a/n: Uh, so I recently watched X-Men: First Class, and I fell in love with Magneto/Erik, and yeah... First time writing for this fandom, so I'm kind of nervous. Also, AU-ish elements. Beware. Drop me a review, if you feel like it.
From Dust to Dust
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(300)
Things could never go back to the way they used to be, Erik knew this as he held his bloody hands close to his armored chest.
Too much had happened, too much ambition had stood between them.
Too much blood had been shed for the sake of his goals.
Blood dripped down, past the cracks between his fingers, and Erik simply stared at the red that could never compare to Raven's (nor Jean Grey's) hair in its brilliance.
Erik, he could almost hear the familiar touch of Charles's voice – patronizing as always, like he was right – within the tightly closed chambers on his mind.
Almost was not enough.
The helmet came off with a simple flick of his wrist.
But his mind retained its silence.
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(4)
"Get out of my head," Erik all but snarled, his muscles tense with anger and desperation as he was forcibly pulled out of the ice-cold sea.
It's cold, but he remembered the winters in Poland and –
The thought set the rage aflame all over again, and his vision nearly blanked and he could almost hear the twisting of the ship's railing-
Erik, it's alright, he could hear that voice, his voice, echo within him. That crazy man who had pulled him up from within the holds of the sea he had almost sunk into – willingly, because this was perhaps his only chance and-
"Calm, calm," the voice no longer invaded his mind and was but a gentle whisper in his ear, and Erik relaxed marginally as he was pulled to the deck. "It's alright now, Erik."
"-who-"
"Let's get the introductions done later. You need some warm clothes."
"-I need to-"
"He's already gone, Erik."
"..."
Erik remained silent – for a moment. "Don't do that again," he said, low and hoarse, before sniffing and sneezing as a shiver wrecked his spine.
He could swear he heard the smile from the other's voice. "I won't." As long as you don't give me a reason to, were the words neither of them thought that moment but which were the inevitable truth nonetheless.
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(287)
Charles knew it to be inevitable, for this clash to happen, but that didn't make the strain in his heart any lighter.
There was only so much one could do for one's best friend and could-have-been lover before it all went sour.
But hope was a fickle thing – and it was exactly as Erik had once said: he was an eternal optimist.
Still, this was borderline foolish.
Charles closed his eyes, fingers set on his temple.
As usual, he could not feel Erik's mind at all – but he doesn't have to; he knows Erik, and it's the intution of an old friend that tells him that there's no going back from this, for Erik and him.
Thin lips curled down into a saddened frown.
Oh, Erik.
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(15)
"Excellent," Charles murmured, eyes intent on the chess board and lips half-curved into a delighted, focused smile. "You exceeded my expectations, Erik."
"Don't spout lies now, Charles." But there's a smile on Erik's face – still tired, still world-weary face – and Charles has to fight to keep his own smile proper.
"It's not a lie, Erik," he murmured as he moved his Queen, knocking down Erik's pawn from Her way. "You're... we are extraordinary. In our own little ways. Mutations or not."
"You certainly have a way with words," Erik said dryly as he calmly got Charles's bishop."But not so much with the chess pieces. Check."
Amusement and genuine amazement flickered on the other's face, for a moment, and Erik was almost compelled to admit that this might be the start of something beautiful.
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(150)
"No- Erik, she didn't do this. You did."
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(45)
Between rage and serenity, Erik discovered bits of himself he hadn't recognized before. Missing pieces, he supposed as he did his morning practices.
Between rage and serenity, he repeated the thought as if it was mantra, sweat drops trickling down his temple as he kept testing, forcing, his powers to bend to his will.
Control.
He hadn't had control during the times his powers had been at their strongest; when he had been blinded by rage and all-devouring sorrow (for his mother, for everything that had happened).
Even now, he had to swallow back the rage that bubbled within him at the thought of his mother's murderer.
Between rage and serenity, Erik, he could almost hear Charles's voice whisper the words, and that was enough for him to pull his arm down and take a moment to just breathe the air of sun-lit morning.
Charles, he thought as he wiped his face with the sleeve of his tracksuit, I'm different from you.
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(199)
"Professor, do you ever think that it's impossible?"
Charles cast a pensive glance in Scott's direction, eyes glazing as though he was reliving a memory.
"Nothing's impossible in this world, Scott," he said, gesturing the young Summers (for a moment, the brown shade of Scott's hair looks almost blond) to come closer. "Let me tell you something that I wish I could have told a friend of mine when I had the chance..."
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(151)
He let go of Charles, setting him into the arms of the human woman, almost as though Charles had burnt a new scar into his skin.
His fault? His fault that this woman had-?
Something inside him flared up, and the anger-
He suppressed it, retreating from Charles's form very slowly and coolly, with consideration and precision he wouldn't have had (if it weren't for Charles) before.
It almost felt like he had been dropped into the cold, icy ocean water all over again; the burning inside his chest was the same, except that he could breathe and think and there was no mother to avenge anymore-
He closed his jaw firmly.
Shaw – Schmidt – whoever that man had been, he had been right – and Erik understood the reasoning, very well.
"Off we go now," he told his companions, without a second glance to Xavier – Charles – and his group of misfits that were on the wrong side of this war.
It wasn't – wouldn't be; couldn't be – over, but the look on Charles's face had spoken volumes, and Erik wasn't...
He closed his eyes. Yes, he was thankful for the helmet for shielding his innermost thoughts from Charles Xavier.
Goodbye, old friend.
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(215)
"There's a war, and we're going to win it." Magneto's lips remained in a stiff line as he spoke, as he cast a look around his mutants, his proudproudproud mutants that didn't have to hide.
Unlike Charles's group.
Something like anger flooded him; it was the kind of anger Magneto had long since learned to control.
Somewhere between rage and serenity, Charles? The melancholic, bitter thought crossed his mind. You just have to learn to control the rage, and then you have a power supply for eternity.
"If it comes down to it, wipe the X-men from existence."
The words tasted bitter, but nothing was more bitter than the memory of their last chess match with each other – that time when Magneto and Professor X had still been Erik and Charles. Together, with nothing to separate them, minus the fundemental differences in Charles's eternal optimism and the shadows suffocating Erik.
Or perhaps it was the thought of what could have been.
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(67)
Erik had given up on many things when he had chosen the path of vengeance – one of those had been genuine affection; it had become too painful to try, and so he hadn't bothered.
He was far from the gentle boy he had once been.
But...
"Charles," the warning came out low from his mouth, "you're drunk."
Eyes that were too clear to belong to a drunk stared back at him, a hand already resting over Erik's own. "No," Charles said, "I'm not." Hesitant shift of his eyes told Erik that Charles wasn't sure what he was doing – and that was astonishing itself; he hadn't seen Charles hesitate many times before.
"Charles-" Erik wasn't sure what he was saying either; maybe it was a plead – but he didn't plead, no, that wasn't like Erik – or maybe...
"Erik," Charles cut him off gingerly, soft-spoken as always when he wasn't flirting or directing or training people. "Let me... show you something." His hands rose up, inch by inch. "If it's okay with you," Charles added, eyes staring at Erik, unblinking and serious.
Erik nodded, slowly, and hoped his heartbeats or scattered thoughts weren't audible enough for Charles to pick up on – though, he supposed that didn't matter, Charles would probably notice them when he'd probe his mind.
(It was alright – he trusted Charles; there really weren't any big bad secrets between them.)
"Thank you," Charles choked out, which was another anomaly Erik wasn't allowed to mull on as Charles's hands cupped his cheeks intimately, gently, even lovingly, and Erik held his breath.
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(68)
He hadn't known what to expect from Charles, but this wasn't it.
"Charles?" he managed, expressing his question with just a name (the most important one). "What is- this? I..."
He could feel two hearts beating inside him, one a little faster than the other. Four hands. Two of which were on his cheeks.
And the warmth inside him, the-
"I'm sharing you what I'm feeling currently, Erik," Charles explained, eyes opening slightly to gaze at him, and Erik felt the anxiety pouring from the pores of Charles Xavier. "It's... the first time I'm... doing this, I'm not entirely sure-"
Exhilarated laughter escaped Erik's mouth before he could stop himself. Maybe it was relief, maybe it was the affirmation he had received from Charles, that made him feel lighter than in years. "Charles, it's magnificent," he said, "you can feel it, too, right?" How he felt. Charles should be able to see that, even without this trick.
(No, not trick. It's much more wonderful than a mere trick.)
"Ah, yes," Charles said. "Yes, I can, Erik."
"Don't hesitate."
"Only if you're absolutely sure-"
"Do you need to read my mind to realize how sure I am, Charles? You're smarter than that."
Charles's lips twitched up. "I suppose I am." And then he leaned over, closer, and-
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(302)
"Oh, Charles. It pains me to see what you have become."
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
"If only had you seen it my way."