Summary: Charles goes after Erik into Sebastian Shaw's submarine. Rated PG-13 for descriptions of violence.

Point Blank

Erik's frustration is palpably growing, even as his telepathic connection with Charles decreases, and Charles figures he must be getting close to the void. "There's nobody here, God damn it!" Erik yells, and then suddenly, everything goes silent, save for the unmistakable final image that Erik projects before he is lost to Charles: Shaw.

'Erik, where are you? What's happening?' Behind him, he can hear Moira's own internal debate. Finally, he decides he cannot handle simply wait here any longer. "I'm going after him," he says curtly to her, and it's Russia all over again as she gazes at him with tight-lipped disappointment. "He may need me."

"Be careful, Charles." Moira's face is etched with concern, and Charles realizes that this is when the guy usually tugs the girl to him in the movies for a passionate kiss before rushing off to war. He barely glances at her, and brushes off Raven's questioning gaze as he rushes past her to find Erik.

It doesn't take long. When he arrives in the room obviously meant to hide the submarine's nuclear reactor, everything is open and in full-view, like a chest of drawers that have been rummaged through by a very determined intruder. 'Erik,' he thinks as he reaches the doorway, and two pairs of eyes are immediately upon him.

"Charles, get out of here," Erik rasps, eyes wide. Charles can see multiple small cuts and bruises on his friend; in contrast, Sebastian Shaw looks impressively unscathed.

Shaw's expression is appreciative. "The telepath," he smiles, and it would be engaging, even handsome, if it weren't so sinister. "I've heard so much about you," he continues flatteringly. "Emma says you've seen my little vision for the future of our race. What did you think?"

"It's rather terrifying," Charles tells him matter-of-factly. In his head, Erik bites out, 'Don't play his games, Charles.'

'I won't,' he returns.

Shaw clucks his tongue. "That's disappointing," he remarks, still grinning. Charles can't read his thoughts, and knows it's because of the helmet affixed to his head. Thus, it does not immediately register with him that Shaw is readying his energy reserves to attack until he sees him in action.

"Erik agrees with me," Shaw continues pleasantly. "Don't you, Erik?" Then with a lazy twitch of his fingers, he sends Erik flying backwards into the glass panes behind him. Shards are suddenly everywhere, and Charles utters a pained "Erik!" before he can stop himself. He can feel the situation quickly slipping out of control, and not just for the fact that Shaw has nearly succeeded in starting World War III with America and Russia as pawns. 'Erik,' he thinks desperately, knowing that just because head wounds bleed a lot, they aren't necessarily fatal, but Erik is just so still, and there's so much blood. 'Erik, are you all right?'

'We need to get that helmet.' Inwardly, Charles sighs, but he sends wordless sentiments of relief that Erik is conscious enough to continue plotting against his enemy.

Unfortunately, Shaw still has the upper hand. "I know you don't buy into all that 'living in harmony with humans' garbage, Erik," he says lightly. Charles watches him bend to where Erik has propped himself on all fours, watches him wipe the side of Erik's face with his hand, a twisted, paternal gesture. "I know you're better than that, Erik," he whispers.

Erik pants. "Go to Hell," he mutters, and then Charles and Erik both scream when Shaw tosses Erik across the room again like a rag doll. Erik sinks to the ground anew, surrounded by yet more broken glass, and Shaw shakes his head.

"We could be great together, Erik. It's a shame our past seems to be causing you some contention." He looks up, and Charles does, as well. "Perhaps you just need a little convincing, then."

He reaches out a hand and, suddenly, Charles realizes that he can't move his limbs. His eyes go wide as he sends panicked thoughts to Erik. "I think he's doing something to freeze me into place …" he manages to get out, and then Shaw is upon him, lifting him by the throat with an inhumanly (because he is) strong hand. Charles' legs dangle uselessly as he gasps for air. Across the room, he hears Erik spit out a curse in German. "Let him go." Erik's voice is low and menacing. "He's done nothing to you, Shaw."

"On the contrary," Shaw says smoothly, and now he's lowering Charles enough so that he can cup his face, forcing his chin up roughly. "He's caused me quite a spot of trouble in the recent past." He hears Charles' strangled wheezing and his smile widens. "And since he's said himself that he has no interest in joining our cause" – here, he pats Charles on the head condescendingly, like a dog – "then the only thing he's really good for is as a hostage; either for me or as the government's lap dog, it doesn't matter," he smirks.

He lets Charles take in just enough air to sustain him, and then rustles him to face Erik. Still frozen, Charles feels the shard of glass pressing against his bare throat the same second he watches it happen through Erik's eyes "Charles," Erik says hoarsely, standing up shakily.

Shaw's gaze is as disdainful as it was the day he killed Erik's mother in cold blood. "Is it really worth defying me, Erik?" he murmurs, and Charles bites back a sob when he feels the glass break skin. "Is it really worth throwing away an opportunity you'd run towards if I wasn't the one proposing it?" He taps Charles' temple mockingly. "Is it worth another senseless death, Erik?"

The inertia with which Erik can summon metal is truly astonishing, as is the meticulous hold he has over it. It does not surprise Charles when the objects that are suddenly being pitched towards Shaw fail to hit him, but he chooses to concentrate more on the fact that he can suddenly move again. He drops to the ground, gasping, and watches as Erik's attacks on Shaw become more and more vicious. For several long seconds, it's all Charles can do to keep track of who is doing what, and then he hears a pained grunt, and Shaw has Erik pinned against the wall with a metal table, using the blunt force of Erik's latest slew of attacks against him.

Blood continues to ooze down the side of Erik's face, and Charles can tell that his grip on consciousness is starting to fade. 'Erik,' he calls desperately, but there is no answer. Out loud, however, he can hear Erik muttering to Shaw: "You are my creator," he chokes out.

They will never know what Shaw's next words would have been. The first shot goes into the back of his neck; the second through the helmet, piercing his skull. As he staggers, Charles shoots him a third time for good measure, and he topples, lifeless, to the debris-littered ground.

Immediately, Erik grabs and then drops the table, and it, too, clatters uselessly atop the rubble. He looks at Charles, still holding the gun. "I wondered why you brought that," Erik tells him, and he can feel its weight in Charles' hand.

Charles blinks slowly. "Yes. I wondered myself, really." He watches Erik pick the helmet off of Shaw's head and frowns. "It has a hole in it now, Erik. I don't think it will work the same." Erik sets it back down. Privately, the thought of the other man shielding his mind so intentionally bothers Charles quite a lot, but he does not voice this aloud. Instead, he focuses on the train of thought niggling Erik's mind.

"I did not think you should have been the one to kill Shaw," he explains carefully. "I agree that he deserved to die, but I didn't want it to be you. I didn't know if you could come back from that, Erik."

Erik looks at him, irritation apparent, but allows Charles to help him up. "I've killed before, Charles," he says firmly.

Charles nods. "I know," he says shortly. "But not like this. It's different," he insists. He vows that they will return to this conversation at a later date.

When they reach the outside of the displaced submarine, the warring mutant factions come to a standstill once they realize that Shaw hasn't resurfaced. "He's dead," Charles says, speaking to all of them, and then their attention is turned collectively towards both countries' military boats and their mutual fascination with destroying the beach and all of the mutants on it.

Charles hears Erik's declarations of a counter-attack, his need for revenge. "There is no one else to avenge," Erik," he says pointedly. The other mutants shift anxiously, waiting for direction.

Erik points an accusatory finger at the ocean. "If they fire on us …" he begins, but Charles interrupts him.

"They won't."

When the official reports are later collaborated, there will be no mention of mutants, not even a whisper of their involvement in the Cuban missile crisis that almost set the world ablaze again. In the present, Erik watches Charles, his mind working rapidly to implant false memories, to obscure, to keep them – again, all of them - safe. "It's a temporary fix," Erik argues heatedly. He points at Moira. "They will never be at peace with us."

"We do not have to fight them," Charles responds, ignoring his burgeoning headache. "Not yet, Erik. Maybe not ever. We can live quietly. We don't have to fight. We can be happy." He holds out a hand. "We can," he whispers.

Erik's face is vulnerable, his eyes searching for something valid and real and true in Charles' wide, open gaze. "I don't know if I'm very good at being happy," he admits. He feels Charles squeeze his shoulder. "Charles …" he starts.

Charles just smiles at him, his eyes gracious. "Let me show you," he offers, and it's at once a promise and a wish. "My friend," Charles says.

"My brother," Erik confirms, and he has never felt lighter than he does at that moment. He gestures to the two clusters of mutants, now eyeing one another curiously. "Let's be happy," Erik tells them all, and if he didn't know better, he'd swear this were one of Charles' mind tricks; 'but it's not,' Charles assures him, and Erik allows himself to take Charles at his word, and vows to follow him anywhere.