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gold-from-straw · 5 years

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Backstage of the Universe - ch10

Erik and Charles are ready to team up and take on the world... or the Universe, whatever...

Read on AO3 from the beginning if you prefer!

Charles sat at Erik’s bedside, his eyes raw and aching with tears scrubbed away. Erik was sleeping naturally, now - Charles’ invasion of his mind had been the work of moments, and he’d left as soon as it was done.

As Erik moved, stretched, Charles wanted nothing more than to dive back into his mind - preferably dive back into his arms as well, give and receive comfort in every way he knew how. But he had sent Erik to sleep, taken over his mental faculties without permission, and this could be the final straw.

Erik blinked blearily at him. “Charles? What--” And then he breathed in sharply and looked away, and Charles could tell from the horror that leaked through his mental shielding that Erik was remembering.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his hands clasped together over his lips. “I’m so sorry, Erik, I didn’t know what else to do.”

Erik’s hand, long, warm fingers rough with violence, wrapped around his own. “You put me to sleep?”

Charles nodded, tears welling up again.

“And you thought I would be angry? Oh, Charles… how I would have hated myself if I’d caused more pain to anyone.” He pulled him closer and Charles made an animal noise that he didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed by. Erik wrapped his arms around him and their minds sank into each other, grief and fear and panic still painting the walls of their mental landscape.

Erik took a deep, shaky breath, and Charles could feel him trying to repair the rigid defences he had against his own horrific memories, trying to control thoughts as slippery and uncooperative as blood into boxes buried deep beneath pragmatism and vengeance.

Charles stroked Erik’s cheek. Will you let me help?

“What do you mean?” Erik asked out loud, his mind startling and dropping the memories once more, where they seeped out and coloured his thoughts.

“I mean… I can help you to coax them back again, if you like? The memories.”

Erik closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “Did you see everything?”

“Oh, love… I’m so sorry. I wish none of this had happened to you.”

Erik turned his face and Charles put gentle pressure on his cheek, trying to call his gaze back. “Please, Erik, don’t… you don’t have to hide from me.”

Erik touched his shoulder, his thumb stroking circles into the wool of his cardigan, but his face still turned rigidly away, and shame, disgust, horror swirled around their connection. Charles gritted his teeth and appeared in Erik’s mind, seeking him out and planting himself right in front of Erik, even as he covered his face.

“Do you know what I see when I see these memories, Erik?” he asked, his fists clenching. “I see… the worst of humanity.” He looked around at the visions that swirled, muted but still there, still hurting Erik. “I see the worst that we have ever been,” he said, tears trembling at the edges of his eyes. “And I see some of the best, because I see you there. You, and the others. The survivors that gritted your teeth and held on through that horror because giving up was never an option. This… this impossible strength you seem to have--”

“Spite,” said Erik, an almost-laugh shaking his shoulders.

Charles smiled ever so slightly. “Then thank God for spite. You are so incredibly strong, my friend. You give me hope.”

Erik startled, staring up at Charles. Charles laughed. “You didn’t know? You always have. You are… a bright point in history, a galaxy of light, burning away what they tried to make you. They tried to make you nothing, they tried to make you less than animal and you… you are so much more.”

Erik held Charles’ gaze for a moment, exhausted, pained. He looked around at the litany of nightmares painting the walls of his mind, then quietly took out the first of his mental boxes. Charles wiped his face (God, even in the mind, he was so quick to cry), and pulled one of the memories out from the rest, wrapping it neat, keeping it under control. Not buried, never gone. But put to one side, so that Erik could keep moving forward.

When they rose from Erik’s mind, their heads bowed together, the day felt cooler. Muted and faded with exhaustion, but no longer something that cut at them.

“They took Bart, didn’t they?” Erik asked, his voice rough. He swallowed, and Charles heard it.

“Yes… and Vogel and Martin too. Vogel came out of nowhere, threw himself at them and started trying to… trying to hit one of the men with his bare fists. Martin just… ran after him. Cross and Gripps would have too, if they hadn’t been held back by…” By the maelstrom of metal and terror. Charles wasn’t sure if Erik would feel glad of that, or guilty.

“It’s my fault,” Erik said, and Charles’ jaw dropped. “No, it is, Charles - if I hadn’t threatened to take her away, she wouldn’t have gone to him.”

“Oh, darling, you can’t know that. They all say she was his favourite, she might well have--”

“We have to get her back,” he said, red-rimmed eyes fixed and fierce on Charles.

“Well, of course we do,” he said, blinking.

Erik stared, and for a moment there was silence over their connection, and then confusion, disorientation, really? You know you’re agreeing to violence.

Charles rolled his eyes. “Erik, they are children. Men in tactical gear with guns stole our children. Of course we’re going to get them back.”

“And if I kill them?” Erik asked, his eyes boring into Charles’.

Charles clenched his jaw. “Obviously, I would prefer we do it with as little bloodshed as possible, I don’t want us to just go in there and… and massacre them, but we’re not leaving Bart, Martin and Vogel to be tortured by some shadowy government agency, honestly, Erik, what do you think of me?”

Erik smiled at him, soft and wondering, and Charles felt, rather than heard, the wave of pure love that crashed over him.

Charles wheeled into the living room with Erik close behind, their minds both focused on strategy, chasing each other wordlessly down lines of contingency and possibility. A part of Charles’ mind stared in awe at the team they made, playing chess on the same side.

Hank sat with Dirk on his lap, snuggled up tight with his face pressed into the blue fur and teddy bear Mona in his arms. Raven paced, and Cross and Gripps sat in eerie stillness, as though missing a part of themselves. Everyone turned as Erik and Charles entered, Dirk peering out at them with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

Charles smiled gently at them. “I know it seems… bad, right now. But we’re going to get them back.”

“We need to know everything you can tell us about Blackwing,” Erik said, his hands linked behind his back, a general at parade rest. “Anything you can think of that might help us find where they’ve taken Bart, Vogel and Martin, any little piece of information could be useful. Even if you don’t think it’s relevant now.”

“If I could search your memories, I would really appreciate it,” Charles said, looking from one child to the other, holding their gaze. “You can absolutely say no, this is up to you, but…”

There was silence. Cross and Gripps glanced at each other and shrugged, almost apathetic.

“What about Francis?” Dirk asked, looking up at Hank, and then at Charles. “He’s older than us, could you read his memories? He might know more.”

Charles and Erik glanced at each other, surprised. If Charles was honest, he’d forgotten all about their final, silent fugitive. “Is this another of your hunches?” He asked.

Dirk shook his head, frowning. “When Mr Priest came it was… overwhelming. I didn’t want to but my legs were carrying me over to him, and then Mr Erik picked me up and I wanted to… I wanted to hang on to him, but I had to… I had to fight him.” Tears escaped and rolled down his cheeks, and Charles wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold the little boy, promise he never had to feel like that again, but it would be a lie. Dirk sniffed and rubbed his face. “Now, the hunch is still telling me… and… and bad things happen when I ignore it but I think bad things will happen if I go back to Mr Priest and I don’t want to… I want to stay here but it hurts sometimes.”

He pressed his face back into Hank’s chest and his shoulders shook. Charles bit his lip and looked up at Erik, trying to project comfort and calm to Dirk, but with his powers still actively working, a hunch still in progress, Charles’ telepathy couldn’t get through.

“If we go to Francis, maybe we can talk to the nice snail again,” said Mona, popping into her human form and patting Dirk.

All the adults looked at each other.

“The snail told me she can send people to see the Universe!”

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose. “What?”

“Why would anyone want to see the Universe, though?” Dirk said, rather petulantly. “All the Universe ever does to me is send me into trouble.”

“Wait,” frowned Charles. “Are you saying the universe is a person? Not just a set of vague feelings?”

“Wakti says he’s been looking like a person recently,” Mona said. “Maybe she’s closer so she can see him better. Ooh, maybe he’s a shapeshifter like me!”

Charles and Erik looked at each other, tentative futures unfolding, even while Charles tried not to get his hopes up too high. “It’s worth a try,” he murmured.

“We don’t have any other leads,” shrugged Erik.

“What, you’re really going to try and find a snail to take you to the universe?” Raven said, holding her hands out to the side, exasperated.

“No, we’re going to see if we can find any information in Francis’ memories. Whether that leads to a location where they might have taken the children, or whether that leads to a snail and the anthropomorphic representation of the universe, well, we’ll take what we can get,” Charles said.

“You know this is insane, right?” she snapped.

“Well, you’re covered in blue scales which seem to have some sort of morphological plasticity that even with two geniuses and a PhD in genetics we haven’t been able to figure out, so let’s not cast aspersions on a snail with a fast track to the universe, shall we?”

There was silence for a moment. Then, “Did you really just make a pun about a snail having a fast track to anything, Charles?” Erik asked casually.

***

Hank bustled around Francis, using claw tips to delicately lift up wires and tubes, checking his vitals as Charles rolled himself closer to Frances’ head, and Erik lowered the bed to Charles’ height. Raven stood to one side with Dirk slumped in her arms, his head pressed to her neck and eyes drooping with exhaustion.

“No change,” Hank said, and sighed. “His brainwaves don’t seem to leave REM sleep, it’s no wonder we had to increase his glucose levels in the drip, he’s burning energy at an unprecedented level for a coma patient.” He gestured at Charles. “Go ahead.”

Hank took a step back, one huge paw landing on Cross’ shoulder. The boy leaned into the contact, and Gripps took Cross’ hand. Charles’ heart ached to see how hollowed out the boys were without their friends. Erik squeezed his shoulder, and he smiled up at him briefly, grateful for the contact. For the comfort.

He lifted his fingers to his temple with his right hand, and with his left, reached for Francis’ arm. He was expecting the usual mental boundaries, maybe with some interesting variations on the norm, like all of the Blackwing children. He was not expecting to be turned inside out, to be pulled into the mind and pushed out at the same time, hurled out into a riot of sound and colour, an entire new world.

Tagging everyone who interacted with last chapter <3 thank you!! @slytherclaw134689, @akasanata, @threecheer, @ikeracity, @thewritersspeaking, @creepyj-j

#Lyn's Writing #Backstage of the Universe #cherik #Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency #emotional hurt/comfort #kid fic #concentration camps #tw: holocaust #traumatic memories

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