A Year From Now, We'll All Be Gone

by goosenik

Charles Xavier is seventeen when he is abducted and taken to Sebastian Shaw's 'school' for young mutants, a pretty name for a torture facility created to churn out living weapons in his army. Erik Lensherr has already been there for seven years. They've been stripped of their names, but they can't be stripped of who they are. That's not, however, for lack of Shaw's trying.

2. Chapter 2: Erik, 2007

Chapter 2- Erik: 2007

It was oddly hard for Erik to sleep. He kept seeing blue eyes and a mouth inches from his own, a ridiculously soft British accent right beside his ear. He knew that they could have better warned Twelve, better prepared him for what was about to happen. Erik could all too vividly remember his first session, the feeling of ceramic knives digging into his muscles as Shaw's cold voice directed him to lift the car, and every time he managed to get close to sleep now, he could see Twelve, too bright and young-looking, screaming in his place. It left Erik glowering at the ceiling, deeply ill-tempered and disturbed.

Twelve had tried to help Eleven. Would he be able to? It wouldn't matter in the end, of course. It hadn't mattered whether or not Eight wanted to live (he had, badly) or Nine had been sweet (he had lasted only days after Ten's arrival, Erik had seen them carrying his broken body out in pieces). Eleven had equal chances of making it out of here whether her mind was together or not… but Erik still found himself wishing, likely in futility, that it were possible for her to be able to be whole. Twelve hadn't hesitated to look, to see if there was something he could do.

Ten suspected that their newcomer was a plant, someone to influence and control them from the inside. It was possible. Twelve could make anything up about Eleven, claim that he was helping, and they would never know if it was a lie or not because they couldn't see inside her head, and she rarely spoke. He would know what they were thinking and root out any dreams of rebellion. With his slim build and large, guileless blue eyes, polite accent and sweaters at least two sizes too large for him, he looked the opposite of threatening. It would be easy to overlook him as a potential danger.

But for some reason, whether or not he was a plant, Erik couldn't sleep for thoughts of him, alternately in pain and in… other ways, that made him pray fervently that neither Twelve nor Emma were close enough to hear. After a while, he sat up and kicked off his blankets, going to the door and moving through the hallway to where Twelve's room would be.

He could still remember the confusion of those first few days. He'd thought that everything would all be locked up at night, but One had laughed sharply at that idea. Erik could still remember One's laugh so vividly- it had almost been a bark of a sound. He had explained to Erik that, unless they were being punished and trapped in solitary, they were free to move about the manor at night. With the threat of pain and a telepath who knew what they were doing, Shaw was confident that he would catch anything close to an escape attempt. And he had, many times.

Erik stopped outside his doorway and glanced in through the little window on the door. Twelve was inside and was sitting up despite the late hour, his eyes shut and hands palm-up on his knees. Meditating? A flicker of scorn in Erik's mind- how could meditation do anything- but he didn't speak, merely continued to take the sight in. He had the lights on, the bright fluorescents illuminating bright red spots on his cheek and arms, but Erik didn't see any blood.

It wasn't surprising. Shaw had been on a burn-and-electrocution kick for a month or two now. It provided equal pain but with less likelihood of death. It certainly wasn't fun- your muscles tended to shiver and jerk randomly for a few hours after, but it was far less horrific than some things had been, and they were tolerable. He knew that, so why did the brightness of the burns against all that pale skin bother him so much? Twelve would go through much worse, as Erik had. He could handle it, he had to. This wasn't even that bad… but it bothered him regardless. The same way it had always bothered him whenever anything hurt Eleven.

Which was ridiculous, because he'd known her longer, and she was delicate and breakable and this boy was… was…

Well, beautiful. Erik watched him for a long moment, finding himself oddly and reluctantly soothed by the slow movement of Twelve's chest, his unbelievable eyes just barely flickering under their lids, hidden for the moment. Erik allowed himself to study the other boy's face; all delicate features, softness and warmth and sweetness, even when he was just sitting there. Uncomfortably, Erik thought of his own sharp face, the smile people had told him reminded him of a shark, all hardness and sharpness and danger. The opposite of this beautiful, soft boy with the warm blue eyes and wildly curling and appealing hair.

He was about to return to his room when Twelve started slightly and opened his eyes, looking up at him as if he had always known Erik was standing there. A blood vessel had burst in his left eye, brilliant red marring the light, elegant blue of his iris. "Two," he said in surprise, dropping his hands to his lap, and Erik, who had been caught staring at him through the window and silently prayed that Twelve hadn't been listening to all of the thoughts he'd had, slowly opened the door. "I- it's late, isn't it?" Twelve glanced around the room as if expecting to find a clock. He hadn't been there long enough to realize that the only clock was in the dayroom, the only watch on Erik's wrist. Just another way to take things from them, to control them and disorient them. Twelve focused on Erik again. "Are you okay?"

Erik gave a shrug, aiming for callousness. Whether or not he was a plant, he could be convinced to give up Erik's perceived weaknesses under stress or pain. "It's late," he agreed, and chose to keep the doorway between them. "You can't sleep either."

Although… the boy had asked if Erik was okay. Someone who was a plant, they'd act vulnerable, scared, hoping he would lower the target's guard for that… right? That sounded right, but he could be using that exact logic to gain Erik's trust, knowing that this logic could follow.

Erik couldn't put anything past Shaw after all this time.

"No," Twelve admitted, leaning back against the wall. "But I've never slept well. Normally I read to help it, or work on my essays and assignments... I don't have those here." His eyes flicked over the bare room. "It could have been worse. Your first session was worse. I thought I might be able to get into his head, but Shaw is shielded somehow, more aggressively than just with Emma's help. He must have some trick to block me. That leaves just Emma. She has to have a weak spot somewhere." His forehead creased very slightly in thought.

Erik snorted and leaned back against the opposite wall of the hallway to create more space between them. It wasn't safe to be drawn in by those blue eyes and earnestness, some part of him warned. The more open and connected he became with these people, the more damaging it was when they inevitably vanished. He had made that mistake often when he had first come here, and it had just gotten hammered in over and over what a terrible idea it was.

"She does have a weak spot," he said to Twelve now, though. This particular bit of information wasn't in any way giving up anything- even people who couldn't read minds knew it. "It's Shaw. She's head-over-her-stripper-heels for him and doesn't believe anyone that he doesn't give a shit about her. She's a bitch. Things suck here, but there are things that are not so bad. We do have a library, actually. There's not much there, but I can show you whenever."

Twelve's fingertips trailed across his lips slowly, his eyes distant in thought. "You're Two. Eleven. Ten. I'm Twelve. Where are the other eight?"

"Dead." Erik tried not to focus on those fingers that were tracing the beautiful mouth. Twelve was a telepath, and he would be aware of where his thoughts trailed. He was used to Emma, but this was different. Emma was never the target of those kind of thoughts, except for maybe one or two of the new ones, before they realized what she was like. "The same story for all of them, though; either they couldn't do it and ended things, or Shaw did."

Twelve's eyes darkened, shoulders tightening slightly. He was silent for a moment, then looked up at Erik, his blue-and-red eyes meeting Erik's green ones. "I'm going to get you out, Two. I promise." His lips quirked up into a smile. "And then you're going to tell me your name. Sound like a deal?"

Erik snorted, inclining his head and succeeding in keeping a smile off his face. No weaknesses, no building friendships. There was no point. "All right. Fine, you have a deal. Get my ass out here and you can find out my name. Good luck, though. At least two of those eight died directly from escape attempts and what happened when they got caught. No one has made it out."

As he said it, Erik was oddly disconcerted by the fact that Twelve might end up as the ninth gone from here. It was probably the accent, he told himself. He'd always liked British accents. Twelve's smile widened, turning to a bright grin, and Erik felt his ears burn pink, remembering again that Twelve had heard everything. He was used to Emma reading his mind- this would take some time.

"Thanks. I'm quite partial to yours as well. I haven't spent time in Germany- is it beautiful?" He rested his elbows on his knees and Erik tried to hide his pleasure; compliments or any kind of softness was rare here. "I always thought I would go. A friend had invited me to go during winter break, but…" he clicked his tongue, gesturing to the building around them with a wry smile.

"Yeah, this place has a way of derailing plans. Germany is beautiful, yes. It's the most beautiful country in the world. When you get to go, you'll love it. It's just absolutely incredible, especially the castles and forests."

Twelve watched Erik for a moment, then, "You should get some sleep, Two. You look beat. Emma said they were going to grab me again in the morning, but I don't know how often they take someone. I can try to keep them busy. Give you lot the day off. That seems to be Ten's goal. Maybe it would endear me to her a little." He laughed.

"Very few people are able to get her to like them." Erik laughed at the thought. "She's angry, and scared and hurt, and the way she deals with it is just being hateful. She's not bad, though. She's okay company, really." He looked at Twelve, considering the advice he should have given earlier in the day, the same advice One had told him. "When they've got you, try to go somewhere else in your head, if you can. Don't tense up too much when he touches you. Don't make eye contact. Don't try to attack him, it just makes him more angry and you end up bleeding more. Wait a week or two and you'll stop getting called so often."

Twelve nodded slowly, his eyes far away, dragging his fingers over his lower lip again. "Thank you, my friend. I'll see you tomorrow. Keep an eye on Eleven for me- I'd like to look at her again when I get back."

"All right," Erik agreed, once more firmly redirecting his thoughts about that lip and those fingers. "We will. What did you see that she can do, by the way? We never really knew, and we don't usually ask."

Twelve's smile was brilliant, almost glowing, and Erik found himself caught by it, the expression almost enough to make the manor fade around them. "She can turn into a bat. Isn't that the most marvelous thing you've ever heard in your life?"

Erik blinked at him, considering this as he tried to put his head back on straight. It was almost obscene, how gorgeous this Brit was. "She never told us that, she never did that in front of us. I wonder why." Had she been scared, afraid, ashamed of something? Had she been worried about the way that they would react to her power, or was it something else? "A bat. Huh. That's interesting… I see what you mean about it mostly being defensive. A bat can't really attack anyone, but it can get away."

"Exactly." Twelve smiled and tilted his head. "I'd like to help her. I think I could, but I'm not going to detail that thought. I don't want to get you in trouble. Go, Two. Get some rest. You can't take care of everyone all the time. You need to take care of yourself, too. I want to help with that."

Erik scowled slightly and leaned into it, using the irritation to distance himself from the odd lurch that had come with Twelve's offer. "I don't need you or anyone else to baby me. I'm practically a grown man, I can stay awake for as long as I need to. The others are all young, they don't know how to handle it. I've been handling Shaw for years."

"How many?" He tilted his head, blue eyes relentlessly curious.

It wasn't actual compulsion, Erik decided- this impulse to answer him didn't come from one of his powers, it was just the earnestness, curiosity, and bizarre beauty of his face that was all captivating. He opened his mouth to tell him to focus on his own survival, then found himself answering him instead. "I've been here since I was thirteen. I don't know what year it is, but guesstimating, probably seven years or so. A long time."

His eyes widened sharply. "Bloody hell. And you've made it this whole time. You're very strong, Two. You should be proud of that. What more could Shaw possibly want with you? You were just a child, he's been honing you for seven years, what more could he ask?"

To own me. Erik didn't say the words that came to mind, though it was inevitable that Twelve would hear them all the same. Shaw knew that, were the walls to fall today, Erik would run. He would escape, he would breathe, and then he would come back and rip him to pieces, pin him to the wall like an insect and dissect him while he breathed. Shaw wanted to break that urge, to fully and completely own him in a way he hadn't yet been able to.

"He wants to keep the tool he made. You're right, he honed me. Why would he give up the best thing he's created thus far?" It wasn't a lack of being humble, it wasn't arrogance. It was just reality. Erik was one of the strongest mutants he ever met or heard of, and he had always been the strongest here.

"You're not a tool, and you're not his creation." Anger sparked in Twelve's eyes and Erik watched him in fascination. Twelve had been calm, casual, nearly nonchalant about the entire situation thus far. There hadn't been fear or anger on his face once, but now it was clear there, his posture shouting rage as clearly as the fact that it hung in the air around him, nearly palpable. "You would have been who you are regardless of his interference. He didn't give you your gift, he didn't direct it, he didn't determine what strength potential you have. You owe him nothing. He is nothing, Two."

It was gorgeous, his anger. It was like watching Ten's flames light, like the first time you could properly use your powers and felt that first flare of just how strong you were. Erik couldn't speak for a moment, watching him, then realized he needed to react. "Twelve, I'm sorry that you're here. But you'll learn very quickly that Shaw does whatever he wants with us. And I can't lie and say that it's not true, that I wouldn't be as strong if he hadn't… interfered."

"You don't know that," he replied sharply. "You just know what he tells you. He's not doing whatever he wants anymore. I'm not going to let him." He calmed down now, focusing on Erik as his eyes crinkled up at the corners. "Sorry. Get some rest, my friend. You look like you need it, you really do. I'll see you after my session in the morning."

Erik studied him, finding his eyes tracing and memorizing the stubborn set of Twelve's shoulders, and then turned and left without another word. It wasn't safe to get too attached, he reminded himself. Ten was right, Twelve didn't seem like he would last very long here.

But he found himself hoping that he did, nonetheless.

"Shaw has a shiny new toy," Ten observed at breakfast the next morning, noting Twelve's absence from the table. "Good. Keep him busy." She took Eleven's plate, placing half a grapefruit on it and dropping it in front of the wispy girl. Eleven nudged it slowly, but didn't otherwise react. "What do you think of him? Twelve."

Erik found himself taking the grapefruit and peeling it, and then he gave the pink flesh back to Eleven. "I think that he's decent. I think he's serious about helping Eleven, which is good. I guess I believe him. I don't think he's a plant."

He didn't say that he had been kept up half the night, thinking about how gorgeous Twelve had been when he had gotten angry on Erik's behalf, on how smooth and warm his voice was, how his eyes promised safety and comfort and trust that they couldn't deliver on.

Ridiculous. He was being fucking stupid: they were just eyes, the voice was just a voice. He was pretty, with his blue eyes and his curls and his slight but graceful figure, and that voice was quite frankly insane, but it was still a bad idea to spend any more time thinking about him than necessary. This knowledge still hadn't let him sleep.

"I don't trust telepaths," she grunted shortly, shoulders tense as Eleven started slowly picking at the grapefruit, tearing off tiny pieces and eating them. "But I won't burn him if you think he could be helpful."

"I think he could be helpful," he agreed. "I think he's genuine about wanting to help." He understood her instinctive dislike of Twelve's kind- Emma had been in their heads enough that it was easy to think that they were all like that, but… The only time Twelve had directly responded to his thoughts had been when Erik had initiated, or… well, he had eavesdropped on the accent comment, but he seemed to be trying to give them privacy. It was probably very hard to only respond to spoken words when you heard everything else. Erik pointed this out to Ten. "I mean, he can't help what he is, any more than we can."

She pressed her lips together noncommittally, looking away. She had been more bitter since Eight had died, although she had never really been friendly. Erik understood, to a degree. His escape attempts had always been single-handed, and as such he had always been the only one punished for them. But Ten and Eight had planned theirs together, and he had been the one to die for it. "He could try," she said finally, and stood. "I'm going to go set the curtains on fire. Find me if you need me, da?"

"Sei vorsichtig," He reminded her dryly, tossing an apple into the air and catching it. Last time, she'd set fire to half the compound and they hadn't been let out. It had been dicey for a bit, trying to avoid the smoke and flames when they had realized that Shaw was content to let them figure out their own problem. "Enjoy yourself."

She clicked her tongue and wandered out, the air visibly heating and shimmering in her wake. Eleven mumbled something to her grapefruit and Erik poured her a glass of water, trying not to look at his watch and consider how long Twelve had been in his session.

Twelve, it turned out, spent an enormous amount of time in sessions each day, so much so that the other three 'students' weren't called for a week. Ten was obviously pleased with this and Erik glimpsed her leaving a water bottle at Twelve's doorway here and there, a minute sign of thanks for him taking the attention off of her for a bit.

To Twelve's credit, he didn't complain. He didn't seem bitter that the focus was solely on him, and he didn't rage about how unfair it was that he was being summoned so steadily. He would be returned to the Dayroom each evening, pale and unsteady, but would offer the others a smile and a short greeting each time. He didn't ever seem to be bloody, and Erik deliberated on this for a while, considering whether the injuries were all burns, or were merely in places that his clothes hid. Twelve laughed when he finally asked him about it.

"Well, it's all been in the mind, so far." He wandered down the bookshelves of the library on the sixth day, fingertips bumping over book spines with reverence. It was midnight, and, as Erik had for the last six days, he had gone to see him after the girls were in bed. The other nights had consisted of Erik remaining in the doorway and speaking to him about random topics, but tonight, Twelve had asked for the library when he saw Erik approach.

"Emma pokes around in my mind while Shaw prods me with burning instruments if I try to shield. But they said that tomorrow's going to be different." He frowned, the expression causing a slight crease in his brow. "I don't know what they mean by that. It's certainly painful to have a telepath as… well, Emma is not delicate, and she isn't careful with her work when she's looking around. But they haven't been able to see any of my ability in action except for in my memories, because she's shielded and his mind is… missing." The crease deepened and he stopped to reach out, plucking a thick and dusty book from one of the higher shelves.

"Probably tomorrow it will be more physical." Erik grimaced, leaning against the shelf. "Shaw likes to see how much pain affects our gifts, whether it shuts you down or hones and heightens it. For your sake, even if it's not true, fake that it drives you into yourself. He learned his lesson from Eleven, and he'll pull back a little if that's the case, choose a different tactic." It was a successful tactic most of the time, resulting in pushing the mutant to get angrier and stronger. It wasn't until Eleven that they had found someone who reacted differently. "What book are you looking at?"

"War and Peace. Tolstoy." He fiddled with the binding thoughtfully, eyes distant. "It's better if that's his intention, if it's just pain. Pain, I can take. But to test my powers, he needs a subject for me to work on." His hands curled around the book tightly. "It's only a matter of time, and I don't know if he'll make it one of you or some stranger, but there's no good option. I don't want to use my ability offensively, I've never wanted that."

"If it helps, we're all used to it and we know he's a bastard. Emma's in our heads all the time and she is much worse than you could ever be." Erik pulled out a cigarette, then paused. "Does smoking offend you?"

"No." Twelve's lips quirked up into a smile. "I'm used to it, I'm afraid. It's kind of you to check, though." He crossed the room and sat on the floor, leaning his back against one of the bookcases. It was an odd position, a clear departure from the available sofa and chairs that were scattered around. It couldn't possibly be as comfortable. "Did you always smoke, or was it after Ten came along?" he traced the cover of War and Peace absently.

"After Ten." Erik stretched out his legs, lighting it with the lighter Shaw had given him as a reward after a particularly "successful" session. "She was hooked and told me that they helped, sometimes. So I started it up. It does help to an extent, but I try not to smoke as much as she does. One day I'm going to break out of here and then I'll stop entirely."

He didn't put too much time thinking about when he would break out. It was dangerous to fantasize, dangerous not to be firmly grounded in the present, but Twelve was so perpetually hopeful for escape, it was hard to resist considering the future. "Where do you come from, Twelve? What was your life like before?"

"Comfortable enough," he stated easily, but his eyes didn't leave the cover of his book. "I'm intelligent, highly so. I graduated early and started university when I was fifteen. My life is one surrounded by literature and science, for the most part. Prior to university there were… some stressors. But it's been a good couple of years aside from that." Twelve studied Erik. "And you? I know you were a child, but you still had a life outside of here. A family."

Erik nodded slowly as he processed this, filing away the idea of him being so bright that he had started uni as a fifteen year old. Insanity. "I did. I was born in Germany, to a single mother who did her damndest to raise me well. She was a good person." He played with the cigarette, trying not to think about what had happened, not to let the deep well of rage rise. "She's dead now. Most of us, our parents aren't around anymore which is why he could take us. But a few of us just were taken anyway. It's not like we get out, and no one knows we're here, so local police don't exactly find us."

"We're going to get out." He focused on Erik, his blue eyes deadly serious. "We will. And then the local police can have a field day." He opened the cover of his book, then paused. "Oh, you speak Russian?" He glanced up at me in mild surprise at the thought he had plucked out of my head, and then the surprise turned to delight. "Four languages, really? That's incredible, Two. I only speak French, and very poorly, I'm afraid."

Erik laughed, finding himself a little embarrassed at the praise and, surprisingly, not particularly upset about the mental intrusion. Emma did it all the time, Erik was used to it, and at least Twelve made an effort not to be too nosy. "There's not much to do here, other than train and learn and hurt. Ten is Russian, and I'm teaching her German while she's teaching me Russian. We've been at it for over a year, so things are progressing pretty well. She doesn't like that book, but we've got some others that are Russian."

"Well, Tolstoy is a lot to slog through," Twelve agreed good-naturedly. "Incredible." He shook his head and leaned back against his bookcase, rapidly becoming engrossed in the small, dim print. Erik could almost feel the focus of Twelve's mind shift, leaving his and instead settling beside it companionably.

He was beautiful when he was reading. All focus, enough so that his body curved down toward the text as if he could fall into it. His hair fell into his eyes and he seemed not to notice, his eyes scanning the page almost unbelievably quickly. It was stillness coming from someone who was so constantly animated and active, and it was oddly breathtaking. His shoulder brushed against Erik's, leaning into him very slightly, and Erik made the conscious decision to relax, allowing the invasion of his personal space. With Twelve, it didn't feel so much like an invasion. He picked up the book he'd been reading, Count of Monte Cristo, and opened it to his last place. Knowing of Erik's anger and plots, Shaw had thought it funny to give him a book about revenge.

It was hours before Erik pulled himself out of the book and realized that Twelve had fallen asleep, his head somehow on Erik's shoulder and War and Peace tumbling loosely from his fingers.

Erik looked down at him and realized slowly that the younger boy had freckles. He'd been too far away for Erik to see that before. They had never been this close and Erik hadn't allowed himself to stare. But he did have freckles, and they scattered across the bridge of his nose and the tips of his ears. Adorable. A few even danced down his neck and vanished under his shirt, vanishing as they rippled across his collarbones. Erik tried very hard not to think about the shapes Twelves freckles might make on his skin, how he would like to map them.

His hair really was impossible. It was curly and fluffy and kinked up everywhere. Erik wondered idly if it was always this bad or if it was their terrible showers and water, if he had better things at home. He probably did. He was rich, apparently. Strange. He would have found Erik's childhood unbearable, probably- no, actually, he realized as he watched him sleep. Twelve was sweet enough, he would make poverty work. As long as he had books, he would be content.

Erik reached out, touching his hair gently. "Hey," he said quietly, marveling at how soft the dark locks were. "Twelve, it's time to wake up, we need to go to our rooms."

Twelve stirred, peering up at Erik sleepily, and made a grumbling noise that may have been a query. His face was only inches from Erik's, close enough that he could see small flecks of darker blue in those irises. The blood had almost fully cleared out of the left one, which made Erik feel better. He blinked at him slowly, then raised a hand to rub at said eyes, lifting slowly off Erik's shoulder. "I fell asleep?" he mumbled, the words slurring together somewhat. "Oh. 'M sorry, I didn't know."

"It's okay." Erik realized after a moment that he still had his hand half-buried in Twelve's hair and dropped it, embarrassed. "No big deal, I just think you'll sleep better in a bed than on me."

He mumbled something that sounded very much like I don't know about that, and set his book aside, staggering to his feet clumsily. He turned, offering his hand to help Erik up, and Erik slowly reached out, taking his hand. There was no rule against touching each other, no mandated distance, but no one voluntarily touched each other here, unless they had to. This skin to skin contact was strange after years of not having it, and sent pleasurable shocks through him at the warmth and softness of his hand.

"Tomorrow, then," he said, thumb brushing slowly across the back of my hand, and then he pulled away, wandering down the hall and toward his bedroom. Erik stared after him, shock ringing through him with an almost painful intensity.

Erik was attracted to him, he admitted to himself finally. How could he not be? Twelve was gorgeous, brilliant, and kind. But it seemed like… maybe it was mutual. Maybe there was something there.

But they still lived here, where Emma plundered their brains for information, where Shaw tortured them daily. Giving him more ammunition, creating weaknesses, was a terrible idea. Erik knew better than even to make friends, but he couldn't seem to stop that from happening with Twelve.

He absolutely could not risk the other boy or himself by doing anything further.