A/N: A love never dies AU with some Kay elements mixed in, also please see the ending of the story for more author's notes!
Life had never been particularly kind to Erik. He had accepted this years ago. It was one of the first lessons he learned as a child. The many marks on his body mapped out a twisted story of a lifetime of violence. Even his mind was scarred, with endless memories of fear and pain haunting him relentlessly. Sometimes, he morbidly wondered if one were to examine his brain, would it be as damaged as the monstrous half of his face?
He thought he knew all there was to know about agony- as he had experienced every form of it in one way or another. The moment the gunshot pierced his ears and the screams began, he knew he was wrong. He had never been so wrong before.
The world started to spin. A sharp whistle rang in his ears. The noise deafened all other sound around him, except for a grief-stricken wail that tore at his heart. He was on his knees in a second, reaching out to cradle the small body with shaking hands. The realization struck him that the awful cries he heard were his own, and the ringing in his ears began to fade.
Despite the absence of the overwhelming trill in his ear, he still struggled to take in the disconcerted sights and sounds that surrounded him. He knew that Christine was beside him, and that her own hands were over her mouth as she wept. He heard shouts from somewhere near them, but he didn't care to pay attention to whatever they said. His focus was strictly on the small boy that lay bleeding on the dock.
His son. Gustave was his son. Blood began to sweep between Erik's fingers. He pressed down more firmly on the boy's side and winced as the pressure caused the boy to whimper. He watched helplessly as Gustave's face twisted into a grimace.
His son was dying, bleeding to death in his father's arms.
The shouts grew closer, and soon hands began to try and pry the boy away. Erik swatted them back with a growl. His mind became sharper with the sudden need to do something. He stood and hoisted the small body up into his arms. Gustave's pitiful yelp made him feel utterly wretched, as he wanted to be as gentle as possible, but the boy was growing paler by the second. He was running out of time.
Erik grit his teeth and pushed forward as Madame Giry and the bewildered man she returned with ushered them along. Vaguely, he knew where they were leading him, but he was too scatterbrained to travel the familiar road alone. He knew the young, gangly man that rushed ahead of them, but in that moment, he could not for the life of him remember the man's name. He didn't stop to ponder upon it, he didn't even check to see if Christine followed behind him. He counted the few remaining blocks until the familiar row of modest townhouses appeared.
He wasted no time sprinting to the home on the very end and banging his fist against the door. The second the door began to swing open, he charged inside. He handed the child off to the waiting arms of Nadir Khan.
The Persian man was no stranger to Erik bursting into his home in the dead of night, often for medical attention. He had never brought a child before, and Erik could see the utter horror on the man's face. The shock disappeared as quickly as it came, and Nadir began barking orders.
The home erupted into a chaotic effort as people flew about. Erik fetched a brown medical bag from the study upstairs as Nadir instructed the lanky man to gather water and rags. Darius, he suddenly remembered. The young man's name was Darius. How could he have forgotten such a familiar name?
The shock he had fought to keep at bay broke through, and he froze. The ringing was back. He felt disconnected from his body and could only watch as Nadir and his assistant carried the boy away. He stood at the far end of the hallway as the pair disappeared into a room with a limp Gustave.
The sound of the door locking spurred him forward.
No matter how much he pleaded or threatened, they refused to let Erik inside. With one final strike to the door, he turned to rest against it. He knew they were right of course, he was far too shaken to be of any help. And he was sure screaming obscenities and beating on the door did nothing but hinder their efforts.
Ashamed, Erik looked down at his clothing. His coat was missing, and he faintly recalled yanking it off on the dock to press to Gustave's side. He wondered if it was still sitting on the dock, bloodied and waiting for some poor soul to discover. Perhaps the person would alert the police.
He pushed the thought away. His shirt was stained, and the sight made him ill. That was his son's blood clinging to the fabric. His breathing grew deeper as he brought his trembling hands closer to his face. They were stained too.
Down the hall, he heard crying. He remembered Christine, as he had selfishly thought only of his own grief since leaving the dock.
He found her in the sitting room. Her hands covered her face, and her shoulders heaved with each broken sob. He felt callous for neglecting to console her, as she had witnessed the entire thing. And while he had come to form a place in his heart for the boy, he knew his pain was incomparable to the despair Christine felt.
Erik crossed the room and brought her into his embrace. He was grateful she did not reject his arms, as he too longed for a sense of comfort. They stood like that, locked together in the center of the room, as the minutes ticked on. He didn't offer any false words of assurance, as he couldn't bring himself to lie when he truly did not know what Gustave's fate would be. He did not know if the boy would survive the night. He did not know if Christine would still have a son come morning.
His heart dropped at the thought.
He didn't protest when Nadir came to collect Christine. Truthfully, he was terrified of what waited in the room Nadir brought Christine into. He heard the door shut. A minute passed. He heard her cry out.
His throat tightened.
Erik stormed outside before the walls could close in on him. He paced restlessly on the small porch as wave after wave of unthinkable grief washed over him. His thoughts grew too heavy, and he sat on the cold steps of the porch. His hands clasped behind his head as he struggled to catch his breath.
It was his fault, he knew he was the one to blame for that night. He had acted rashly, thinking he could pry the gun away from Meg. He was a fool, and now he paid the price for his mistakes. So did Christine.
Oh, Christine. His hands left his head to twist the fabric on his knees. He had ruined her. He cursed himself for not being faster, for not thinking of a better plan in that moment on the dock.
The door creaked behind him. He ignored the presence that watched him and stared up at the nighttime sky. He did not want to speak. Not then, not when he wanted to throw himself off the very pier his son had lost his life.
"He's going to be alright."
He froze. The very air around him seemed to still. "What did you say?" He hissed.
Nadir sat beside him. "He's a very lucky boy. There will be some difficulty walking, for the time being. But I suspect a few weeks of strict bed rest, followed by many months of recovery- he will walk again."
Erik let out a strained sound, something between a gasp and a laugh. His heart threatened to burst from his chest right then and there. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. He was in disbelief, but he wanted to believe what Nadir told him so desperately.
"I've sent Darius to track down the boy's father," Nadir began, his tone steady. His eyes never left Erik as he searched his face with each word. "Hopefully, he can catch him before the-"
"I'm his father," Erik whispered. It sounded ridiculous even to him. Yet the confession spilled from his mouth before he could stop it. He cleared his throat, though it did nothing to dissolve the lump that had formed there. "Gustave is my son, Khan."
He waited for Nadir to berate him, or to maybe even reach out and strike his face. Instead, Erik saw him nod, almost in agreement. He was confused by the odd expression on Nadir's face, and he looked away in shame. Perhaps the man thought he was joking.
"I had suspected," he turned back as Nadir quietly spoke. "I saw the boy as I left your workshop, the day before last. He was with Christine, I recognized her immediately. I did not know who the boy was, but I saw his eyes and nearly made a fool of myself trying to catch another glimpse. I couldn't shake this feeling I had just looked into your own eyes, but not quite. His were…"
"Softer." Erik interrupted. The corner of his mouth lifted into a slight smile. "His eyes are softer than mine." Nadir hummed in agreement.
"Yes, that is what struck me. The more I pictured his face, the more I saw you. Subtle hints, very easy to overlook, but I saw you in his face. I thought it was impossible of course, it was completely out of the question that you-" The look on Erik's face made him trail off. An awkward silence settled between them until he sheepishly carried on. "Well, I convinced myself I exaggerated the entire thing. My mind was playing tricks on me, I was sure of it."
"Until?" Erik pressed. He watched as his companion picked at a loose thread on his sweater. Silently, he waited for Nadir to speak.
"Until tonight." He confessed. "He is incredibly lucky to be alive, Erik. There's only one other person I've ever come across to have such fortune when it comes to grave injuries, and that is you." With an exhausted grunt, Nadir stood. "Christine is with him, but I am doubtful he will wake anytime soon. Perhaps that is best."
With that, he went inside, and Erik was alone once more.
The night was quiet, but his mind was not. There were a number of pressing issues to address, but he didn't have the strength to care terribly much about any of them. Years ago, he likely would have torn the city apart searching for wherever Meg had run off to. Even Madame Giry wouldn't have been spared his unshakeable rage, as his eagerness for revenge was once unquenchable.
But that was another time in his life. Now, he was nearing his mid-thirties and a journey for vengeance seemed….reckless. He did not strive to be as reckless as he once was. Not anymore.
He decided the mounting list of things to deal with could wait. He stood and peered up at the dark sky one final time. He quietly made his way inside. A fresh shirt was draped at the end of the banister on the stairs to his right. He guessed Nadir had left it for him, but he did not stop to take it.
He crept through the halls as silent as a ghost until he arrived at the small guest room at the back of the house. The door had been left open, and he leaned against the door frame as he observed.
Christine sat on the edge of the bed, her back toward him. The room was dim, with only a single gas lamp on the stand beside the bed. He could just make out a shape beneath an abundance of wool blankets, but Christine's form masked what he truly longed to see. He craned his neck and shifted to the side. The wooden floor beneath his feet creaked, and he froze.
When she turned her head to look at him, he had the urge to flee. He felt like a thief caught in the act, as the scene before him was so significant he truly had no right to intrude upon it. She delicately rose from the bed, and when she started to make her way towards him he assumed it was to shut the door in his face.
He stepped back and mumbled an apology. He began to turn in retreat, but her hand grasped his sleeve. He wondered if she was going to finally scream at him for the damage he had done. He braced himself for it, as he truly deserved all the anger she could spew at him.
Her hand moved from his sleeve to his wrist, and she pulled him forward. He was not a weak man, but he would always be powerless when it came to Christine. Despite the frantic voices inside his head, he let her guide him into the room. He stood there dumbfounded as she shut the door.
They stood face to face as the dreadful feeling inside his chest began to constrict him. Although moments ago he was desperate to catch a glimpse of Gustave, in that moment the fear of what he would see was enough to scare him off. He bowed his head as he was still certain she was going to unleash a monumental verbal assault upon him at any moment.
Instead, he felt her soft hand linger against his uncovered cheek. Perhaps she would truly strike him. He flinched away, but once more braced himself for whatever blow she had for him.
"Erik," she whispered, her hand falling back to her side. "He asked for you, before he fell asleep." He tilted his chin up, briefly meeting her green eyes only to immediately look away. His mind raced as he tried to conjure up a reason the boy would ask for him. "The doctor…Nadir? He said the serum would make Gustave drowsy. He will sleep a lot, at least for the first few days."
"But he will be alright?" Erik asked, the question issuing forth before he could restrain himself. She nodded, her eyes shining with fresh tears. He felt his own eyes begin to water, and he tried to steady his tone before he spoke. "May I…?" The tremble in his voice was obvious, and he averted his gaze.
Christine, his wonderful Christine, did not need him to explain his request any further. Her hand returned to his wrist, and she brought him to the boy's bedside. He didn't have a chance to truly look Gustave over, as Christine sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot beside her.
"Sit."
He obeyed immediately, and settled beside her.
It bothered him how gaunt the boy's face was. It reminded him too much of his own skeletal face. The thick bed sheet was pulled up to his chin, and his dark, unruly hair was swept to the side. His thin arms rested above the cover on either side of his torso. He watched as Christine tenderly reached out to hold one of his small hands.
"He is so much like you," she whispered. He heard her sniffle, but she smiled as she turned to glance back at him. He wasn't sure if he should apologize or feel a sense of pride. He decided to scoot closer and take hold of her free hand. She did not push him away, and her fingers entwined with his.
He treasured the feeling of her hand in his. It was by far the most comforting sensation he had ever experienced, and he found himself feeling a little stronger as he listened to his son wheeze with each breath.
They did not exchange any more words that night. Not even when Christine began to hopelessly fight to keep her eyes open. When he noticed her losing battle, he warily placed a hand on her back. He motioned to the other side of the bed, as it was large enough to easily accommodate Gustave and her small form. He stood with her, and settled himself into a dusty armchair in the corner as she nestled in beside Gustave.
She was asleep in a moment. Erik rested his cheek against his hand as he leaned against the side of the chair. From his place across the room, he watched over the two most cherished people he had nearly lost.
A/N:Good hello! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! It means a whole lot to me. If you enjoyed this story, or want to see more, please let me know! If there is some interest in this fic, I may expand it to a longer series. If you did not like this story, I totally understand. Please leave me some feedback on what I can improve on in the future. And thank you to all the wonderful people behind the scenes who helped me with this fic, you guys are the very best!
