't be."
"And why not?" Charles replied, controlling his voice just barely so he wouldn't exclaim it. "We always meet here. It was our compromise, remember?"
"Yes, I do. I don't regret it, but I don't think it should be continued any further. It's… too dangerous for you." Then, softly. "And I don't think I'll be here much longer."
Hearing those last words made Charles's heart ache dearly. It was like a knife had stabbed his heart and he found it difficult to breathe. As difficult as when he ran the first time he came here. His breath seemed shallow and quick. It was uncomfortable but he couldn't seem to stop himself.
Was this the fear that his father felt back home? It felt like it. A fear so striking that Charles felt more like an adult than a 15-year-old boy.
"What do you mean? Please, my friend, speak to me. Talk to me. You can tell me anything," Charles begged, hoping to break through the solid resolve Erik seemed to have.
Silence met his ears and for the longest minute, or maybe more, Charles almost felt as if Erik had walked away from the wall, leaving him in his place.
But then he heard a soft sigh and the scrape against the wall signifying Erik sliding down to sit on the ground. Charles quickly followed suit, not trusting his legs to keep him up.
He couldn't lose Erik. He was his only friend! He learned so much from him and for him. He was the reason Charles wasn't losing his soul like the populace around him. The reason why he wasn't losing his mind. Losing Erik at this point was like losing a part of him, a deeply rooted part of him. Charles wouldn't be able to handle it, not at this point when he seemed to know the boy even though he had never seen him.
"You've refrained from asking about the wall. I know it's because you don't want to prod, to trigger me I suppose."
Charles said nothing, merely listening.
"This wall is an awful thing, but the place it hides is even worse, Charles, you must understand that. It is the epitome of death and prison. Nothing could compare to what I have seen with my own eyes, what we have seen."
"We?" The worried boy spoke quietly.
"My mother and I. My mutter, she is not well. She is sickly, yet there is no way for me to obtain medicine for her. I've been attempting to smuggle in anything to help her, but the guards watch too closely now. We've already had so many incidents here already. It seems now they have on a schedule and work."
"What do you do?"
"Anything they want us to," He responded gravely. "Anything and everything. I could tell you, Charles, and if I survive after today, I might just do that. But not today. Not right now. I wouldn't be able to stop if I opened my mind to you, so please do me a favor and don't prod."
Charles wanted to ask why, but he couldn't find the words. His entire concentration was on translating and he didn't trust his tongue to act without his brain controlling his words.
"Do you know what this place is? Why people seem to walk around your streets one day and then go missing the next? Why it seems that everyone is so depressed? Tell me, friend, do you ponder these thoughts every time you come to see me? If you say you don't, then I know you are lying to me. I don't have to see your face or read your mind to sense your curiosity.
"This place is called a… ghetto. Those were the words I hear muttered across what is left of us. We are prisoners for being what we are. The scapegoat that seemed to cause this war."
"What are you?"
"Jewish, mainly. Criminals to everyone else."
"But that makes no sense. You're in this terrible place just because of your-"
"Yes, Charles. Exactly that. Our religion, beliefs, and morals have placed us all here. That's why people go missing… are missing… sometimes permanent and sometimes not. We are doomed not to survive. The weak are tossed out and the strong remain until they are weak as well. Between starvation and being killed for suspicion of smuggling and disobedience, it's a cycle and I fear for my life at this moment." He paused and quietly muttered. "I think the people outside these walls may be depressed because they sense it. They sense a shower of metal coming."
"Shower of metal?" Charles questioned in confusion.
"Not a good one I assure you. Deadly," Erik responded sadly before sighing. "I don't wish to tell you more Charles. Just because I am a prisoner in these walls doesn't mean you have to be alongside me in spirit."
"But I am, Erik." The words came out of Charles's mouth quicker than he could have thought them out. It was second-nature. He didn't need to hesitate to say this with absolute certainty.
"You don't know what you're saying."
"I do," He insisted urgently. "I do, Erik. I was with you then and I will be with you now. In spirit, in thought, in… in memory. I will be here for you. It isn't fair for a friend to suffer alone. If I can help carry the some of the bad things you are going through, then I will immediately if I can. Please, realize this. You are my friend, Erik. You are what I care for first. You always have been and, I promise you, you always will be. And right now?" He took a deep breath. "That means being with you through all this."
He felt brave saying this. He wasn't used to being so bold in what he says. Sure, he tended to be stubborn, but he didn't like to step over the boundaries set for him unless he had to. For some reason, this seemed one of those times. At least, his heart and head told him so.
There was a sort of stunned silence that followed and Charles waited anxiously for the reply, hoping he didn't go overboard.
Then he heard it. The slow exhale of breath that seemed far too shaky, far too unstable for the boy who seemed to speak of death calmly and with a sense of dread just a moment ago.
His voice, stronger before, had faltered back to weak whispers. Fragile words that seemed to be made of glass that Charles was far too afraid to touch, to break, to lose.
Was this his vulnerability? Charles didn't know what to do. Should he say comforting words, apologize, or remain silent? He never had a friend cry in front of him. He didn't want to do anything wrong. Not at this moment when the words would be weighed the most.
But he didn't have to make the decision. After a second, Erik spoke.
"Thank you, Charles. Thank you so much." The words were slightly shaky and the faint sniffles coming from the other side of the wall made the tears Charles kept behind his eyes follow quickly after – the exhaustion of being held back quickly wearing out.
If he was at home, his mother would scold him for showing weakness. Crying was not something a man took part in. But, shouldn't they be allowed to every once in a while? Men were not rocks. They didn't let emotions roll off of them. It was silly.
Or maybe Charles was an exception, as he usually was, and a cry baby at heart.
He didn't know.
What he did know was that he wasn't alone like this. On the other side of the wall sat Erik, probably in the same position with the same trickle of tears rolling down his face from each stress and anger and frustration that came from their separate lives. He wasn't alone and it made crying feel so much better than if he had waited to do so at home, where his mum was always cradling a glass of wine and his father was nowhere to be seen.
Charles never asked what Erik meant by not living long. He didn't think he would be able to stand the answer if he heard it.
The finality of the goodbye scared Charles to the point of not sleeping that night, causing one of the few servants who cared for him to go downstairs and fetch him a warm cup of milk and a book to read. The boy didn't want to read that night, though. He wanted to figure out a way to release Erik, and his mum, from that wall, from the horrors they dealt with.
New tears rolled down his face as he curled into a ball in his blankets, realizing with quivering sadness that there was absolutely nothing he could do.
Nothing but hope and wishing for the best.
Which, at that moment, seemed absolutely worthless.
…
"We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must - at that moment - become the center of the universe."
― Elie Wiesel, The Night Trilogy: Night, Dawn, the Accident
…
So... (waits anxiously) This is the first chapter! I am not that good at writing at all and I have read more fanfiction than I have ever written in my history of fanfiction, but I hope it wasn't too awful? It's not easy writing children and I hope to get better. If it makes things easier, Charles is maybe 15 and Erik 17 ish? I don't know if I will post another chapter yet haha.. I kind of want to see if there is anyone who really likes the first chapter. I'm sorry for my crappy writing. ^^"
I hope you all have a nice day! :)