Chapter 21

Later, when weary teens threw themselves onto carpeted floors and men with muddled heads lay against pillows in desperate need of comfort, Erik would think that he wouldn't be able to precisely recall how or when he arrived at the warehouse. His amiable counterpart, on the other hand, would likely have the memory forever engraved in the back of his brilliantly expansive mind. He would be able to recall the smell of burning rubber as both of their cars pulled up short before an amassed, angry crowd; the flickering of flames as many lit the ends of rag-stuffed bottles, and the bellowed chant: "Mutants must die!"

Charles, bottom lip raw and red from excessive chewing, slammed his eyes closed and immediately reached out with one hand, as the other raised to his temple. He called for peace, called for their dismantlement, but knew his mental cries would be in vain if his former friend didn't desist from grabbing any sliver of metal he could find on their bodies, and keep from throwing them across the street in his blinding rage.

It took but a fleeting moment, a desperate shout to one mind in particular, to cease the pandemonium in its tracks; the metal-bender froze in his place - hands raised, fingers splayed out - all pointing toward their intended victims. Charles knew he could could easily overtake the other man, knew he could use his ability to manipulate Erik to his every whim. The man arrived without a helmet, after all. However, Charles chose to not to. He would wax poetic about hindsight later.

Instead, Charles willed the crowd to forget why they had arrived, and to leave in their collective confusion without an inkling as to why they were there in the first place. Some, bruised and battered after having been tossed about like rag dolls, rubbed at sore backsides and threw bemused expressions towards the only man that didn't appear to be leaving like the rest. The metal-bender simply glowered after them, fingers twitching by his side, but he managed to refrain from resuming his initial task.

It didn't take long, and when the road finally cleared all that remained was the small faction of mutants. Charles, blue eyes narrowed in on his target, maintained his stare through the ash-smeared windshield as he calmly asked Hank for his assistance in getting out of the running vehicle. The young man, skin tinged an almighty blue and eyes glinting yellow in the pale sunlight, swallowed roughly before he finally nodded in acquiescence. He turned the ignition off, opened the door, and slowly unfolded his lean figure from the car. He waited by the door for a moment, yellowed-eyes trained on Erik's motionless form, before he slammed the door shut and slowly rounded the front of the vehicle.

"It's alright," Charles softly called out. He hadn't torn his watery gaze from Erik's incredibly tense form since the road finally cleared. He thought he would suffocate on the phantom anger that was enveloping him. "He won't do anything."

Hank huffed underneath his breath, possibly muttering something out of earshot, but he made no other sound. At least out loud he hadn't made a remark. Internally he was raging and seething and thinking thoughts that had Charles' upper lip twitching in amusement.

Across the street, several yards in front of the immobile car, Erik was similarly as silent. His sharp, caustic gaze raked over the pair as they worked together to remove Charles from the vehicle and into his simplistic wheelchair. Erik couldn't help the snarl that tugged at his mouth. He didn't think this was a sight he would ever get used to, nor did he think that the oppressing blanket of guilt that he felt wrapped in every time he saw the chair would ever go away. Regardless of whatever slight, mental assurances he could physically feel wafting from Charles' direction.

There was a sound of gravel being scuffed before Toad muttered from the side of his mouth, "I'm going inside. The mutant could be hurt, and I have some knowledge in basic first aid." Erik heard rather than saw the teen start to turn and walk off, before the younger man added, "And I'm really not feeling a stare-down at the moment."

Peter huffed in mild laughter as he agreed. He scratched his chest. "Yeah, this geezer reunion is bumming me out." He shook his head, fringe vigorously falling before his eyes. "I'm following frog-man on this one, Pops." He dusted off flakes of ash that had settled on his shoulder. "We'll see you inside."

Erik's shirt ruffled as Peter sped off, but he didn't move otherwise. His pale eyes, pointedly trained yet unseeing on the thin wheels of Charles' chair, coasted up until they took in Hank's slender form. The younger man was visibly struggling against his urges; he very clearly wanted to give into his inner beast, and tear the metal-bender to pieces. Erik's upper lip pricked up in a mild smirk. He almost wished the furry animal would. However, Erik recalled how easily detained the other mutant was after their last encounter – introducing metal to one's flailing limbs usually kept them from going anywhere.

Hank wouldn't be a threat.

Charles' brow visibly furrowed from across the way, and he risked a quick glance up. He reached to his side, intending to touch the sleeve of Hank's jacket in order to get his attention, when the sound of another vehicle pulling up startled him from his task. The trio turned to watch as a motorcycle skid to the side of Charles' car. Immediately two recognizable figures leapt off.

"Glad you boys could make it," Charles greeted offhandedly.

"Let's finish this before it starts," Alex growled as he lifted his arms and prepared to let loose an energy blast in Erik's direction. The older man didn't even bat an eye.

It was Ink, not Charles, that placed a hand on Alex's forearm. "Slow down, hotshot." He motioned towards the professor with his chin. "Let's see what the Professor has in mind."

"I see you've brought the whole clan," Erik called out. His voice was thick; full of grit and restrained, self-righteous anger. Then there was a clear sneer that pulled at his face. "You always did have others fight your battles for you, Charles."

Charles caught the sharp flash of anger as easily as he heard the clear growl at his side, but he wasn't fast enough to understand the meaning behind them both. When the realization struck him, and he lifted a nimble hand to prevent his boys from attacking, he was too late. Alex had let his anger best him, and a single blast of energy had already been expelled in Erik's direction.

Erik, much to Charles' relief and annoyance, knew that his words would evoke an attack. He was already gone from the space that Alex lit aflame with his power. Charles snapped forward, his hand catching Alex's wrist in a painful grip. He tugged the teen close, and glared up at him.

"That's enough!"

"But-" Alex cut his protest off and angrily shook his head. "Let's go, Ink. He went inside." He yanked his arm from Charles' grip and raced forward, Ink hesitantly at his heels.

"Professor."

Charles looked up, and saw Hank transformed into his X-Men persona: Beast.

"Professor," Hank's usually demure voice was now a deep grumble, "They're right. We can't let Magneto carry on. We'll have a White House situation all over again. He needs to be stopped."

The professor closed his eyes, and shook his head.

"Let's just get inside, shall we?" Charles motioned towards the back of his chair, and was thankful that Beast understood his meaning. The blue-furred man grabbed the handles, and easily maneuvered the rocky terrain before them. A clear explosion rocked the ground they stood on, and Charles had to refrain from losing his mind entirely.

"Faster would be better," he ground out between clenched teeth.

TBC...

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