Title: Let Sleeping Telepaths Lie
Disclaimer: Me no own, You no sue.
Warning: Angst, PTSD, slash, language
Note: italics is inside Erik's head; bold italics are memories.
Chapter 3: Mother
You listen as the mansion around you groans, pleading for even the slightest reprieve. You pray that you'll live through this. A quick check and you know that all the children are out of the house and running.
You close your eyes and let the darkness envelope you as you search for Erik.
-z-
The man is staring and starting to count.
You can only glare at the coin and the soldiers and man with mama's life hanging on but a word.
You're trying, you really are.
But the report of the pistol and the pink spray of blood lets the world know of your failure.
Rage – white hot and dangerous and seductive, races through your veins as you tear down the walls and smash the windows.
"Erik," the soft voice is but a whisper lost on the winds of your righteous fury.
You sit next to your dead mother as all Nazis within a three mile radius are shot by their own weapons.
Then, just as you go to smile at the destruction you've wrought, that fear, that absolute terror is back and it's clenching your stomach and it has wrangled its gnarled hands around your spine, its grip sending pulses of ice through your body.
And just before Charles can find you, curled up in your dead mother's arms, you're jerked up and away – screaming, screaming, screaming.
-z-
A fist connects against your cheekbone, shattering it.
Dammit, Erik! you curse around the pain.
You ignore it though, push your way through it, and dive back in.
To be continued...