{Author's Note: Part of the conversation in this chapter comes from or is inspired by X-Men: First Class or X-Men Apocalypse dialogue. Also, thanks to the guest reviewer from last chapter and all those who have favorited/subscribed to the story!}

ERIK POV

Erik rolled over, turning away from the wall toward the bed where Pietro slept. Erik himself was on a frameless mattress that rested directly on the hardwood floor.

Charles had managed the impossible, preparing—and repairing—the school for children again so quickly after the explosion, but there were still aspects of the school that were yet to be complete. One of those things was the procurement of nonessential furniture. Things like mattresses and desks were given priority, hence his current sleeping arrangements, but other items like sofas, chairs, wardrobes, and most bed frames for dorm rooms and the staff bedrooms, such as the one Erik and Pietro currently occupied, had yet to be acquired.

Nevertheless, in addition to the mattress Erik had claimed as his own, the room Pietro and he shared already had a queen-sized mattress with a bed-frame that was just as extravagant as the old one, which is what Pietro rested upon, but the room—or the one it was a replication of—no longer held the sofa Erik had slept on their first night back in their proper universe, so Erik had dragged one of the extra twin mattresses lying around into the room and called it good enough for the night and however long he needed it.

He had hoped that Pietro would protest their sleeping arrangements. That is, he hoped that Pietro would object to sharing a room with Erik because he knew that the boy would have objected if Wanda was still alive. After all, it was what Pietro had done when they'd first gotten back from the other earth, even though Pietro had been plagued—he was still plagued—by the memories of his recent imprisonment, to some degree, Pietro had still held fast to his teenage independence.

But tonight, Pietro had merely watched him as he and Mila carried the mattress inside as if he had no opinion on the matter. Likely just to fill the silence, Mila had chatted away as they completed the task, saying that it was probably a good idea that they shared a room for a little while in case Pietro needed something in the night, since it was still difficult for him to get around with his leg being the way it was.

Pietro hadn't needed either of their excuses, however; he may not have even heard them, choosing instead to chip away with a fingernail at the edge of a wall where paint had not quite covered plaster.

But despite Pietro's distant attitude and the fact that Erik knew Pietro now understood (and remembered) that the person he had loved most in this world was gone, Pietro had not had a nightmare that night, or at least, not one loud enough to rouse Erik or draw his attention, for Erik had only drifted in and out of sleep. Yet the bed where his son lay told a different story. The comforter that had been draped over the boy at the beginning of the night was now on the floor, and it did not look as though it had simply slid from the bed. Instead, it was far enough across the room that it seemed as though Pietro had grabbed it and flung it from the bed in frustration.

So perhaps Erik had not been awake for as much of the night as he had thought for surely he would have heard such an action.

Erik stood, still tired, but no longer willing to attempt to sleep.

He walked over to the comforter, and gathered it up in his arms. It was still dark out, but the moon was bright enough that it wasn't too difficult to see, and Erik was able to make his way across the room easily. He crossed the short distance to the bed where Pietro currently slept and, careful not to wake the boy, draped the comforter back over him, knowing that Pietro always ran cold and, more likely than not, the reason he had thrown the comforter across the room was because he was frustrated that sleep alluded him.

But for now at least, Pietro's breath was steady and his brow was calm with sleep.

Knowing that Pietro was as safe as he was ever going to be and that there wasn't anything Erik could do for him at the moment, Erik decided he would check on Nina. He took one last look at Pietro. His silver hair shone brightly in the moonlight. Then, Erik smoothed out the comforter, and took his leave from the room, shutting the door quietly behind him so as not to disturb his son.

He wouldn't have to go far to find the room Nina was sharing with Mila.

Maybe one day Mila would go back to rooming with Jubilee, though he knew Mila cared about Nina, Erik also knew that, in the long run, the teenager would likely one day want her own space—or at least a roommate—whom she did not have nearly a decade in age on. And that was if Mila didn't go off to university anytime soon. He hadn't actually asked her about her plans for the future, because whatever she chose to do with her life, Erik knew she wouldn't abandon Pietro. Even if she went to school across the country, the girl would surely call Pietro every day, but that said, Erik couldn't really see her doing that when she had only recently gotten Pietro back.

That wasn't who she was.

But at any rate, for now, to Erik's great appreciation, Mila had opted to be a comforting presence for Nina. Because of course, Pietro was not the only one who was hurting, and Nina had known both Wanda and Lorna. Unlike Erik, Nina hadn't just lost one family member and the idea of another family member. She'd lost two people who she knew and cared about.

It did not take Erik long to reach the girls' room, and when he opened the door they were both there, just as he had hoped, just as he had expected, and just as he knew they would be despite the fear that he knew he would never shake telling him that Nina and Pietro—like their siblings—would soon be gone.

Satisfied now, or as much as he could be, Erik knew he should try to go back to sleep. He should not face the day in which he was to formally say goodbye to two of his children sooner than he had to, and when he did have to face it, he should be awake enough to suffer through it and remember every moment of it. But was that not one of the reasons he was avoiding sleep in the first place? For if he tried, he knew he would see his children—both dead and alive—in his dreams again, or more accurately, in his nightmares.

So instead, Erik ventured from the hall that held sleeping children—children who may have faced their own challenges in life, but none as great as his children's—and made his way out to the main area of the school.

Along the way, Erik considered his restlessness. He knew he was to blame for nearly every misfortunate his children had suffered, but for the first time he wondered if his inability to stay in one place, to sleep soundly, and to find peace was the source of Pietro's power. Pietro's ability was a profound gift, but Erik was not so oblivious as to fail to recognize that Pietro's powers made the boy see and experience the world in an entirely different way from even his mutant brothers and sisters (or his actual sisters). Was that Erik's fault too? Was the fact—excluding the brief period of respite he had with Magda—that he had not had a proper home since he was 14 years old, the reason that, for Pietro, one second could stretch to a thousand and prolong any pain Pietro experienced beyond what anyone was meant to endure?

If that were true, then maybe Erik's broken psyche was the reason for Wanda's powers as well. Perhaps the fracturing and reshaping of his mind into that of a monster at the hands of his own personal Dr. Frankenstein was what had enabled Wanda to fracture the very realty of their world.

He supposed he would never know. And of course, Wanda would never get chance to know the extent of her abilities. That was a reality that maybe she could have changed had Erik departed this world in her place, but it was not something that was within Erik's power.

Erik walked along with no particular destination in mind, so it was surprise—though it really shouldn't have been—when he found himself outside Charles' office.

For a moment, Erik considered knocking, but he discarded that idea before it had even fully formed. Charles was likely in bed still recovering from his own ordeal, but if he wasn't, then he undoubtedly already knew that Erik was outside his office door, so without further hesitation, Erik opened the door, which—though recently crafted—still felt entirely familiar, and stepped inside.

Looking around, it only took a second for Erik to see that he had been wrong to assume that Charles was asleep, for the man was in fact wide awake, his wheelchair seated before a chessboard that he was just finishing setting up. Erik wondered if the board had survived the explosion, or if perhaps it had been Charles' one indulgence that he had made a priority to obtain while rebuilding the school.

"Good evening, Erik, or, good morning I suppose. . . . I heard you up. Fancy a game?" asked Charles as he adjusted another piece on the board.

Before replying, Erik took a moment to study the other man. He could see the stubble of hair growing out the top of his friend's head, and for Charles' sake, Erik was glad for that, remembering how particular Charles had been about his hair when they were both younger men. And Erik had already taken his legs from him. It would be cruel for the world to take away some other part of himself, even if it was something as trivial as hair.

"You heard me, or you heard me?" Asked Erik at last, raising a hand to his temple, but he was already closing the door behind him.

"Do you truly want to know the answer to that question?" asked Charles as he placed a final piece upon the board.

"I didn't expect you to be awake." Said Erik ignoring Charles' question and sitting down in the chair across from him.

"You are not the only who is kept awake by their thoughts." Charles replied, folding his hands together on his lap.

"Your thoughts . . . or mine?" asked Erik, while he twisted the queen piece in front of him for no other reason than that it was there.

"Again I ask, do you really want to know?" Charles said right before he reached over and took a swig from a drink that Erik hadn't noticed until that moment, and then he continued with a grimace. "Both. They all haunt me—my own thoughts, yours, Alex's, Jean's, Raven's, what I can grasp of Peter's, and so many more. . . . did you want something?" asked Charles tilting his glass Erik's way.

Erik shook his head, maybe one day soon he would drown his thoughts in a bottle, but he wouldn't do it tonight, not when today would be so significant. "And here I thought it was bad enough to suffer through my own thoughts."

"Very few could handle the torment that is within your mind." Charles agreed not unkindly.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?" asked Erik, raising an eyebrow at his old friend.

"Once again my answer is—both." Replied Charles with a wry small smile.

Erik didn't manage a laugh, but the corner of his lip may have twitched upward ever so slightly.

"It's funny. All these years of restless sleep—what keeps me awake at night has changed so little. Those I fear for change, but the fear itself remains the same—that they'll come for me . . . for my family . . . for my children." Erik commented as he traced a line on the board with his finger. "And whether it's death itself or death acting through a conduit, they have always come. I learned that truth when I was just a child dragged from my home."

"You are not alone in that fear, Erik. . . .You don't have to be alone with it." the other man replied, staring at Erik with his piercing blue eyes.

"What do you do then, when you wake up to that fear?" asked Erik, essentially ignoring Charles' comment once again.

Charles answered simply by waving his hand down at the chessboard and his glass before replying. "It's usually a more solitary pastime than it's meant to be or than it is tonight, but it does manage to almost distract me on occasion."

"That wasn't really the answer I was looking for." Said Erik, leaning back in his chair

Charles sighed. "I don't think there is a good answer to your question."

"No." Said Erik, now leaning forward to rest his forearms on the edge of the table, "but I think there might be better ways to hold back the fear. They know we are here. They could come again, for your students . . . and for my children. They know about Pietro. They could even know about Nina. It is only a matter of time."

"I feel a great swell of pity for the poor soul that comes to my school looking for trouble." Said Charles with an unexpected amount of ferocity.

"But they already came." Said Erik. "They came—the government, the military, the humans—they came, and they took your friends, your students . . . and my son. And you didn't stop them. None of us did."

"That was different, Erik. A being claiming to be the father of all mutant kind coming to steal me away isn't going to be a regular occurrence. I'll be here to protect them next time, if something like that were to happen again." Replied Charles, his voice full of conviction.

"You can't promise that. I know you'll do your best. Why do you think I want my children here and not anywhere else? But you won't always be here. You will be called away. And your students and my children won't live their lives confined within these grounds, and they shouldn't have to. They'll go out into the world. A world, which right now, is not safe for them." Said Erik, gripping the edge of the table now.

"What would you have me do? The world will never be completely safe for mutants or for humans." Replied Charles, his voice steady. "The best we can do is learn to live together."

"It is not what you have to do." Answered Erik. "I think we've established long ago that your ideologies do not allow you to do what must be done."

"You're right; we've been down this road before, my friend." Said Charles, also leaning forward slightly. "And just like before, there are still so many good people out there—humans and mutants alike. I'm sorry that hasn't been your experience, but it doesn't mean it can't be. Aren't you tired of this path?"

"Of course I'm tired, Charles, but that doesn't mean I can rest. Anya. Wanda. Lorna. . . . my babies. All g-gone." Erik answered, choking on the last word, and he had to turn away from his friend's steady gaze, for if he looked into his eyes, the fragile wall he built around his grief would surely fall.

"Erik . . . " Charles voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. "You don't have to hide your grief. Jean fell asleep nearly thirty minutes ago; Raven a couple of hours before that. Hank passed out in the lab quite early in the evening, and if he sticks to his usual schedule he won't be up for a few hours more. Alex went out running late last night with the intention of wearing himself out so completely that he would sleep but not dream, and he succeeded in the former but not the latter. One student returned from a quick trip to the bathroom about ten minutes ago and has already drifted off once more. The other students, Peter and Nina included, are currently sleeping more or less peacefully. . . . There is no one here that you need to be strong for. There is no one here but a friend who cares for you like a brother."

Erik didn't mean to do it. He would have stayed on the course he was headed and had anger be his dominating emotion, but it was Charles' specifically naming Pietro and Nina that did it, that broke down his hastily built wall. Erik looked up into his friend's eyes and saw only the greatest of concern and sympathy there. And Erik couldn't help. The wall broke. It broke from the force of grief that had slamming against that wall for days . . . for months . . . for years even.

The tears came then. He could feel them on his face. His grief wasn't loud, nor did it manifest through his powers as it often did. In fact, this time, his grief was almost silent and outwardly underwhelming, but that did not minimize the force of it.

"Why is death the fate of ev-everyone I love? Is this truly what I d-deserve? It's not what they deserved, so it can only be what I deserve." Said Erik, and he was shaking now, his voice catching on the words.

"Oh, Erik. Of course it's not what you deserve, nor what they deserve." Said Charles, and Erik was vaguely aware that he had moved his wheelchair around the table so that he was right beside his old friend. And, a moment later, Charles rested a hand on Erik's arm. "We've all done things we regret, but I do not believe this is God serving karma upon you or them. There's no explanation, and I know that makes it worse. And this course you've set for yourself won't bring you peace. There's nothing that will truly bring you peace but—"

"Peace was never an option anyway." Said Erik, wiping his eyes and shrugging off Charles' touch in one fluid motion. "Not for me. Not for my children. I've failed to protect them. Again and again . . . but I still have to try."

And with that, Erik cleared his throat, straightened his chair, and moved a pawn forward, beginning a game that they were both well acquainted with, though every time they played each took a very different approach from the other.

{Author's Note: So my writing streak didn't last very long. Guess I was still recovering from the end of WandaVision. If you haven't seen it, SPOILERS ahead.

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I'm disappointed that Pietro wasn't the X-men Quicksilver/Peter, and, rather, just some random dude. But overall, I still enjoyed the show. I suppose there's a minuscule chance that this is a long con, and Ralph Bohner is actually the X-Men Universe's Quicksilver, because would he really laugh at a boner joke about his own name? Wouldn't he be used to those jokes by now if that really was his name? But yea, I don't actually think there's a deeper story there...UNLESS you subscribe to the theory that he's the person in witness protection that Jimmy came looking for...hmmm.}