The girl speaking now had an eye patch.
How is this his life? Surely no-one who is not a pirate should be wearing an eyepatch in this day and age.
Also, what does it say about Charles that his social circle includes not one, but two eyepatches?
He glanced over his shoulder to the corner where Kurt sat at a table, colouring and determinedly mashing a sugar cookie across his face.
Oh god, he was that guy, wasn't he? That guy who brings his kid to his AA meetings?
Not that this was AA, but, still, Charles did not want to be that guy. That guy was sad.
On the other hand, Kurt had an appointment with a Dr Ororo Munroe in less than 2 hours time, and, between that and winter clothes (Charles had finally managed to obtain some mittens and a parka. He was rather unreasonably proud of that.) he didn't exactly have the money for ababysitter, now did he?
He sighed. It- he knew that it was wrong, that he shouldn't be feeling like this but there are days, bad ones, where he just wants to scream, where he curses Raven and Sharon and Cain for leaving him, because it was all well and good for them, wasn't it? They were dead, or off fighting in some god-forsaken hell-hole, they escaped, and it wasn't right, it wasn't fair, because Charles has always been left to clean up their messes.
He's always been the strong one, and he knows that that was what Raven was counting on when she left Kurt to him- but what they never realised, what they never quite understood, was that he didn't break because he wouldn't let himself, and even though it meant that- something- broke, that maybe he would never be quite normal, assuming what he did wasn't- which, hell, he has a fondness for layers, doors that lock and knowing that he is prepared in the event of an emergency with food and medical supplies, that's hardly a fucking neurosis- it meant that he wasalive, and they were dead, and some days- bad ones, when Kurt is screaming and he won't stop, when any deviation from their regular routine throws him into hysterics, when Charles looks at this beautiful broken boy and sees a shadow of a child who cannot understand what he is doing wrong, that he wonders if maybe they weren't the lucky ones after all.
They got out. He only thought he had.
He tunes back into the conversation and hopes nobody notices the slight tremor in his right hand.
"...I miss her, y'know?" The girl is saying, and she pulls her shirtsleeves tight around her hands, "Like, she- I know it ain't right, what she did, but it wasn't her fault, y'know? She didn't ask for none of this. She didn't ask to be hurt anymore than we did. She didn't ask to get sick. And- she was my ma, and I loved her, because it wasn't always bad. Sometimes it was almost like she was normal, and then sometimes she'd be screaming in face and forget who the fuck she was talking to and go at me with a fucking bottle. It- it was like living with fucking Jekyll and Hyde, you never knew what you were gonna get, what you'd do this time to deserve it. It.. I don't know. I think about her, sometimes, I guess. Wonder if she's ok. I- I love her. I tried to be a good daughter...`she trailed off. "It's her birthday." She says quietly.
The woman next to her smiles softly. Martin clears his throat. "Thank you for sharing, Callisto. Does anyone else have anything to add?"
"I-it wa-wa-wasn't your f-fault," A small, nebbishy man says- boy, really, he can't be more than 19-, "Y-y-you c-can't help l-loving h-her. She-she's your mom."
The girl snorted.
Charles bit his lip, and before he could stop himself, the words came out. "How do you know?"
"S-s-sorry?"
"You weren't there. How could you possibly know that?"
The boy shrugs. "C-cause n-nobody does." he says simply.
The tremors in his fingertips move into his hand. "That- don't be absurd. It- there's a line, yes, of course there is, but all parents discipline their children! It's what makes them good parents."It's normal, he almost says, but even his mental voice is tinged with a desperate, pleading hysteria, and so he holds that part to himself.
The boy glances over Charles shoulder towards Kurt. "D-d-discipline, not b-b-eat. You get that there's a d-d-difference, r-right, man?"
"You saying I deserved it, then?" The girls snaps.
"What? No, God, no, of course you didn't-"
"-Then what the fuck are you trying to say?"
"I don't know!" Charles shouts. Several people flinch. He pretends not to notice. " I don't know, okay? I- I'm sorry." He looks down at the floor. "Sorry. I've got a big mouth- I should stop talking."
Martin shakes his head. "No, keep going, Charles, please. Tell us what's on your mind."
"It would be helpful if I had any idea what that was," he muttered, half to himself. Then he looks up. "Look- I'm sorry. I'm not actually as crazy as I seem, I promise you, it's just- things have been hard, recently, and they' ve brought up a lot of, er, issues, that I thought I had dealt with. Evidently, not so much." He attempts a smile.
For a long moment, everything is silent.
"I'm scared, you know?" He says finally. "There's- you've all met Kurt, obviously- I- I'm scared. For him, for me, it's the same thing, I guess- but just- I look at him, and I see- I don't know what I see. But he needs help. And, and I want to believe that he's fine, or that there's something genetic going on, but, I mean- I'm a teacher. I went to school for this stuff- some of it, anyway. I know what brain damage looks like. And, and I want to believe that, that it's genetic, but I know- well, I know what it probably is. And that scares the hell out of me, because Raven was safe, more than I was, anyway- I protected her, because that's what you do, isn't it, when you're an older sibling? You protect them. And if- if Raven was messed up enough to fuck up like that, who's to say I won't be the same?"
His hand is shaking in earnest. "I want him to be safe. That's all I've wanted. That's always been my job. To keep people safe. But what if I'm the danger? The other day, he screamed for 4 hours straight, until he fell asleep, and I just barely stopped myself from shaking the little bugger by the neck- what if next time I can't? What if one day it's not enough? What if- what if I break him?"
Martin smiles. "You're not like your parents." This he says with confidence of one who has repeated the same phrase many times over the years, in front of the mirror and in public, until he has struck just the right balance of confidence and compassion.
Charles chews on his lip. "How do you know?"
It's not Martin who answers, but a beautiful red-headed woman with kind, sad green eyes. "Because you're here," she says quietly, "You know that that would be wrong."
Erik snorts. Everyone jumps. It is the first time he has spoken. He does not even introduce himself, and has a habit of drawing a velociraptor on his nametag.
"You don't think they knew it was wrong? What world are you living in? Do you honestly believe that people don't know it's wrong to, to belt a child, or to break their ribs, or to give them injections- do you really believe that?"
"I believe that they're sick," she says softly. "I think that they needed help, somewhere along the line, and they didn't get it. That's all."
Erik grins. "You don't think some people are just evil? That they get off on hurting those who are weaker than them?"
It is Charles who jumps to her defence. "Well, yes, Erik, but that's psychopathy, surely. That's entirely different-"
"-How? If someone pushes someone down a flight of stairs, a child, I mean, and they get hurt, does it really matter if the adult is in the middle of a bipolar episode, or are just drunk, or just evil- the bones are still broken. The kid's still gonna have fucking nightmares."
Charles has gone pale. "So what exactly are you saying, Erik?"
Erik runs back over the rest of the conversation in his head, and winces. Oh, fuck.
"I didn't mean- not like that, Charles."
Charles nods once, tightly. "I should go." He stands up, wincing slightly at the movement. "Kurt has a medical appointment."
There are a chorus of goodbyes and well-wishes. There is something to be said for having a -for now- fairly charming young boy as your ward.
Erik watched them go, and he winces. He shouldn't have said anything. He shouldn't have come here.
He should have found somewhere else to go, somewhere where Charles wasn't, where he couldn't- he can't explain it, but somehow, the man still seems pure, untainted by the world around him, an air of sanctified grace that seems to exude out of his pores.
Charles looks over his shoulder as they leave, and smiles goodbye to Erik.
That is when Erik realises he is not a good enough person to stay away.
So he does the next best thing, and when Martin next asks for a member of the group to volunteer, Erik raises a hand, and makes his voice as neutral as possible, and speaks.
"Hi, I'm Erik."
It's not much, but it's a start.