Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, and congrats to those who figured out where one of the next scenes was going.
Warning: Unpleasant backstory for Erik (Nazi-related) revealed in this chapter. I'm not sure how to work with that as far as rating, but it's not nice.
Alex was reasonably certain that he was being led off through the woods to be murdered, but unfortunately knowing that he was about to be murdered didn't really tell him what to do about the situation. Well, there was always running away screaming at the top of his lungs, but Erik was faster than he was, and anyway, with his luck he'd just run in a circle and end up back in front of Erik even if Erik didn't chase him, so….
"Stand there," Erik ordered as they reached a flat, grassy area. "Grab my arm."
"So you can throw me into a tree?"
"If I wanted to throw you into a tree, I'd throw you into a tree. No need to ask. Take my arm. One hand, here."
"Well, that's comforting," Alex muttered under his breath—much more quietly than he'd spoken before because as much as he hadn't intended for Erik to hear the 'throw me into a tree' comment, he definitely didn't want the sarcasm getting out—but Erik was still holding out his arm, and after a minute Alex caught his forearm where he'd indicated and waited for death.
"Tighter. Now, watch."
Alex wasn't an idiot, and it only took him landing on the ground once, Erik's arm suddenly not in his hand, to realize that Erik was teaching him how to break a grip. Or how to break a grip beyond just yanking away and hoping that his arm came with him, rather. It took Alex a few more minutes to come to terms with that knowledge, but Erik wasn't one to put up with a lot of distractions when he was demonstrating something, and Alex didn't like getting dumped on his head any more than any normal person. He pushed through his surprise quickly.
A couple hours later, Alex was a muddy mess, but he knew how to break even the grip of a certain ex-Nazi hunter. Well, at least if the grip was between his wrist and upper arm on his left side or wrist and elbow on his right…the same things should be applicable on either side, but Erik hadn't gotten his hand anywhere near the bruise he'd left on Alex's right arm so Alex hadn't had a chance to practice that direction yet. Of course, knowing how to break Erik's grip didn't quite tell him what to do afterwards—he was pretty sure that in a situation like the other day, the run-like-hell approach was still his best option—but it was nice that Erik had taught him. After all, Alex didn't get the impression that Erik was the kind of guy who came out and apologized for things.
The walk back to the mansion was made in silence, but it wasn't bad like the silence had been the other day. Alex could see from the ridge that the car that Charles preferred was gone, so presumably he wouldn't be going into town with Charles and Moira and Sean today, but he didn't really care. If Sean found a copy of the comic he wanted, he'd bring it back, if he didn't, there was no reason for Alex to have gone along anyway. He glanced up at Erik as they started across the lawn. "I won't tell, you know," Alex found himself saying.
Erik glanced down, his face blank.
"I mean, especially since it's not any of my business, but even if it was, I wouldn't anyway. I…." He trailed off, not quite sure where he was supposed to go from there. Man, but he was shit at explaining things. Or at least this kind of thing. He probably shouldn't have brought it up at all, except that Erik had helped him today, and…. "Anyway, I just thought I should tell you that I wouldn't," he finally finished.
Erik's focus remained on him as they continued across the grounds—apparently aside from not worrying about little things like getting lost, he was immune to the possibility of tripping over his own two feet or turning an ankle in a gopher hole as well—and after a few minutes Alex found himself searching for something else to say.
"I don't like flying," he finally said. "Well, planes, technically, but it's not like I fly normally otherwise because I'm not Sean or—" He broke off before he could say 'Angel,' that wound wasn't anywhere near healed over yet, but she was the only other flying mutant that came to mind. He shrugged awkwardly. "I used to be okay with it when I went up with Dad, hell, I loved going up back then, but I guess getting cut up with shrapnel after being thrown out of a crashing one kind of messed with my head." Well, that and the whole parents dying thing, but he wasn't going there. "I even traded in the plane ticket that Charles got me to get me up to DC for a train ticket." Of course, a guy who'd been in a plane crash not liking planes was a little bit different than a guy like Erik being afraid of dogs, but…well, turnabout being fair play and all of that.
Erik's head dipped fractionally, and after a moment, his attention returned to the mansion in the distance as silence fell again. Still no awkwardness, though, so Alex was okay with it.
The weight on his arms increased abruptly, and Alex yelped.
"You should have upped the weights by another five or ten pounds last week," Erik said from the doorway.
"You could have just said so; you don't need to squish me to make the point!" Alex gritted his teeth and forced his arms to full extension to rack the weights so he could sit up. "And no way that that was just ten pounds." He had a feeling that Erik had yanked on the weights—down instead of his usual up to announce his presence—and despite the fact that Erik would probably have stopped them if Alex had lost his grip, it was still uncool. Besides, Erik had been the one not talking to him last week, not the other way around.
Erik shrugged. "I just did."
Alex considered pointing out how unhelpful that was, but Erik either already knew or just didn't care. And he was kind of hoping that Erik being here today meant that things were back to normal between them so he didn't want to do anything that might irritate Erik unnecessarily, even if Erik didn't seem to be returning the favor. He pushed himself into a sitting position. "Do you want to use the weights?"
"When you finish. Are you training with Charles and Hank this afternoon?"
"Nah, not for a day or two. Apparently I blew out part of the plate last time, and the professor got the wrong kind of wiring yesterday so Hank has to go into town himself and stock up on whatever he needs."
"Hm. We'll go over the throws again, then. And your grappling still needs work." He flicked his fingers again, and two of the smaller weights lifted off the rack along the wall and floated towards Alex. "Finish your set with the added weight."
Alex didn't argue, nudging the two five-pounders into place on either side of the bar. He didn't normally lift for bulk, but he wasn't worried about handling the extra weight, especially since he only had one rep left today. Erik finally moved into the room as he laid back, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall by the door, and Alex took a minute to get his breathing back into rhythm before lifting the weights off the rack and lowered the bar to his chest. Up. And down. And up. And dow—
"They kept dogs in the camps."
Alex jerked his head over to look at Erik as the weight bar dipped a bit lower than he'd intended and brushed his ribcage. "What?"
Erik stared at him coolly, and he flushed.
"I…sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt." He looked back at the ceiling and extended his arms again, feeling his muscles burn.
"There were dogs in the camps," Erik repeated. "Guard dogs, they were supposed to be, but they were also trained to attack on command. There were days when the guards would amuse themselves by setting them on…well, whomever they wished. One dog or many against a group of prisoners, and they would bet on which prisoners would survive. They would stand there and laugh while the dogs…."
Alex glanced over, but Erik's eyes were focused forward towards the far wall, fixed on some horror that Alex couldn't see.
"Herr—Shaw—used to threaten to give me to them for their sport when I couldn't do what he wanted. And I was always sent out with the Sonderkommando after it was done."
His jaw clenched, and Alex bit his lip slightly. "Uh, I don't know what a sonder commando is." Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, but aside from the obvious, that the word was German, he didn't even have a guess as to what it might mean. Nothing good, obviously, but it seemed to matter as part of Erik's story.
"Sonderkommando." Erik repeated, spitting the word. "The translation…directly it would be 'special unit,' but it is what they called the men in the camps that disposed of the victims' remains."
"Remains like…?" He shoved the weights up and racked them before he could drop them on himself, and then he sat up to look at Erik.
"The bodies. The Sonderkommando took them from the gas chambers, the cells, the 'medical' building…the ones that starved in the dirt or were shot or beaten to death by the guards or were torn apart by the dogs. They were the ones that did the burning. After any gold teeth were removed, of course." Erik's eyes locked on Alex's for a moment. "When you spoke about the first time your powers manifested, you said that you couldn't describe how horrible the smell was. You were right; nothing smells so bad as burning human flesh."
Alex swallowed hard, praying that his breakfast would stay down, and he was almost glad when Erik looked away again.
"I was sent out with them often, but Herr Dok—Shaw—" and this time he nearly spit the correction, "thought that the times the dogs killed made particularly good object lessons. Leather collars."
The reasoning there was pretty obvious, leather collars meant no metal that Erik could use to defend himself, a lot like with the collie the other day, and Alex kept his mouth shut mostly because he had no idea what to say.
"I saw what those animals could do. The rips, the tears, bones stripped and cracked…." His eyes snapped back to Alex's. "I will never like a dog."
"Got it," Alex said. As much as he kind of wished that he didn't because while he could understand—well, empathize with, anyway; he doubted that anyone who hadn't been there could really understand—Erik's horror, and his fear of dogs suddenly made a lot more sense, Alex could have lived without knowing that Erik really would kill puppies. "I'm sorry," he added after a minute. Erik's eyes narrowed, but Alex wasn't sure what else he could say. It didn't do a damn bit of good, but…well, he was sorry.
"Finish your set," Erik ordered.
Author's note: I shoved some of Magneto's actual backstory in here; Max Eisenhardt/Erik Lensherr actually was a Sonderkommando in Auschwitz. Of course, Shaw had nothing to do with it because he's from Pennsylvania and never had a damn thing to do with the Nazis, but First Class totally ignored that fact so I have to as well. And I believe Erik's fear of dogs is entirely mine rather than canon since I don't remember that from any of the comics (although offhand I can't remember him ever encountering a dog either, so at least I don't think I'm directly contradicting anything).