This was a little thing I decided to write after seeing Apocalypse. It's not edited, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. I hope you enjoy it too.
Might be some ooc, I'm not sure. I just took an idea and ran with it.
The cry of pain struck something fragile inside him, something he'd only just repaired and had been desperately trying to protect. It shattered it into a million and one pieces.
I'm your... I'm your son.
His son. His. It made no sense and yet all the sense in the world. He'd been too stunned to do anything, too shocked to reply before the kid was already speeding off to help his friends.
And now, his son... his son... was at the mercy of a monster he'd called ally. In pain. His son's leg was clearly broken, twisted now because of the angle at which Apocalypse held him, his face contorted in agony. Erik watched in startled silence as Apocalypse wrenched the boy's head up to expose his throat for Psylocke. He tried in vain to pull away, fear evident in his frantic twisting, in the widening of his eyes behind his goggles, but when Psylocke came to a halt before them, he stopped.
He'd given up. He closed his eyes in acceptance. Or maybe he didn't want to watch; Erik couldn't tell.
No. No. His son. He'd already lost one child, he would not lose another.
A tempest of rage boiled hot behind his eyes and his fingertips tingled as the metal responded to his call. He lifted one hand, palms forward, and the metal shot forward. Steel beams and supports, iron frameworks bent to suit his needs. One such framework slammed hard into Psylocke and knocked her away, winding tightly around her body and pinning her arms to her sides.
Two more arced through the air and, with a flick of Erik's wrist, they embedded themselves in Apocalypse's torso and twisted. The monster roared and released Quicksilver.
Good, Erik thought. Good. Look at me. I can take you.
The hum of metal filled the air. It rose at his command, and Erik faced the Apocalypse not as Magneto, but as Erik.
Three Days Later
Peter had been scratching absently at the space between his leg and the cast when someone approached from the hallway. They lingered in the doorway as if uncertain, and he could feel their stare. Peter shifted in his seat and looked up.
"Are you alright?"
His father was looking him over, presumably trying to find physical evidence of their relations. He didn't look satisfied.
Peter shrugged. "I'm alive, right? No big deal. Got a nice cast out of it, too, see?" He patted his leg, and winced when it stung. "Nothin' to worry about."
Erik, Magneto, whatever he wanted to call himself- he was exactly the kind of father Peter wasn't sure he wanted. He wasn't one to look the gift horse in the mouth, because a father was one thing he wished he'd grown up with. There was a point where he'd have taken anything he could get. But now, later into his twenties, it seemed… unnecessary.
The knowledge of who his father was would have been enough for Peter. To meet him was a welcomed step up. Actually having said father stick around to worry over him...
It was overwhelming, to say the least.
"You're my son," Erik said. "Worrying is my job."
So he was in the 'attached at the hip' phase of fatherhood. Peter had no idea how to deal with that.
Peter huffed. "Guess so."
"Your mother," Erik began. He took a seat opposite Peter and rested his elbows on the table. From Peter's perspective, he looked out of place. It was a strange sight to see. "Is she...?"
"Dead?" Peter tilted his head. "Since I was born."
Erik dipped his head. "I see." His fingers drummed against the table. A grimace, followed shortly by a careful mask of impassiveness, flickered across his face. "You were raised well, at least?"
"Sure," Peter said, leaning forward against the table. "I mean, I went to prison once," - or a few times - "but that's not such a shocker to you, huh? I mean, following in your footsteps, right? Some kind of dad thing, right?"
He hadn't meant it to hurt, but Peter's mouth often moved faster than his brain, and his social skills left much to be desired.
"Sorry," he said. Peter leaned back in his chair, careful of his cast, and fixed his new found father with a curious look. He certainly resembled the man in the picture, albeit significantly older- more lines marred his face, and there was an exhaustion in his eyes. The mark of age made itself known in the way he carried himself. With all this, he looked nothing like Peter, and Peter looked nothing like him.
Erik shook his head. "It's fine. I..." His hands balled into fists then fell into his lap. He looked like he was restraining himself, but there was no aggression in his posture. "I'm sorry. For not-"
"Being there? To raise me? It's fine, man. I'm not too broken up about it, to be honest. I mean, I've been wanting to know you all my life, and now that I do, well, it's nice and all, but I'm not really asking for you to 'step in', you know?" Peter sucked in a lungful of air and shrugged. "That you care is nice and all, it's great, but I don't really need it. Not anymore."
When Peter looked up, Erik had slumped and looked considerably older, face drawn. His eyes were shut tight, not to hold back any tears, Peter figured- because the man seemed too hard for that. But he looked strained.
Looking harried and uncertain, Erik moved to stand up.
"I'm sorry, I really am. I just... I hope everything works out for you, Peter. Thank you for letting me know." He scooted his chair back into place, gave Peter a curt nod, then made for the door. "I hope you can forgive me."
Forgive? Peter scoffed. There was nothing to forgive. As far as the speedster was concerned, Erik was just as troubled as he was. And although Peter wasn't sure if he wanted the man as a father, there was a part of him that wondered. A part of him that was undeniably curious about what life would have been like had Erik raised him. Would this whole Apocalypse business even occurred?
Peter made his decision. "Hey, uh," -Peter paused for a whole nanosecond- "Wanna play catch? I hear that's a good place to start for, uh, father-son bonding. I mean, if you want to. I'd be up for it."
Erik stopped. He turned back, expression still uncertain, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
"I would love nothing more."