A/N: Ye of weak stomachs do not tread here. Seriously. Gird your loins, kiddies. You've been warned.
...
Chapter 10: Riot
The stench of sweat, blood, and burning. On the other side of the door the human staff members not armed to the teeth and fighting down below were making frantic calls to the mainland. Logan tried not to think about the groundskeepers and if any of the inmates had gotten out. His only purpose in this moment was to protect those who couldn't protect themselves, and he'd be damned if anything got in the way of his duty. Though no one had made it up this far; the violence was still mainly contained in the mess hall and Gen Pop. Faint echoes of Sean's cries could be heard, almost like sonar resonating off the currents of water.
Good. He hoped the scrawny ginger made their ears bleed.
When the sickening crack of bone against metal met his ears Logan roared, whipping his hands out on either side of him. The foot long claws of metal seared his flesh as they extended menacingly. His eyes burned. Facing him at the end of the hall were four inmates who'd broken through the door with disturbingly little trouble. Their vacant eyes were shallow pools of nameless anger and rage. He couldn't smell a hint of fear on them. Tensing when they began to move forward, Logan readied himself, aware of the lives contained in the room behind him. He thought of Moira, the way she'd pursed her lips with barely constrained fury as she was shepherded back into the offices by the mutant staff members, by Logan. Their eyes had met and for a moment Logan pitied any inmate who tried to mess with the Captain.
The four hadn't revealed their abilities yet, prowling slowly down the short hallway. Logan stabbed his claws into the drywall, creating a barrier with his body.
"I think you know the drill," he sneered. "Don't make me give the 'you have to go through me' speech."
"Someone's eager to dance," rumbled the biggest of the four. He flexed and acrid sweat began to seep from his pores, thickening as it bled. Wolverine's lip curled, but he stood his ground. Thick, viscous globs of brownish sludge dripped noisily off the inmate, sticking to the floor in hardening mounds of organic glue. "Hope you know how to Fox Trot, Wolverine."
"Don't mess him up too fast," one of the others said, grinning evilly. "I need to pay this pig back. He took it upon himself to 'correct' me one too many times."
Logan narrowed his eyes. He faintly remembered all of them from various scuffles when he used to work the floor. They wanted revenge? So be it.
The first one to speak launched forward, leaving thick trails of sweat behind him. He swung a meaty arm, connecting with the set of fierce metal claws that sunk deep into the slime. Grinning, he chuckled throatily as Wolverine twisted and ripped at him, unable to penetrate the rubbery slick that coated his body. The substance clung to the guard, coating his arm in hardening swathes of brown slop.
"That's interesting," Logan growled. "What else do you scum have in store?"
Another in the group began to climb the walls, wide rubbery suckers on the palms of his hands and the balls of his feet. "Don't mind me," he simpered, crawling directly over Wolverine's head. "I'll just be paying my respects to the humans."
The third mutant had tiny blue currents of electricity flowing all over his body, mapping out the spidery paths of his veins. With a long pinky nail he sliced his palms and like blood, the electricity flowed red, crackling menacingly. Behind them, the last mutant in their group started to stretch and warp his body, looking for all the world like some malformed flying squirrel, filling the hallway like a fleshy wall. Effectively he'd barred the exit.
Exhaling slowly, Logan said, "Fuck."
...
The counselor had turned away from him, blatantly denying he was even there. Mojo rumbled with mirth, "Not a nightmare, sweet little thing." Xavier pounded on the door with a white-knuckled fist and Mojo practically lavished in the heady scent of fear and confusion rolling off the smaller mutant. "You smell divine, dear doctor," he purred, fingers coiling into soft brown hair. Xavier stiffened, nose pressed against the glass of the window. In the faint reflection Mojo could see brilliant blue eyes narrow and shift up until they were staring directly at him. Now the fear ignited in a splash of yellow paint across his countenance and Xavier dropped from under his hand to slam himself against the opposite wall.
His skin so pale he almost blended into the paint, Mojo was a detached set of gleaming golden eyes. Old gold; dirty with age and decay. Charles shook his head; mind clamoring to ground itself as if thought after thought was falling down a flight of stairs. The sedatives racing through his bloodstream deadened the fear at the forefront, distant screams instead of right against his ears. But Charles was no less afraid. He was just as afraid in the dark, unable to give a distinct shape as the lines around the other mutant blurred. Claw-like nails brushed his throat and Charles jerked back, breathing heavily through his nose as his head cracked against the plaster. An ache split his skull while he tried to access his ability, and succeeded as much as holding air.
"I wonder where you are now, Xavier," he breathed heatedly, hauling the psychologist forward. Dull nails scratched at his hold, blue eyes too bright. "Where's your voice, little one?"
He couldn't find it. Words tumbled away, his tongue a swollen knot inside his mouth. Fear worked as well as lockjaw, and somewhere inside Charles he recognized this very special brand of fright he'd felt only once before. Another instance when unwanted hands held him, another time when dark intent bled from evil eyes to lie across his body in a burning trail of sinful promise. All he managed was to whimper in disbelief at the helplessness he'd sworn off ever since his training sessions with Emma. He could crush Mojo; he had done as much the last time they danced this particular dance. But now he was a brittle eggshell about to be rubbed to dust between the giant's fingers.
A thin whisper curled up to reach his ears. Mojo smiled. "What was that, dear Xavier?"
"Don't... do this," he panted, flinching as the dirty fingers tightened over his throat. He swung an off-aim punch at Mojo's forearm, kicking out viciously to clip the albino's shin. Both blows landed as ineffective as caresses. Mojo only grinned down at him, yellow teeth shiny in the bleaching artificial lights. That slow, unnerving rumble of his spiteful laugh coiled up to spill down over Charles. The shame and sobering anger rallied him, and Charles fought to focus. "Mojo-"
"There it is," he growled. "My name, Xavier. Say it again." He squeezed, frowning at the flash of defiance awakened in the counselor's gaze. "Precious thing; don't make me rip it out when it is so easily given." Xavier's pulse raced against the pressure of his fingers, his skin smooth and hot. The pretty flush over his cheeks only darkened that deliciously sinful set of crimson lips. Mojo bared his teeth, using his other hand to tangle in soft brown hair before he forced the counselor down to his knees.
Charles twisted and fought with a desperate violence, crying out when strands of hair were torn from his scalp. Mojo descended after him, filthy dreadlocks swinging ominously around him in imitation of a cage. The power, raw and abundant, behind Mojo's grip buckled his knees and Charles crumbled beneath the monstrous hands. He screamed hoarsely when the mutant kicked his legs open, shoving between them. Contracting his body, he attempted to kick at Mojo's face. The hand on his throat disappeared for an instant before it came back down to crack painfully against the side of his face, snapping his head to the side. His lip stung, blood trickling sickeningly sweet into his mouth. Mojo hauled his head up by his hair alone and lapped at the crimson trail with a long slimy tongue.
The hardening in his pants ached with need. Mojo rutted heavily against Xavier, snarling at the friction, only increased by the mutant's struggling. Red lips, now bright with blood, framed pinkish teeth. Mojo wanted a taste. Grabbing one swinging arm, Mojo twisted it effortlessly to watch the counselor utter a cut-off scream, biting his lips as bones popped sickeningly. Still with the grip on Xavier's hair, Mojo forced the white throat to arch, now blooming with beautifully rendered bruises. Lowering himself along the line of Xavier's body, ignoring the fingers tearing at his hair, Mojo bit into Xavier's mouth, smearing it with red. Twisting Xavier's mangled arm further when the doctor instinctively bit, Mojo ravished his mouth. He moaned shamelessly, rutting against Xavier and shoving slender legs impossibly wide around his girth. He stuck his tongue to the back of the counselor's throat, cutting of his air, raping his mouth with vicious intent. Grinding his aching cock down, he almost purred around the garbled scream that tore out of Xavier, tears overflowing from his closed eyes in a beautiful stream.
His mind was a delirious mess of panic and nausea. The cutting pain in his arm was a firebrand across his consciousness, kindled by the sheer devastation of the circumstances. A hysterical jumble of thoughts tangled up in inside his mind and he uttered another ragged scream when Mojo pushed violently into his mind. That level of violation was new. Spasming as the other mutant goaded the awful memories playing around his subconscious into painfully detailed images, Charles could only sob brokenly as he was forced to watch himself, somehow manipulated to see it from Mojo's perspective, splayed out on the floor at the Academy. Not again not again not again not again not again not again pleasepleasepleasenotagain.
Withdrawing from the trembling body, Mojo stared down at the counselor. Blood painted his lower face, arm frozen at an unnatural angle. Crystal blue eyes were glazed over as he relived the horror that had tainted him, and Mojo watched hungrily. He nudged the memories, enhanced them. He even added to them, endlessly aroused by the choked cries coming from the counselor. Reaching down, he undid the front of the jumpsuit, freeing his leaking cock. It hung heavy and swollen, tip resting against Xavier's lower belly. Precum soiled the neat blue cotton of his shirt and Mojo grinned. He watched distractedly as Xavier was beaten down in his mind's eye, stripped and laid bare. Sliding thick fingers into the gaps between the wooden buttons on Xavier's shirt, Mojo ripped it cleanly open and let his eyes drink in the sight of so much pale skin.
"Beautiful little thing you are, Xavier," he murmured, and finally released the mutant from his mental torture. In the aftermath Xavier lay there shivering and crying, trying to curl up into himself but blocked by Mojo still seated between his legs. "Shh, don't cry. We've just begun to play."
...
There was something gnawing at his stomach, twisted and ill. Erik shoved down the yawning ache of worry that sought to overwhelm him. Sinister ran beside him in grim silence. Around them the flashing alarms continued their song. Each new door they came to Sinister swept for anyone nearby – more often than not there was no one – and Erik would cleanly disable the lock. After long minutes on end of solitude Sinister ordered Erik to stop.
"It's focused in Gen Pop, and the mess hall," he said. Narrowing burning red eyes, Sinister cocked his head. "And Administration."
Unable to withhold it, Erik blurted, "Charles. What about Charles?"
"I can't find him," the mutant sighed, tone defeated. "His mind is dimmed somehow. It's highly unusual. Typically I can at the very least feel him, if anything."
Erik slammed his fist into the wall. Behind him Sinister winced as the lights above their heads shattered, raining down around them in a downpour of sparks. "Something's wrong."
"There is a riot," he pointed out delicately. But he couldn't ignore the note of iron resolve in Lensherr's tone. He felt it too, something oil slick and heavy hanging in the air. Pursing his lips, Sinister stepped carefully forward to lay his hand on the other inmate's shoulder. "Erik," he said seriously. "Find him. I know you can. What sort of star-crossed lovers couldn't find each other in such compellingly drastic odds?"
Squaring his jaw, Erik nodded sharply. "Cover me," he ordered. The other mutant made an affirmative sound and stepped away. Sliding close against the wall, Erik pressed his body to the cold surface. Beneath the beige wall he felt the pulse and quake of metal. Closing his eyes, he threw himself into the web of pipes, sliding along steel beams, clattering over iron balustrades. The thrum of activity echoed throughout the skeleton of Juniper, groaning like an old beast under duress. But Erik threw it all away, listening only for that matchless signal, the tiny vibration that was uniquely Charles. One he would recognize from the pressure of his soft hand on a railing, the clap of his foot on a stair, the hush of springs when he turned in his sleep at night. Charles.
He pushed until sweat beaded over his brow. The storm of movement in the jail rattled his senses, warping the metal's song he knew so well. A bent tuning fork, knocked off-key by unnatural tension crackling through the air. But he shook it off, redoubling his efforts to seek Charles out. It had never taken him this long before. He growled, cutting off the sound when he felt Sinister's hand thread between the fabric of his jumpsuit and the line of his hair.
"I mean no insult," the mutant murmured. "But my eyes are sharper than yours, Lensherr. Wing me along your metal pathways." His fingers were cool and dry. "Show me," Sinister whispered, and Lensherr let him in to see.
...
Sean and Juggernaut ran along the upper gangway, scanning the mass of bodies below. Blood was everywhere, and those still fighting slipped in the mess as they continued to struggle. Several inmates had scaled the walls by various means, clinging to the heavy pipes webbing the ceiling, or seeking sanctuary on the windowsills. Sluggish and exhausted, the inmates roared and swung lead-weight limbs at each other, but Sean's first concern was his peers. Sharp eyes skipping over a myriad of faces, Sean finally spotted the two of them. Darwin - tirelessly selfless - still worked to split the inmates up. Alex was moving through the mutants, barking at those who tried to move in too close to the fallen. His face was bloodied, but he looked stable. Shoving open one of the viewing panels, Sean yelled down, "Hey!"
Alex looked up at him and waved. Then he plugged his ears.
Juggernaut was impressed when the tiny guard let loose with a frightening sound. He slapped his hands over his ears, though the noise wasn't directed at him. Peering down into the mess hall he watched inmate after inmate crumble to the floor clutching their head. Then the sound changed into a strange pulsing wave with an underlying tone that reverberated through the drums of his ears. What was left in its wake, when the guard had fallen silent, was a hollow ringing. After shaking his head Juggernaut didn't hear it anymore, but by the looks of it down below the inmates were still suffering. They stumbled back from each other looking dazed.
Darwin met Alex's eyes across the room. For some unknown reason, just as mysterious as the start of this whole fiasco, the inmates had slowed down. Sean's ability wouldn't have been effective even five minutes ago, but the thick cloud of rage had dissipated, leaving a confused exhaustion behind. By now the human guards could return with their assault rifles and quash the riot completely.
The radio on the wall crackled with life and Alex jogged over to it, keying into the channel. Moira's voice, faint and tinny, came through on a weak signal.
"Lo... four inm... top leve... now..."
"Sean," Alex shouted up, "We'll clean up here. Get to the offices now!"
Motioning to Juggernaut, Sean didn't waste time in sprinting through the port door. They made short work of the halls, coming to a stop right outside the door to the administrational offices. Juggernaut drew back his fist when they heard the crashes and gunshots, glancing first at Sean before he smashed straight through the reinforced metal, sending it flying. They poured in after it and Juggernaut grabbed the first mutant he saw and held him above his head like a sack of flour. The mutant was spitting electricity, but the sparks seemed to die when Juggernaut neatly clocked him on the side of the head and dropped him to move on. Sean followed, peeking over the giant mutant's shoulder to see Logan covered in a thick layer of brown sludge. Two human guards had come out of the safe room with guns in hand, firing away. One inmate already lay on the ground, clutching a bloody leg. Another was wrapped like a crepe around a guard. Sean sent a bolt of sonar straight at his head, smirking when the inmate flopped back onto the floor, wrinkling like a dropped bed sheet.
Juggernaut saw Wolverine, his movements sluggish, and he saw the human guards firing. Their bullets were sinking into the sap-like cover of a huge mutant. The odor coming off him was bad enough to curl Juggernaut's nose hairs. Scowling, he stomped over to the other inmate, ignoring the thick coating of slime that was flung at him. Reaching through the cloud of stench, he grabbed the inmate by the scruff of the neck and socked him in the gut soundly. The blow made a wet squelching sound and released an even more potent cloud of rancid body odor. Doubling over, the inmate hacked, beady eyes squinting with tears as he tried to catch his breath.
In a few minutes the Captain was out of the room and barking orders. Sean and Juggernaut were chipping away at the hardened shell of filth over Wolverine's entire body. The mutants had been carted down to the mess hall, where the majority of the staff was trying to sort out the wounded. Hank was darting around with sedative patches, slapping them on any patch of skin he could reach. Many of the inmates were already sitting on the floor, still trying to get the ringing out of their ears.
Moira pinched the bridge of her nose. "What the hell just happened?"
Logan shrugged, peeling off his uniform until he was left in nothing but his undershirt and boxers. The Captain gave him a look but didn't say anything.
"It was everywhere, whatever it was," Sean muttered. "All of a sudden. Bam!"
"Have they finished roll call?" the Captain muttered, lip quirking as Juggernaut helpfully picked at a spot of slime left over in Logan's hair.
"Everyone's radioed in except for... Charles," Sean said, frowning. "I think he was visiting Hank for the sedative test right before it happened."
Her eyes widened. "You mean he was under sedation when the riot broke out?"
All of a sudden Darwin came springing into the room, panting. "Mojo," he gasped, "He's gone, and one of the guards is down."
"We need to find Charles. Now," Moira snapped, "Before Mojo does."
...
It was with desperation that Charles was pushing at the broad chest, fingers scrambling to inflict pain by clawing, ripping at the heavy stifling dreadlocks hanging down like elongated corpses. Mojo's mouth was on his neck and he felt the sharp sting of teeth and gasped wetly. Fire exploded across the backs of his lids when the bigger mutant punched his broken arm, coming away with bloody knuckles. The pain stunned him into complacence; warm buzz of overloading agony shifting into disturbing numbness as his brain shut down pain receptors in order to cope. Adrenaline pumped through him in place of the sting, his heart thudding noisily against the confines of his ribcage.
Charles panted loudly, breath ringing in his ears. He struggled to focus, biting down on his lip when Mojo roughly ripped down his pants, the wool chafing against his thighs. The black veil of panic threatened to blind him but Charles viciously shook his head, using his good arm to grab a dreadlock and yank with all the might he had left. Mojo's soulless eyes rose up to gouge into his face, bemused expression crossing into irritation. Knitting his brow, Charles wrapped the hair around his hand and yelled with the effort to pull, twisting his hips and bringing a sharp knee straight up under Mojo's chin.
His jaw ached with the impact, but Mojo didn't waste time. He grabbed Xavier's hips and threw him over onto his stomach, trapping his broken arm under his chest. The bone broke the skin, ribbons of blood striping the light gray floors. Xavier screamed, the whites of his eyes clearly visible. But Mojo didn't want him unconscious. Grunting, he lifted the counselor by his hair and shook the arm free, boneless and bloody.
Mojo's eyes snapped up and he flinched away just as a huge support beam went careening into the wall inches from his head. He heard an animalistic roar behind him, but didn't bother to turn.
"Erik, you'll kill Xavier! Stop," Sinister shouted angrily, stretching his powers to shove Erik into the wall. The mutant didn't even seem to hear him, his wide eyes fixed in unspeakable rage on the two mutants at the end of the hall. "Think of Charles, you fool!"
His vision was red. He'd rip down the walls; collapse the place. All he saw was blood and the deathly pallor of Charles' face. Lifting his hand, he ripped down another beam, drywall and paint chips falling over them like snow. The beam hovered dangerously in the air, but Mojo still hadn't turned. "Get the fuck away from him," he growled, the raw hatred in his voice demonic. "Get the fuck. Off. Him."
Teeth flashing in a tight grimace, Sinister held up his hands, subtly brushing over Erik's mind. He could stop him if he had to. Or at the very least stall him. The lovesick bastard would get them all killed at this rate. He cast his eyes back towards Mojo, who'd shifted out from under the projectile Erik had opened with. The psychologist was on his stomach, one arm obviously broken. His shirt was shoved up his spine, pants barely hanging off his hips. The smell of sweat and sex hung in the air. Mojo was between the counselor's legs, his swollen erection already hanging predatorily down towards the small man.
"They raped him, you know," Mojo said flatly. He pulled Charles flush against his chest by his hair, ignoring the weak hand that lashed out at him. "Those dirty boys at the Academy." Winding his tongue around Charles's pale white throat, yellow eyes bored into Erik as he said darkly, "All at once, didn't they sweet counselor? All those dirty things in your tight little hole." His hand moved out of Erik's sight as Charles gave a painful whimper, weakly struggling away from the mutant.
"I'll kill you," Erik promised, voice devoid of emotion. His eyes had turned slate-grey.
"Then why don't I take him with me?" Mojo asked, directing Xavier's face towards the other mutants, "If I am to die, why not take this sweet whore with me. To keep me company on the path to Hell."
Each tear scorching the side of Charles' face was like a physical blow. Erik felt bile rise in his throat at the sight of the psychologist. His face was bloody, bone visible through a messy break in his arm. A dry sob pulled at his throat and Erik held his hand against the wall for support, the floating piece of metal wavering in the air. "You won't have him-"
"They held him down on a dirty floor, but then that's fitting now isn't it?" Mojo continued, practically petting the trembling counselor. He placed chaste kisses along his neck, moving his fingers between the firm globes of his ass to stroke at his entrance. Xavier bit out a ragged sob, writhing in his grasp. "They got you right here, didn't they, Xavier? Pushed in right here."
"Stop, stop," he panted, bleary eyes directed at the floor.
Erik yelled, "Charles!" He paced the width of the hall like an animal, helplessly playing witness to Charles' violation. Mojo let Charles fall onto his good arm, now on his knees. Charles had gone somewhere Erik couldn't reach, withdrawing into himself. When the telepath looked over at him, not recognizing him, his eyes were like twin eclipses reflected in the cool blue of the sea. His pupils were blown wide with shock, layered by pain and whatever was in him that was dulling his abilities. It was an ugly, awful sight.
"A keepsake," Mojo murmured, "A souvenir." He chanted the words into the shell of Xavier's ear, careful to keep a tight hold around his throat. It wouldn't take much to snap the counselor's neck. And the other two inmates knew that. The anguish crippling Lensherr's expression was nearly endearing, and Mojo couldn't help but chortle. "Look at that, sweet counselor. Your knight has arrived too late to preserve your maidenhead." Xavier's eyes, unseeing and fever-bright, ghosted over to Lensherr. Pushing a blood-slick finger into the searing hot body, he smirked at the high-pitched whimper Xavier made. "He's going to watch you fall."
Sinister was prodding at Mojo's mind, but ultimately withdrew. It was a pit of vipers. Glancing over at Lensherr, he winced at the iron strength of his jaw. The mutant was completely silent. Metal had begun to bleed from the walls, molten and venomous. It drained in deadly streams over the grooves and bumps of the wall, melting the paint, stripping the cement. Sinister moved away from them, careful to keep away from the liquefied metal. "Lensherr," he whispered.
Erik's voice was calm when he spoke, and Mojo met his eyes lazily as he continued to manhandle Charles. "Can you hear me, Charles?"
Sneering at the mutant, Mojo slammed Xavier's face into the ground, scissoring his fingers. Xavier's sweaty palm slipped against the linoleum, his broken arm already turning puce with clotted blood and bruising. His voice was a series of skittering whispers. "I'm afraid he can't, Lensherr," Mojo informed the mutant flippantly, grunting with the effort to twist his fingers ever deeper. Xavier groaned into the floor.
"You know, Mojo," Sinister said in a clipped, worried tone. "Whatever happens, you're going to suffer a great deal. I'd think your concern for your own hide would lend you some sense. Stop now and perhaps Lensherr won't rip you to pieces."
"The doctor and I will be gone before that happens," he sighed, tearing his fingers free from Xavier's body. "At this angle I'd break his neck with dead weight if you killed me." He flexed the fingers pressing the back of Xavier's neck.
Sinister noticed Erik's eyes had finally left Xavier to move up to the ceiling. Flicking his gaze back to Mojo, Sinister spoke low and urgent, "This is pathetic, you know. You're selling yourself out for a piece of flesh. The poor boy isn't worth it." Swallowing down a dry throat as Mojo lined himself up to thrust, Sinister's voice cracked; "Why not liberate yourself? You have enough friends on the outside. Run." Clenching his fists, he hissed, "We won't touch you."
Charles came to life in a flurry of movement as the head of Mojo's cock pressed him. He screamed hoarsely and scrambled to get away. Mojo easily caught him, hugging him loosely around the hips. But the counselor yelped and twisted to kick at his face, expression a mask of nauseous pain.
And all of a sudden it was raining.
Metal hail collapsed in a deadly sheet and with a blood-curdling howl Mojo was punctured with thousands of holes. The hand he'd had on the back of Charles' neck was a bloody pulp, smashed to mush by tiny metal raindrops. A mist of crimson was released from Mojo's body; his pasty white skin flushed a morbid pink. His features were gone, erased and sunken. And a sound, like marbles clacking against each other inside a cloth sack, rang out from inside of his body. Thick founts of blood and tissue squirted from the innumerable holes riddling his frame and Erik ran to scoop Charles up and away before he was soiled by the muck.
Sinister bent double to dry heave, sinking to his knees. Evidence of the molten paths of liquid metal still marked the walls. As soon as he'd seen the opening, Lensherr had turned the lines of fluid into bullets and sent them flying directly at Mojo. It happened in less than a second. Wiping the side of his mouth with a shaking hand, Sinister barely had the wits about him to stumble back when the ceiling and walls warped and were ripped free. A deafening clang followed, and left in the settling dust was a metal sphere, neat and shining among the debris and exposed pipes. Lensherr and the counselor were inside, and Sinister was left with the bloodied pulp that represented what was once Mojo.
...
He became aware of Charles screaming. His throat was so raw that it was almost just a whisper. Erik fought the urge to clutch him closer to his chest, and instead lay him on the ground. The instant he was loose Charles scrambled back, coming up against the curved wall of the sphere hard. Breathing heavily, tears still drying on his cheeks, Erik fell to his knees and stared miserably at the horror etched out on Charles' beautiful face. "Charles," he said. "Charles, it's Erik. You're safe. He's dead. He's gone." When Charles only flinched away from his voice he fell silent, fists clenched angrily at his sides. A man of action was useless now, and Erik had never been anything else. Helpless, he closed his eyes and pulled up every memory of Charles' smile, their laughter together, the near electric tension crackling between them in the library. He thought of Winnie the Pooh, he thought of the redheaded guard, the blonde guard, Darwin. Crawling carefully closer, he opened his eyes again and held the thoughts steady. Charles eyes were fixed on him and Erik smiled at him.
Like the brush of leaves on the wind, Charles felt the individual threads of thought gently moving over him. Warmth. Protectiveness. Safety. A moth drawn hopelessly to a bright point of light Charles moved towards the source, his heart aching with tentative hope. The images he'd been plagued with were washed away, leaving him drained and scared. Blinking erratically, he reached out and gripped a hand. Upon contact the vividness of the positive thoughts grew tenfold and Charles gasped, eyes flying wide. He was surrounded by concern, care, fondness... Pigments of color began to collect and a familiar line of features swam into view. Charles gazed at Erik. He felt the comfort, could even faintly hear the words floating from the mutant's mind.
Safe now. It's gone. No more pain. Ever. I'll protect you. I'll keep you safe. Charles. Charles. My heart is your heart. Charles.
Gulping, Charles husked, "Erik."
He sobbed with relief, openly crying when Charles reached forward to carefully map the trail of tears on his face.
"My friend," he murmured, still shaking. "Please don't cry for me."
Covering his face with his free hand, Erik wept. He felt the warmth returning to Charles' mind, wrapping him in a thin, but strong blanket of comfort. "No, no," he protested, "Don't you dare comfort me, songbird." He was cautious as he touched the side of Charles' face. "I'll never leave you, Charles. No one will ever hurt you again. Never," he vehemently promised, voice cracking with emotion as Charles moved forward and embraced him. The slender body was wracked with tremors, but Erik held him tight enough to chase them away. "Charles," he whispered into soft hair. "I want it to be all right. I never want you to fear."
"Can you just-" Charles stuttered, voice a mere shadow of its former self, "Hold me, Erik? Just... hold me."
His heart broke. He cried silently into the crown of brown hair, tears sliding along the strands as he clutched Charles tightly, the smaller mutant gripping him back with an almost violent force. Moving his lips, he gently kissed the top of Charles head, stroking his hair. He'd never let Charles be harmed again. When the smaller mutant warmed the front of his jumpsuit with fresh tears, Erik swore on his life that he would never leave Charles again. When Juniper was nothing but a long-lost memory, Charles would be at his side.
...
To Be Continued
...
-Villain