I apologize profusely for this being so late. Charles and Erik were stuck in a never ending circle of angst and repitition. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't help but write the same scene over and over and over again. So... I had to give it a few weeks and delete the entire thing and start from scratch. So, once more, I am sorry about the wait! Hopefully, this chapter will make up for it somewhat.

Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. If I haven't responded to you personally, it's not that I hate you. I love you all very dearly, I've just been swamped with real life lately.

*sends hugs of gratitude to everyone*

The Perks of Being a Telepath

Chapter 41: Redefining Normal

Hank's stealth setting on the Blackbird worked perfectly and the rest of the plane ride back to Westchester was quiet, to say the least, with Charles, Hank, and Erik all lost in their own thoughts.

Charles was grateful for the opportunity to finally be sitting down, but rather despised the hours of free time he had to reflect on what happened.

Cain was alive.

The thought was on constant repeat in his mind. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think about anything else. His stepbrother, the one Charles swore he killed all those years ago, was alive.

Emotions swirled in Charles' mind, too numerous to name. Mostly, he felt confused, as to how Cain had survived that night. Fear was also up there, as Charles absently considered the idea that maybe Kurt survived too.

It was a terrifying thought, more so than seeing Cain. While the younger Marko had practically been Satan in human form, Kurt had been worse. Much worse. Cain was an idiot, barely able to figure out how to breathe on his own. Kurt was smart, a genius, even. He knew how to turn any situation into his advantage. The thought of him alive now, with the world being so fragile and in need of someone to show it the way, Kurt could do a lot of damage, more so than even Hitler.

But, Charles reminded himself. Cain was in jail, having been arrested for the assassination of the President. Charles had seen it all in his stepbrother's mind—he actually had done it, under the guise of a Lee Harvey Oswald. That wasn't something Kurt would do. While he was brutal and unfeeling, he wasn't a murderer. He knew that death was the easy way out, leaving him unable to inflict pain on the victim.

Charles would know. There had been many occasions during his teen years where he had wished for the alternative.

No, this assassination plot had Cain's lack of intelligence written all over it. For one thing, it lacked planning. From what Charles had glimpsed in Cain's mind, the gun had been an impulse buy, the murder a simple coincidence—same time, same place kind of deal.

It disgusted Charles, how easy it was for his former stepbrother to take a life.

The thought sent him back to that sidewalk in Texas. That spot, where only a few hours before, Emma Frost had been standing, attempting to erase everything that Erik was, while simultaneously trying to capture Charles.

He could still feel the vibration of the gun's recoil as the bullet exited the chamber, could still see the bullet speeding toward its target. While he had collapsed into unconsciousness before Emma had actually died, it didn't save Charles from hearing her last thoughts, forever on echo in his mind.

She had been surprised, to say the least, but there had also been an overpowering sense of relief. It was only then that Charles realized that her cooperation with the CIA hadn't been her choice at all. She had been given a choice between enslavement to Stryker or being tortured.

Charles wasn't sure, had he been in her position, if he wouldn't have chosen torture. At least that way, he would have still been himself.

She had been relieved, as though Charles had done her a favor. In a way, he knew he had—she was now forever free from Stryker and whatever torment the man could inflict on her—but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel as though he had failed her. He should have figured it out sooner, should have done something to save her. He had so much raw power that he could have easily undone whatever sin Stryker had committed, that he could have saved Emma.

If only he had known.

Hank's low growl interrupted Charles' train of thought.

"We're going to be landing shortly."

Charles blinked, not realizing so much time had passed since they had left Texas.

The sun was just beginning to set as Hank punched in the appropriate landing settings.

Charles stared out the window, watching as the once miniscule world became larger the closer the Blackbird got to the runway.

He felt Erik's eyes on him and the telepath turned.

"What?"

Erik shook his head.

"Nothing."

By the look on the other man's face, there was clearly something going on, but Charles didn't have the energy nor the patience to deal with it at the moment.

Erik seemed to sense Charles' mood, for he waited until they had landed and for Hank to disappear to check some setting or another before beginning his train of thought with a heavy sigh.

"You look like crap."

Charles snorted.

"Somehow, I think that's the least of my worries."

"You're going to kill yourself not worrying about the important things."

It was Charles' turn to sigh.

"So the fact that I killed someone doesn't matter?"

"The fact that you care so much about it that you're willing to make yourself sick trying to atone for matters more."

Charles closed his eyes and looked away.

"I killed Emma. One of our own. Someone like me."

He heard Erik's sharp intake of breath.

"Don't say that. She was nothing like you, Charles."

"She was a mutant, Erik. More than that, she was a telepath and a human being. How can you just ignore that?"

"Because she tried to kill me and damn near killed you in the process."

Charles shook his head.

"It wasn't her fault. Not entirely."

Erik snorted.

"I highly doubt that."

Charles' eyes flashed as he glared up at the metal wielder.

"None of this was her choice. Stryker forced her into it."

"Stryker may have given her an ultimatum, but in the end, it was her choice."

"How can you be so okay with this? She's dead and I shot her!"

"I say good riddance. The mutant race doesn't need someone like her anyway. She was too conniving for her own good."

Charles swallowed the insults and harsh words rising in his throat that would inevitably drive Erik away for the third time that day. Instead, he merely let out a deep sigh.

They sat in silence for a few moments, before Erik changed the subject.

"This isn't just about Emma, is it?"

Charles slowly shook his head, swallowing heavily as he tried to find the words to convey what was going on in his mind. Because Erik deserved that, at the very least, for nearly having his mind erased.

"Cain was dead, Erik. I watched him die. I was there when the paramedics declared him dead. And then, suddenly, he was there in that police station. Older, different name… but I have never forgotten a mind I've touched. And his I remember more than others."

Because I was the one who destroyed it. The words were too painful to say out loud.

Erik's jaw clenched.

"Did you get anything from his mind? Any clue as to how he survived?"

Charles shook his head again.

"No. All I know is that he was the one who killed the President."

"There has to be something, Charles. Anything at all."

"If there was, I didn't see it."

The gentle, yet forceful reminder that Charles wasn't exactly at the top of his game was enough to shut Erik up instantly.

Charles mentally sighed.

"I don't blame you, Erik."

The metal wielder tensed.

"You were unconscious right after you killed Emma. You were barely moving. I thought…"

He trailed off, his voice a strangled whisper.

Charles swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and looked away as he filled in the blanks.

"Well, I'm alive, and that's all that matters."

Erik shook his head.

"You're a moron, Charles, for not figuring that out sooner. Your blatant disregard for your life is appalling."

Charles found it slightly insulting that he was getting lectured on the merits of staying alive by someone who had once willingly accepted the fact that he would drown trying to stop a submarine.

But he couldn't be too upset—it was touching, to say the least, to find that there was someone out there who actually cared whether or not he lived or died.

Then, the full magnitude of everything that had happened today hit Charles like a freight train and it was all he could do to keep from screaming.

He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to stem the flow of tears that burned his eyes.

"I killed her, Erik."

Erik let out a shaky breath, betraying how he truly felt.

"I know."

The simple, calm acceptance was liberating.

"Cain's going to get out of jail. He's going to try to kill me."

"I know."

"The CIA wants to kill us."

"I know."

Charles opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry. For everything."

Erik let out a soft laugh.

"I know. I am too."

It was dark and cold. Water dripped in a relentless stream from the cracked ceiling above. Never ending screams and groans could be heard from just outside the door. He longed to help, longed to be able to move off the bed, force his guard to open the door, and rescue the others trapped in this hell.

But he couldn't move. He could barely breathe. His powers were gone.

Erik sat up with a start, his breathing labored and heavy. He glanced wildly around, reassuring himself that he was no longer locked in the camps with Shaw. Shaw was dead. All of that was over.

A soft whimper, barely audible over the sound of Erik's racing heart, called him back to the present, reminding him that he wasn't alone.

He glanced over, feeling a wave of helplessness crash over him as his eyes rested on Charles. The telepath was tangled up in his sheets, his face twisted in pain and fear, locked in the horrible nightmare.

He had been projecting again.

In the week that Erik had spent with Charles, trying to convince the other man that he needed to come back to his family, the telepath had barely slept, and what little sleep he did manage, had been plagued by nightmares. Due to his lack of control form the injuries and imprisonment he had endured, Charles had also been projecting every single last one of his terrible dreams to Erik.

It would be over in a few moments. Experience, both from his own nightmares and watching Charles suffer through his, had taught Erik that much. It did no good trying to wake the telepath, either. The last time Erik had tried that, he had wound up waking up on the floor with a bloody nose and a very guilty looking Charles.

None of that made watching Charles go through that hell any easier. And as much as Erik tried, there was really nothing he could do for the telepath.

"If you're going to stare at me that intently, take a picture."

The muffled rasp pulled Erik out of his musings.

"You would hate how your hair looks, Charles."

Charles was propped up against his pillows, looking flat out exhausted with dark rings underneath his barely open eyes and his mess of hair.

The telepath smiled slightly, before sighing heavily.

"I'm sorry to have woken you."

Erik shrugged.

"Don't worry about it."

He had gotten over his anger with Charles long ago. It was blatantly obvious now why the younger man had left, and as much as Erik had resented it, he understood.

Charles shook his head.

"As much as I appreciate your being here, this isn't fair to you."

"Stryker torturing you and Onslaught locking you in your mind wasn't fair to you."

Charles flinched at the blunt reminder of what had happened.

"If I remember correctly, Erik, you had those things happen to you as well."

"It's not a contest, Charles."

They stared at each other, before Charles looked away.

"It's—it should be easier than this, Erik."

The whispered admission simultaneously surprised and saddened the metal bender.

"Why?"

Silence.

Erik sighed.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

It wasn't the first time that Erik had brought it up and he doubted it would be the last. However, it was the first time that the words had brought about a reaction other than a stony silence.

"I want to talk to you, Erik, I really do. But I just—I can barely make sense of what all happened. Add that to the withdrawal Onslaught forced me in to and the terrible things that Stryker did and I just…"

He trailed off again, clearly agitated. He extricated himself from his sheets and walked over to the window, his profile illuminated by the dim light from outside.

Erik stayed where he was, sensing that any movement on his part would cause Charles to clam up again.

Charles stared out the window, the tension ebbing from his body.

"Believe me, Erik, when I tell you that I don't want to do this on my own. But for now, I have to, and I'm sorry for that. I truly am."

"I understand."

And Erik did. The frustration, the inability to talk about what happened… all of it. They were the exact same things Erik had been dealing with before he had met Charles. Afterward… Erik couldn't even begin to describe the relief he had felt that someone had finally understood what all he was going through and offered him redemption for it.

Charles' shoulders were slumped now as the telepath once more shook his head.

"I really am sorry."

"Don't be. None of this was your fault."

It was the first time that Erik had spoken those words with the hope that maybe Charles would believe them.

Charles glanced back at Erik. Though his expression was impossible to see because of the darkness, Erik could feel the gratitude pouring off the telepath in warm waves.

Things were far from all right.

But maybe, one day, they would be.