Disclaimer: I do not own x-men first class. If i did...well, there would be a LOT more slash. Just sayin'.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews! :) Sorry this chapter isn't so long, they'll grow progressively longer as the story goes on.
Their bare feet slapped against the wet brick in a tuneless remorse, her hand sweaty and wet in his, and if he could stop her from shaking he would. Her blond hair stuck in drooping ringlets across her round cheeks, which were flushed from the cold and the stamina wasted to miles of running. He was having trouble seeing beyond his chestnut drenched bangs as well, and the apartments loomed overhead in the dark drained sky.
"I-I can't…keep running like this Charles! We've lost them, h-haven't we? We MUST have!" Her voice cracked, sobbed and broke, and he just pulled harder on her arm, clicking his tongue in an exhausted attempt at making her be silent.
"Raven, not now, dear. Please, just-just stay quiet a while longer!" Their panting breaths and thudding feet were all that Charles could hear, and right now he assumed that was a good thing. Ducking away from the bright light of a street lamp he pulled her into a nearby alley, and together they collapsed against a damp brick wall, trying in vain to stop the cramping of their lungs and the rush winds of their breathing.
"I need quiet Raven." She nodded, licking her lips and biting down in pure guttural fear. Charles inhaled slowly; pressing bloodied fingers to his temples as he tried his upmost to focus, focus on any minds that may be close by. He heard none that were of any importance. He let his hand fall, knuckles dropping with a dull thud onto the rough cement and Raven let out a choked sob as she fell onto his shoulder.
"We just need to locate a hotel Raven." Charles gasped, noticing the blue tint coming back to her skin, the burnt brown yellow appearing in her eyes. "Try to hold that form for just a little while longer." As they made their way discreetly through the streets Raven caught Charles running a trembling finger over the numbers engraved in his arm. She dropped her gaze, tears stinging her eyes as she absentmindedly touched her own burden. There was no turning back.
It had been almost too easy to bend the gates, crash the walls, and escape with at least three other mutants that Erik really couldn't give a shit about. He had broken into a clothing store not fifty miles away from Lab #2343, and even with all the commotion there he was unseen. The other mutants were lost a while back, and as Erik made his way through the rainy streets, new shoes squeaking against the pavement, he only thought of one thing: How to kill the one who was behind all this, behind the labs, the experiments… behind the death.
The buildings around him towered, like all the others that had stood above him in his life, and somewhere nearby a streetlamp flickered with profound outer shock. There was a hotel a ways up, small and somewhat quaint, and Erik was immediately relieved that he had bothered to break into the stores register. And safe. He strode into the upcoming building, trying his hardest to ignore the throbbing pain in his temples and sides because of his over exertion. He got a small room on the top floor. It had a good view of the street, of the roads that turned into it, and some of the alleys. In other words: it worked.
He sat on the bed; its springs creaking with his added weight, and Erik ran a large calloused hand through his wet hair. He couldn't help but smile then, looking around at his surroundings of warmth, comfort, and safety. Then he began to formulate his plan. He leaned back against the wall, still stretched out upon the bed, and thought. No one knew who ran the camps. Only rumors had it that it was a man, tall, middle aged. That was it. No more leads. Erik was sure the man was on the news, of course things as big as the labs would have had to have made it on air, but he hadn't seen a television since he was six. Erik sighed; eyes adverted up to the cracked cream-colored ceiling. Grudgingly, Erik pushed himself off the springy mattress, and stumbling slightly, made his way into the tiny run down bathroom. He had to get this blood off his hands.
Charles wasn't accommodated to stealing over twenty thousand dollars from his parent's savings but in all honesty, at his moment in his life, he would do anything for a nice room and a decent bed for him and his sister. And he was glad he did it too. Raven had begun crying as soon as she had touched the bed, the pillows, and he new clothes. She was sobbing by the time she saw the shower. Charles just opted for holding her, letting her get her happiness out by her means of tears, and the steady drumming of the rain soon grew louder than his sister.
"Scratching at it won't make it go away." Raven froze, nails dangling just above the now reddened numbers on her flesh, and she dropped her hand almost guiltily as Charles reached his fingers out to brush her knuckles.
"You scratch at yours too." Charles made no retort, just slowly lowered himself onto the bed beside her.
"I wasn't just now though. Was I?" Raven stared hard, brown eyes clashing, one pair real the other only hoping they were.
"I hate these numbers. They're so ugly."
"It wasn't exactly they're point to make them attractive." Charles replied, voice soft as Raven ducked her head, her blonde hair showing streaks of shorter red.
"I hate them. They're ugly too." Charles gave an amused laugh, leaning back his head to gaze up. They were silent for a while, just listening to the thunder and streetcars and horns.
"We did it." Raven murmured, and Charles could barely make out her words. "We lived through it, Charles. We're out." Charles' gaze softened and he leaned into his sister's side, something that she would normally do.
"Yes, we did, Raven. We're out," His gaze fell to the numbers on his arm, they're inky blankness driving him mad. "And we're never going back."
Erik figured that is he would leave, move to hotel to hotel each night, different name each time, which he would be safe. Not safe, exactly, but he would have enough time to try and research this man. Erik was stretched out across his temporary bed, thoughts a swirl of madness and control, and he just kept clenching and unclenching his hands. They still stung. They may catch him, may hurt him again, and try to really, because now the confinements of his damn plastic cell weren't holding him back, but they could never bring him to those places again. For that he was certain. He would leave early in the morning. He would discover the man's name, research his face, and go after him. It was simple, oh so simple to find this man, Erik reasoned. After all, if you had so much "fame" go to your head, who would want to hide it?
Charles had never felt so… clean before. Raven had collapsed onto the bed after a two-hour shower, her breathy slow and calm, and for the first time in his life Charles saw her smile tonight. She was beautiful when she smiled, Charles concluded as he laid, muscles groaning, in bed. He turned his gaze out the window, watching the sky turn just a lighter shade of grey. What time was it anyway? Charles had no idea. Nor did he care, at this moment. He was just content to be away from those places, to never have to go back. But as he tossed and turned in the small bed he realized something: the labs would be open as long as there was someone in charge who kept them open. And this sudden realization made Charles' stomach twist in a sickening knot, made him clutch the thin sheets tighter in his weak malnourished grip, and he felt like a failure all over again. They weren't safe. They never were. Charles heard Raven begin to move, squirm in her sheets as the distant forlorn sound of police sirens rang in the distance. He soon felt an added body scrunch up next to his, the bed dipping slightly with the added weight, and he instinctively wrapped a protective and reassuring arm around Raven's thin waist. The sirens grew, then dispersed, then grew loud again, and he just watched his sister sleep, her being to tired to change her form. Her blue skin reflected that of the rain, and Charles couldn't help but feel lost. What now?
I need to find him!
Charles stirred, the voice entering his mind was deep and raw, and it made him shiver as it echoed around in his skull.
His name—would she know? No. Dammit!
The voice was getting frustrated, uncontrolled, and Charles immediately felt a familiar tingling. Another mutant. What were they looking for? Were they in one of the labs?
He knows. I don't care about the history, fuck. Just tell me—Oh.
Charles was flooded with the feeling of pure rage and happiness, such an unusual combination that it left him breathless.
The bastard's name is Sebastian Shaw? An ugly name for an ugly man-
He concentrated harder, trying to pick it out this mind again from the other thoughts that soon came crashing in, but when he no longer felt that calming buzz he gaze up. That voice disappeared along with the first good feeling he'd had in his mind for a while.
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