A/N: *Quietly peaks around the corner with nervous laughter* Hey. So. I'm sorry for not updating in months. Um. Word of advice, never take 3 science classes at once? And work at the same time? It literally consumes your life and stresses you out hardcore. At least, it did for me. I just finished my last final Tuesday and I feel like I've been reborn haha... I'm going out of town in a few days to Detroit but I'm going to try to fish out a chapter or two and get back into rhythm with things. All I have in the summer is a summer internship and work so things should go smoother than the entire semester! :D
But yes. This is the start of the second part of It's A Harder Fight.
I've had it in my giant 170 page document for weeks now but finally got around to editing it some. ^^" Much apologies for the lateness and how horrible it is. I woke up around midnight and just went straight to writing so who knows how it turned out. :')
Have a wonderful day! I'll try to update another chapter soon I promise!
Chapter 13
Part II: Some Things Are Worse Than Death
…..
"Doctor look into my eyes
I've been breathing air but there's no sign of life.
Doctor the problem's in my chest
My heart feels cold as ice but it's anybody's guess.
…
Well it's cold, cold, cold, cold inside
Darker in the day than the dead of night
Cold, cold, cold, cold inside
Doctor can you help me cause something don't feel right
Something don't feel right." – Cold Cold Cold (Cage the Elephant)
…..
It was as if each prisoner, every person who had a life previously happier than present, had turned to stone on the rickety tracks that rattled with barely constrained breath. Carved from marble and chiseled to match the definition of utter and absolute mourning, nobody thought to move or so much as meet the downturned stares that would never be reciprocated. Tears were not necessary nor were the heavy words that hung in the air like a guillotine about their definition.
No, not their definition. About the subject matter. About the chisel that so meticulously yet with savage diligence carved in their own personal misery – each mark original to the individual person.
Charles secretly wondered if they were all thinking the same thing, "Maybe if we don't talk about it, it won't become a certainty."
He wished. He wished desperately so, but it simply could not be the case.
The only good thing about their situation – though whether "good" truly described it was another matter altogether – was that everyone's thoughts were blissfully and gratefully silent. No one was screaming and Charles was left to his own thoughts and feelings that were so compressed in one writhing ball of turmoil that he didn't know how to express it.
It made him wonder, yet again, if anyone else felt the same. Was this just him and what had happened or was he not alone?
As to which outcome was better, Charles didn't know and he didn't feel like he wanted to prod into the minds around him.
A part of this was due to a fear of what he would find.
Sadness deeper than his own?
The last messages and images of friends and family he didn't know?
Or worse: thoughts of death and committing to that final act.
It scared him.
To top it off, Erik and he didn't talk that much during the trip to wherever they were going.
And it wasn't for lack of trying on Erik's part. He truly was too good for Charles. He didn't once let go of his hand unless he fell asleep and his grip went lax. Even then, he seemed to hold on just barely, fingertips pressed lightly and yet with a contradictory heavy promise.
If things hadn't happened as they had, Charles might have found it cute – maybe a little endearing perhaps. He might have smiled quietly to himself and store the memory to a small part of his brain to never be touched by whatever may happen.
Even though things were as they were, the sad boy still found himself storing the precious memory.
Charles knew his fingers must be cramped or sore but, if they were, Erik didn't complain.
But that was because Erik was steel.
He wasn't marble and chiseled stone like the rest of them. Still malleable. Still willing to change. Still expressing and showing that the world was weighing them down.
Metal made his countenance and his body. He didn't let his emotions shutter across his face and his spine was ramrod straight as he sat in the cart that must have banged the wall against it for days now. He was strong and seemed to be able to hold his own world calmly.
Charles knew better himself, but it was still admirable.
Erik's mum was almost as quiet as Charles was. He didn't know why. Maybe she was also grieving for his mum.
All your fault.
It would make sense. They were friends as well. Cleaning and teasing their children equally. Perhaps she was upset and wasn't up for conversation.
It was okay. He wasn't up for it either.
The vehicle they were in was certainly not a car of any sort. Charles knew that if he had paid attention he might have been able to note what they were thrown into, but he didn't really care at the time. He didn't care much now either, but nevertheless it was something that pressured his distant curiosity like a piece of red string just out of his reach.
Maybe it was a train? That would explain the constant rumble below him that shook the cart every so often.
He wondered why Erik hadn't done anything to it then. They were made of metal after all.
Then again, his mum was here. Perhaps that was why. He didn't want to risk her safety.
Charles wished he had been as thoughtful.
This place was cold. It was very cold. The wooden boards that surrounded them on every surface did little to keep them warm and there weren't even any windows for him to peek outside and wonder what might be their destination. He knew it was getting colder though. Wherever they were going was going to be colder than where they came from – probably both the people and the place. Charles tried not the think of it and focused on his fingers and toes, which had been numb for a while now. Each breath was visible in front of him and he shivered.
"Charles?"
He blinked and looked up from where he was staring. Edie met his gaze evenly though she looked small now. Small and concerned and not at all like she appeared at the ghetto before.
Charles felt like he needed to talk but words failed him. Edie seemed to understand and glanced wearily at her sleeping son before continuing. "Liebchen. It isn't good to hold things in. Talk. Please. You worry me." She paused and spared another look to her son. "You worry Erik. We don't like seeing you like this."
You can't do anything right. It's not surprise that you still burden them.
"I." God, was that his voice now? That raspy, dying thing that twisted anxiously in his throat? It sounded so frail and weak compared to what he sounded before. He cleared his throat and continued. "I am sorry."
"No. No, please don't apologize. You did nothing wrong," she looked close to tears and he felt the voice in the back of his head scold him.
"But I did," he said quietly. He didn't intend to say it aloud nor for Edie to hear it, but it was clear from the slight wobble of her bottom lip that she had.
For a second he thought she might crawl towards him and try to hug him despite her bonds, but instead she spoke with complete conviction, "You tried to save her, Charles. It wasn't your fault. It was that awful man who caused your mother's death. You know this, liebchen."
He shook his head slowly, tears threatening to come back too easily. "I let my mother die."
"A man killed your mother. There was little you could have done."
"I should have-"
"Charles." But this wasn't her voice. This was the voice of a boy who was previously asleep. The voice who remained silent until now. "You do not know or even understand how much everyone grieves for your loss. Not only for what you went through because that's not the only loss. We lost you. We are still losing you, and it's clear by the confusion on your face that you don't realize this. You are not alone in this. You know this as well as I do. Just because you seemed to have gone through the most hardship doesn't give you the opportunity to take all the weight and then sulk alone like a child."
He shouldn't take the words close to his heart. He really shouldn't. It was clear just from a glance that the worrying darkness in Erik's mind was making him like this, but still Charles couldn't easily ignore such words, either. It wasn't like him.
"Erik," his mother hissed out by Erik's hand was not in his anymore and the loss was beginning to settle in.
Charles stared at his friend and blinked slowly, processing what the boy said. "My parents have died." He met Erik's gaze evenly and thought he heard Edie call for him but it might have been his imagination. His parents always did tell him it was intense, that imagination of his. "My parents are dead. Both of them. What was left of my family is dead. Do you not realize we were the last of the Xaviers'? I have no grandparents nor cousins. My father died with a gun shot. My mother died from my faulty decision making. I'm the last of my family. I carry their legacy and their name. I don't think you understand anything, my friend. Not when you have your mother with you still."
"This is exactly what I am talking about. You are focusing on you and if you would just open your mind a little-"
"Erik," Charles said softly, turning away from the boy to stare at the wall ahead of him. "Maybe I'm not making myself clear. My mother died what feels like hours ago. My mother who actually tried to be someone better. She died. She's dead. My father is, too, but I've been able to move on past it till now. I'm grieving. I'm mourning. Did you not mourn when your father died?" Erik said nothing but that was more than enough. "I thought so. Just… please, allow me these few hours to myself. I know you're not happy with how I am, and I truly am sorry about that, but you can't make me suddenly happy. I mean," he fought for words for a second. "You clearly make my happy, but not the same level as what my mum had. Even you must get that. I'll try to be better by the time we get to wherever we are but you must have patience."
The words didn't hurt him. They didn't slash him. They didn't maim his heart. That would be ridiculous.
But they did push him away a little and, as Erik closed his eyes again with a resolute frown and a furrow of the brow, Charles began to wonder how far he would be set out. As far as his mum?
No. You don't deserve to think of her.
As far as his father?
You should have done something.
He realized he didn't know. He didn't know and it was a loss he didn't realize he had.
…..
When the vehicle stopped, it was quiet for a while. Too quiet to begin something of relevant comfort in the lapse of false safety, and too loud to begin to hope it to be possible.
Then shouts met his ears.
Shouts all in German and all angry. So angry. Like they were expressing the anger humanity had in their acts of mass imprisonment.
The doors were slammed open and everyone was forced off the train cart. Albert and Stephan went off towards the front, their heads down and shadows covering their eyes. Erik and his mum went towards the end along with Charles himself.
They were not cuffed. They were not tied by the wrists despite how throughout the ride they managed to untie them themselves. They were not butted in the back with the soldier's rifles. Just the order to march and move met their ears with a harshness that made Charles wince.
Yet the feeling of death and helplessness reeked around their bodies like its own set of metal diminution, keeping their heads focused on the ground they may never see again and away from reality that pulled at the chain links with eager anticipation.
More shouts were taken as the rest of those who were brought were tugged off the carts. They were organized into one mushed line of confused and desperate minds. Charles could hear all of them. Every single one of their words rang true in his head like a liberation mantra.
Why are we here?
What did we do to deserve this?
This isn't fair.
And wasn't that the truth of it all. It wasn't fair. Not for any of them.
But what could they do now?
Nothing. You tried to do something and see what happened? You couldn't even save your own mother.
As they were marched into the gates ahead of them, they were met with a sea of stern faces, set frowns and steely gazes that showed all their hatred for people they hardly knew. Charles kept to himself, at one point reaching out and grasping Edie's hand for comfort to which she squeezed hard.
Erik, after a minute, grabbed his other hand and his grip was as strong as the metal he could bend at will. A silent apology rang in his head for the briefest of moments. Charles didn't realize he needed that until that moment and as he lifted his face to look ahead of him and not at the ground trampled under their defeated feet, he felt tears sting at the corner of his eyes.
They continued to march. On and on they marched and Charles could begin to see the difference as they went further. Less soldiers, although there were still plenty, and more people who were already prisoners there.
It was easy to spot them. Most of them with shaved heads. All of them with striped pajama-like uniforms. Every single one with a face expressing the emotion every single one of the people arriving with Charles felt.
Eventually the line stopped and they were all forced into a single file line. This line moved more slowly.
When Charles peeked around Erik's back, he saw some people going to the right and some to the left. Were they sorting them? Why?
He didn't know and he heard no commands except for the soldiers yelling at them to move.
It wasn't until he was about ten people away from the front that he realized there was a singular man there. There was also someone behind him, but it was clear that this man was the one making the decision. He would just look at a person with the blankest face and then flick his wrist one way or another, the prisoner moved to said place.
There had to be a method but Charles couldn't place it.
Erik's mum was where he stalled. He looked like he was about to motion one way but the man behind him who had been quiet so long and out of the loop had suddenly stepped forward, murmured something into the man's ear, and then the man motioned the other way. Erik went with her.
When he looked at Charles, there was a look in his eyes. Curiosity. Charles reached out to the man's mind but he found it as blank as his expression. He narrowed his eyes. The man smiled.
He didn't like his smiles. It was menacing and threatened a history of pain. He was too clean. Too pristine. Too nice looking to actually be nice in this place.
The term "looks can be deceiving" rang out so loudly it might as well be the man's definition.
He walked up and Charles stiffened, standing straight and holding his chin up like his father taught him to.
"Your name."
The man who had previously murmured into the deciders ear looked like he was about to walk up but the decider held up his hand.
"State your name. I will not repeat myself."
Every part of him was screaming with indignation that this man did not deserve his name. He was living a nice life in the midst of death and smiling like it was okay.
Charles didn't want to tell him his name at all, but at the same time he knew that if he didn't things would not end well.
With a low mutter, he spoke. "Charles Xavier."
The man tilted his head. "Not a German native yet you look to understand me. Tell me, Charles, what is your talents?"
This was getting awkward. Everyone behind Charles were giving thoughts of confusion and Erik was screaming at Charles not to trust the man through his own mind but Charles kept his gaze stern.
"I must apologize, sir. I do not give information to those I do not know the name of myself. A common courtesy where I come from you must understand."
He quirked a brow. "I don't believe you are in the place to make demands, boy."
"I never said I was, sir. I just thought that a respectable man such as yourself would still lower yourself to something as moral as giving a name before proceeding for information."
A grin was beginning to form. He was pleased. Charles was confused. "Hm. Interesting. I like you, Charles." With that he took a step back and motioned for Charles to go with Erik and Edie. After a confused second, Charles walked over to their cluster, accepting Erik's hand when he gripped it hard.
"What did he want?" Erik muttered and Charles shook his head.
"I don't know."
The rest of the sorting went on and on until there were no one else in the line. Charles was finally able to make a distinction in the groups. It was obvious and there was a reason. There had to be a reason but Charles didn't know this place. He didn't know what they did here. He didn't want to know.
But one group was completely full of elderly, young children, frail women or those who were pregnant. The occasional lanky male was found but the rest were in his group.
And his group had the rest of them. Those who looked like they could work. That was probably the point.
"Take them to the showers," the man shouted and the other group was led away.
Showers? Charles was envious. He wanted a shower. He would love a shower. And they looked so happy, too. He could hear their happy chatter and see the excited faces.
The rest of them were led elsewhere but before Charles had taken two steps, a hand landed on his shoulder and he was forced to let go of Erik's hand.
Erik's response was immediate as he whipped around and glared at the person who had separated them. It was the man of before.
His nose looked a little crinkled at their holding hands but it easily fell into impassiveness with another deadly smile.
"I'm sorry for the intrusion," he wasn't. "But I was hoping to talk to you. I promise to return you to your… family later. In perfect condition." The last part was directed at Erik but Erik didn't look any less stiff.
Charles could feel the tension. Edie was beginning to look around for them and Charles didn't want to get them involved.
Go Erik. I promise I will be fine. He doesn't know about me. If things get bad, I will deal with it. Please don't risk your life when we've already lost so much, darling.
That seemed to shake Erik (or maybe he realized it wasn't smart to make a scene in front of such a dangerous man) and he thinned his lips, sighed and nodded before turning and catching up to his mother, turning back every so often.
A chuckle met his ears. It was sickeningly fond. "Quite the friend, hm?"
Charles nodded. He didn't like how the man hadn't retrieved his hand from his shoulder. He didn't like how he spoke to him like he knew him for years. He didn't like this man, but it was clear he was expecting a verbal response. "Yes. A very good friend. We've been through a lot together."
"I would imagine. Now, I want to talk to you for a minute or two if you would follow me." He said follow but Charles knew that even if he wanted to he wouldn't be able to turn around. The hand was an anchor to this fate.
They walked in uncomfortable silence for what felt like forever until they approached a vehicle. It was nicer than the other ones. Sleeker, too. The man opened the door and motioned for Charles to climb inside and his eyes hardened when he hesitated.
"Really, boy. If I wanted to do something to you, I truly would have and no one would know. As it has happened, I have taken a liking to you. Do not ruin that for yourself when you've just earned it."
Duly noted Charles thought as he climbed into the vehicle, well aware of how his dirty self contrasted with the clean seats and nice smell. The man went to the seat up front and the doors were slammed shut, the driver immediately taking off to a destination Charles knew not of.
"You said your name was Charles Xavier. You wouldn't happen to be related to a Francis Xavier, wouldn't you? The name is quite popular around here and it doesn't hurt to harbor a little curiosity you must understand."
Visuals of his father came back to him. He could lie. He could but it wouldn't do any good if the man realized this later. He could get documents and then where would Charles be?
"Yes. He's my father. A nuclear scientist but he passed away a year ago."
"A pity. We could have used him still. Well, I suppose not everyone can keep to the side their meant to be on, can they?" the man hummed, tapping on the window. "Anyhow, everyone knows of how intelligent your father was, but not many know of the assets that have extended to you. Tell me. What do you excel in?"
"Can you be more specific?"
He waved his hand in a circular motion, a small tick in the jaw from where Charles could see. "Do you like science? History? Art? Or, God forbid, philosophy and English?"
"I like science, as did my father."
"Oh?" It was the correct answer. Charles felt he could breathe a little. "Well, in that case, what kind do you like?"
Charles shrugged and picked at the frays in his pants that have long begun to unravel. He really needed to stop before he had no pants to speak of. "I like biology and genetics. I know enough chemistry to get by though not enough for all the laws it has. I don't like physics too much, but I can talk about it. I'm poorly educated in anatomy. I know some psychiatry but that's not really a science."
"No, but it is important enough." The man seemed to be contemplating something. Charles reached out tentatively to see into his head, but all he saw was a blank mass of nothing. How could that be? If he was thinking, then Charles should be able to see something. If he looked into the driver's head he saw a family with a smiling wife and giggling daughter, but when he looked into the mysterious man's mind he saw nothing.
Either he was a mutant in his own right, like Emma in terms of ability, had someone protecting him or he truly wasn't thinking at all and just appeared as such.
"How could a boy like you be into something as advanced as genetics?" It was an innocent enough question. Children (Charles hated being called a child but he had to admit he wasn't quite an adult yet) typically thought of playing and getting past the basics of addition and photosynthesis rather than the genes that make up a person.
Nevertheless, he couldn't rat out the library. It was a sanctuary. It needed to remain as such for anyone else who found it. "I read a lot of books before I was taken to the Warsaw Ghetto, sir."
"Ah. Right. Your father must have educated you in that aspect then. Also, as much as I like the formalities coming from your accent, I must say that it will get tiring after a while. My name is Josef Mengele. I'm the doctor of this place if you would believe it."
Charles felt his eyes narrow. "I fail to see where this is going, sir."
"Dr. Mengele," he corrected.
"Dr. Mengele," Charles almost muttered. The name tasted like bleach or poison on his tongue. It made his lips curl in dismay. "Why are you talking to a boy like me of whom you have barely just met. It isn't logical. It isn't rational. It doesn't even make an ounce of sense in any definition of the word. While I suppose I should be honored to be the… site of your favoritism, I have to question why?"
"You talk quite a bit, don't you?" Mengele laughed. "Your questions are well-founded, nevertheless. The others are lifeless machines. They harbor nothing that interests me. They will work here. They will die here. They won't escape here until our leader makes his conclusion with completion." Charles's blood was dropping in temperature like hail in a storm. Down and down until he wanted to shiver from the doctor's words who seemed as far from the profession as possible. "That being said, when I saw you, I noticed something. There was a spark in your eye. A certain… blankness to them if you will. I looked at your face, into your eyes, and I saw death. Death and yet a thirst for something out of your reach, for a knowledge that seemed unattainable until the moment you came here. I saw a part of myself in you and because of that, I want you to become my apprentice. Work with me, Charles, and I will teach you everything I know and more than you can dream of. Perhaps you will even surpass me with your vast intellect already being present."
He was praising. Praising and complimenting to get Charles's approval and he didn't know if he wanted to cringe into the seats and wish for them to suck him in or take his chances and open the door to jump out of the vehicle. See if he could breathe for a second before he got shot.
But at the same time, Charles knew that he shouldn't let this chance get away from him. This was a chance to probably do something that could… benefit someone. He didn't care if it was him. He could die if it would give his cause of death worth meaning. At least, that was what he was trying to think.
It was hard to say yes but this could potentially make things better for Erik, Edie, Albert and everyone else he doesn't even know yet. He had to take it.
He wasn't going to throw away his shot to do something, even if it was in the present of a man with questionable morals that rivaled Erik's Lehnsherr personality.
"I accept. When will we begin?"
…
He was dropped off at a bunker that looked even worse than the conditions at the ghetto which was saying something.
The floors were covered in a layer of grime that Charles couldn't even begin to fathom. There were no bunks. No beds. Which, compared to the ghetto, wasn't that much different except the "cots" here were just bundles of hay wrapped in somewhat rectangular shapes by string. They looked hard and lumpy and the definition of uncomfortable.
Charles maneuvered himself around the thickened crowds in the room until he found Erik. Thank goodness he was one of the taller people here so it was easy to spot him.
Still, he almost felt a certain stillness claiming him like the marble that had marked him on the train cart. Everyone in the room, who previously were all different with their skin tones and hair and the emotions they festered in their thoughts, were suddenly strikingly familiar. The rich or the poor, the "attractive" and those who were making it by. They all looked the same and Charles felt like the odd person out.
Their heads were shaved to the scalp. No hair remained. None to speak of. Some were taking this terribly by crying and crawling into despair, while others just seemed to be in a state of shock and reluctant acceptance.
Erik nor his mum had hair anymore and, like everyone else, they were placed in the same striped uniforms the other prisoners had. Charles saw several backs of other people and noticed numbers.
Was this how they were going to be identified now? By number? Not by the names they had been graced from their parents and their lives?
Charles clutched the striped uniform in his arms that Dr. Mengele gave him before he left. It wasn't any different from theirs, but he would still stick out with how his hair remained. "A small taste of my endless hospitality and the benefits you will sow staying by my side," Dr. Mengele had said.
A small part of himself wanted to find shears or a knife somewhere and slice his locks off in retaliation.
But he couldn't. Dr. Mengele wouldn't like that in the slightest and Charles had to appeal to the man before he tried something so bold.
So, keeping a tab on Erik's thoughts to lead him to the boy, Charles mumbled apologies as he waded through the talkative and miserable crowd.
Grabbing ahold of his wrist, he felt Erik jerk and the whiplash in Charles's mind made him wince but he ignored it, sliding his hand down until he grasped his hand. Erik visibly relaxed and gave a squeeze.
It was too loud for conversation. Too loud to talk without yelling that is. Thankfully, Charles had a way to solve this dilemma.
"Where's your mum?" He asked tentatively.
She said she wanted to see what is available to us. I offered to go but she wanted me to stay here should you come back. He paused and then added cautiously though Charles felt the underlying possessive tone in his friend's (when will that term change for him?) thoughts. What happened with that man?
"He just wanted to talk to me. Knew my father. Talked of how smart he was and the loss his death brought." He sighed and pushed his hair out of his face that was beginning to stick awkwardly from the body heat in the room. "He… wants me to work with him as his apprentice. A doctor assistant I guess."
I don't trust him
"I didn't say I did either. But I don't need you to trust him, darling. I already told him yes."
The grip on his hand tightened. Do I not get a say in this?
He didn't like that tone. Charles didn't like that tone at all. It didn't sound like Erik. It was a lot like… someone claiming someone. Stern. Angry. Feeling wronged. Like Charles should have confided in him first and allowed Erik to make the decision which was not going to happen, thank you very much.
Charles continued cautiously in case Lensherr's personality was around the corner.
"He didn't allow me much time to think it over, Erik. He wanted a yes or no right then and there. I couldn't ask him to let me sleep on it or ask my… boyfriend what he may think of it. Please understand this. I would have asked your opinion if I could have."
The simmering anger subsided into exhaustion. Fine, but please be careful, Haschen.
"When am I not?"
Charles meant it in a joking manner but it was very telling what Erik thought when he did respond.
He would be careful.
He had to be.
Because your stupidity might be what turns the tide here. Even if those who get close to you die before they should.
A/N: To sum up stuff: Charles isn't happy at all about his mum's death, Erik still has his "Lehnsherr" personality but it is slowly coming out more often with the stress of Auschwitz, and Mengele is going to play a HUGE role this part. I've done a lot of research on the Angel of Death from reading books of those who helped him to the terrible experiments he's done. Let's just say things will be... not good.
Bye! :)