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CHARLES
"It's not possible, is it?" Hank asked, his voice distant in Charles' ears as all Charles could see and hear was the baby in his arms, looking up at him with apparently the same curiosity and fear that Charles felt. "He can't be your son, Charles. You barely leave the house…"
The baby in Charles' arms cooed, his small hand raising to touch the hairs of Charles' beard and grabbing a handful of it, feeling it without pulling, eyes wide with wonder at the feel of a beard against his skin and still wet with the tears he had shed before he finally stopped crying — eyes that eerily reminded Charles of his own in old pictures he'd look at when he was too drunk to stop himself.
"I don't know," Charles finally said. The baby's — David's, if the note that was with the baby had been correct — gaze moving to Charles' mouth, following the sound of Charles' voice probably. "He's- I don't know…"
"I can test it, see if he's truly yours."
"And if he isn't?" Charles' eyes moved from the baby finally, looking at Hank with caution as his arms held David a little tighter unconsciously, like Hank would take the baby from him. "It's not like we can abandon him either way."
"I wouldn't suggest that, Charles," Hank muttered, his shoulders getting tense all of the sudden as a quiet hurt crossed Hank's eyes. Charles didn't need his telepathy to see that. "It's just so we can know for sure…"
Charles looked back at the baby, seeing David coo up at him, small and chubby hands reaching up as if he wanted to hold Charles' face. He had calmed down, had stopped crying once Charles held him and walked around, rocking the baby back and forth in his arms, in the hopes that it would be enough to calm David down — a gentle embrace and a calm voice; maybe Charles did that on purpose, knowing what it was like to feel abandoned. Hank had arrived shortly after the baby had stopped crying, a frown on his face as he crossed the threshold of the mansion and saw Charles with a baby in his arms.
David's eyes looked up at him immediately now, lips parted as he stared up at Charles as if he was the most curious thing David had seen in his short life. This is David, this is your son, the note that was stuck to the baby said when Charles found him abandoned in the front door of the mansion, crying his lungs out, completely alone and bundled up in soft blankets. He didn't know if he wanted the note to be true or not, at this point.
Even so, with a slight nod and a quiet "Alright," Charles accepted Hank's idea.
Charles couldn't stop looking at the baby in his arms, let alone put him down, some part of himself desperate to just hold that tiny human being and not let him alone again to cry like David had been crying when Charles opened that door to find him there. He couldn't bear to let David feel that helplessness again, that lack of warmth, and he couldn't lie that he didn't want to feel it as well. The whole time he held David, the baby had held onto him — his shirt, his beard, his arm; anywhere he could grab with that small uncoordinated hand.
Hank suggested putting David on the bed so he could take the blood for the test he'd make to figure out if David was really Charles' biological son, but Charles didn't comply. Instead, he held the baby closer, baring his leg from the bundle of fabric that kept him warm so Hank could have access to it. In Charles' arms, David only cooed, as if he wanted to say something, unable to voice it.
"It's okay," Charles mumbled, looking down at the baby as Hank picked up the needle and got everything ready. Charles bounced the baby a little in his arms, a warm laughter coming from David at the movement. "It'll be quick and then we'll- we'll figure out where you'll sleep, I guess."
In response, David looked up with wide eyes, his arms flailing around for a moment before he gave Charles a big smile, cooing again, as if Charles made him happy. Charles didn't remember the last time he smiled like he did then, David's apparent happiness making him smile back without even noticing it. The warmth that filled his chest seemed new and strange, but good.
Hank came back with the needle after a minute, a quiet "Right," leaving his mouth as he held the baby's leg and sterilized the spot where the needle would go. The moment the needle made contact with the skin, David's expression changed, eyes widening again and the smile fading as he probably was processing the pain. Charles' breathing stopped as he waited, noticing the pout appearing on David's lips right before he closed his eyes and his mouth opened into a painful cry. The warmth left Charles' chest, guilt settling in, and Charles wanted to bat Hank's hand away immediately.
Instead, he just held David a little more tighter, careful not to move him too much as Hank finished taking the blood.
"I'm sorry," Charles mumbled, one hand moving to brush against the baby's cheek. "I'm sorry, it's almost over."
David didn't look up at him, screaming his lungs out as he cried. Once Hank moved the needle with the blood away and placed a small ball of cotton to where it was before, Charles pulled the baby up, leaning back a bit on the chair he was sitting on and pressing David's head to his chest as he made shushing sounds.
Hank seemed to be watching everything, but Charles' attention was on the crying baby in his arms, hugging him close and promising it was over now, that it would stop hurting now. Slowly, as Charles calmly talked to David and pressed his lips to the top of the baby's head, David started calming down again, eyes still wet with tears but there were no more screams. He looked up at Charles when he fixed the baby in his arms, no smile anymore, but Charles smiled at him anyway.
After a few seconds, David cooed softly, small hand grabbing at Charles' finger and holding it tightly, bright grey eyes that Charles could see becoming blue like his someday looking up at Charles with that same curiosity as before. Charles knew the child had already forgiven him for the pain.
When Hank approached again with a new needle to take Charles' blood, David's eyes moved to it, his grip on Charles' finger getting tighter as he whined quietly and threatened to cry again. Charles only shushed him, raising the sleeve of his shirt and keeping his eyes on David. The baby seemed to follow the needle at the same time as he wanted to stay looking up at Charles.
"It's alright," Charles' voice was soft, in a way that it hadn't been for years now. David's attention went back to him, mouth still pouting as if he was on the verge of crying. "It's my turn now, you're okay."
He felt the pinch of the needle in his arm, seeing David whine again as he looked at it, as if he was distressed by the fact that the needle was hurting Charles now. Charles only smiled down at him and hummed quietly to a song he remembered his mother would sing to him when he was a child, before she stopped caring about him. The sound seemed to attract David's attention again, and the baby only stared with wide eyes full of wonder as Charles hummed to him. The small and chubby hand kept its grip on Charles' finger the whole time.
HANK
The lights of the grocery shop aisle flickered as Hank stared at the different kinds of baby formula on the shelves, sighing to himself and closing his eyes for a second. He felt tired out of his mind at the idea that now he'd have to take care of a baby. Charles' son or not, Hank knew Charles wasn't able to take care of himself most days, let alone a child, which could only mean that David would be his responsibility now.
In a way, it wouldn't feel much different — Lord knew Charles was the equivalent of a child sometimes, too drunk to even move by himself some days and depending on Hank to stay alive. Even so, the boy who had been left at the door of the mansion was a literal baby, fragile and in need of someone's care to survive, while Charles had the option of caring for himself some days. He could already feel the weariness in his bones.
"He's your son," he had said earlier to Charles, who was still holding the baby tightly in his arms, not putting him down once, curiously. "He's really your son. How- When did you even leave the house?"
There had been silence for a while, hesitation clear in Charles' face as if he had been choosing his words carefully.
"I leave sometimes," his voice was quiet, a confession. "Late at night… I think the last time I- I was with a woman was over a year ago."
Hank chose to ignore the fact that Charles had been leaving in the dead of night, deciding to bring that up another time. "I thought you didn't… like women… Not that way."
Charles had blushed, his lips pursing for a moment as he looked away from Hank. All that Hank knew about Charles' love life was Erik, and the tragedy that it turned out to be.
"I do… I guess you could say I swing both ways…"
Now, Hank took the baby formula in hands, reading its nutritional value as he sighed heavily again. He couldn't get stressed there, not in the middle of the grocery store where everyone would see him turn blue and be covered with fur — that would probably be the nail in the coffin for him.
As he paid for everything, the cashier gave him a weird look. He guessed it did look strange to be buying baby formula, wet wipes and a bottle to feed a baby while also buying two large bottles of wine and a bottle of scottish whiskey, but nothing else.
"Two kinds of babies to feed," he said awkwardly, seeing the cashier frown and look away from him. He only nodded, feeling his cheeks burn as he regretted opening his mouth.
He parked the car and looked at the mansion with weary eyes, the big and opulent Xavier House dark, almost no lights on even if it was nighttime. After the students left, the house had become empty, and Hank sometimes felt like he was one of the ghosts that haunted the old corridors. A house that was definitely meant for more than two people to live in sometimes seemed to fill its empty spaces with shadows and ghosts, many of which only Charles could see — he had lost count of how many times Charles would stare at an empty room, and Hank would wonder sometimes what the telepath was seeing.
Sometimes, he noticed, Charles would stand in the doorway of an empty master suite close to his own room, staring at everything inside with a lost gaze that had nothing to do with the alcohol he had consumed. Hank had entered the room once, when Charles was asleep from passing out from exhaustion in his study's couch, and found old photo albums. He had stared at the picture of a happy family in one of them for a while, watching curiously the couple smiling and the baby in their arms, peaceful, with no worries about anything yet. When he took the photo out to look at the back of it, Hank had sighed as he saw the pristine handwriting saying "Charles, 6 months old, Westchester. Our little sunshine."
Sometimes, Charles would stand in the doorway of the room that belonged to Erik years ago when he was there, before Cuba and before Charles became that broken man that stood in the halls of the Westchester mansion as if he still could see every single person that stepped in that mansion still walking around. Sometimes, Hank would hear him breaking things in there, locking the door right after so Hank wouldn't enter and fix the mess he was making inside of that room. He didn't think it was helping Charles at all to let his anger and hurt out like this, on the ghost of the man who helped Charles turn into what he was now, but he stopped trying to argue after a while. Charles never really listened anyway.
Now, the house would be occupied by three, but Hank didn't think the ghosts would go away, even with their new addition to the family — if he could even call it that.
He got out of the car after a while of staring at the mansion, taking the bags with him to bring them inside and take them to the kitchen so he could make David's food quickly. The baby was probably already starving by now.
As he entered, he was hit by Charles' voice coming from the study, quiet and soft like it hadn't been in a while, and Hank frowned immediately as he noticed Charles was singing.
He took slow steps there, as if he could end up scaring Charles into stopping if he made any brusque movements, and stared at the room from the door. Charles was indeed singing, his voice breaking at some notes but he didn't seem to mind, with David carefully placed in his arms as Charles moved — danced — around the room with him. It seemed like Hank was dreaming for a moment, his mind taking a moment to grasp the idea that this was truly Charles, and that Charles was singing and dancing with a baby in his arms, who seemed to coo back at Charles a few times as if he wanted to accompany his father in he melody.
After a moment, Charles noticed Hank there, stopping and blushing for a moment while David seemed to be upset that he wasn't moving and singing anymore, his small arms flailing around as he made a loud noise of protest.
"He was crying," Charles explained, ignoring David's complaints in his arms as the baby made a few "a" and "o" sounds. "I think he's hungry…"
"I brought the baby formula." Hank raised the bags he had in his hand then, Charles' eyes going to them before he nodded. "I can get a bottle ready and take David to feed him."
Charles hesitated, blinking a few times before holding the baby tightly again, as if the idea of handing him to Hank terrified him. Hank only frowned at that.
"You should rest. I can feed him," Charles said, finally seeming to notice how David was starting to get more upset at the sudden stop, moving him to place the baby's head on his shoulder as his hands held David safely there. For a moment, David seemed distracted by his own hand, trying valiantly to shove his whole fist into his mouth. "The baby formula is easy to make, right?"
"I'll make it and give it to you, what do you think?" Hank offered, still looking at Charles curiously with the way he seemed adamant on keeping David in his arms. "I don't think it's safe for you to make it with a baby in your arms considering the hot water."
"Right, of course… Thank you, Hank."
"It's no problem." Both of them looked at David at the loud noise he made, as if he wanted to be part of the conversation; Hank watched as a smile appeared on Charles' lips as he looked down at the baby. "I'll leave you to keep calming him down while I make his food… Have you had dinner?"
Charles made a dismissive sound that could be interpreted as a yes, but Hank knew well the answer was no. When he left the study, Charles' voice filling the empty halls again as he sang, he thought of easy things to cook to give Charles so he'd eat something as well.
CHARLES
The crickets were loud that night, their sound coming in from the open window and filling the room as David made small sounds in Charles' arms. The room was dark, the table lamp of Charles' desk the only light source there as he sat with his legs crisscrossed on the small couch, placing David carefully over his legs, fitting the baby there so he wouldn't fall as he took the bottle of baby formula Hank had made in hand. His own dinner sat untouched at the desk.
He tested how hot it was on the back of his hand, feeling it lukewarm against his skin, just warm enough for David to eat but not hot enough for it to burn his mouth. David cooed loudly for a moment, looking at the bottle as if he knew what that was, reaching for it with tiny hands.
"Alright, alright," Charles mumbled, putting the bottle aside to pick the baby up and cradle him in his arms again, fixing the blankets that covered the child — new and clean ones that Hank had gotten once he got back from the grocery store. "You're hungry, I know."
David, in response, cooed at Charles again, his brow furrowing in an endearing way that made Charles chuckle softly as he picked up the bottle.
Charles watched with some wonder as David started drinking the formula as soon as the tip of the bottle touched his mouth, small hands moving to touch Charles' hand as it held the bottle up. Charles pulled the bottle back a little when he noticed David was eating too fast — probably very hungry, the poor thing — barely stopping to breathe while he did it. David complained for a moment before Charles allowed him to keep going, going cross eyed for a moment as he ate and making Charles smile again. When David started drinking the formula in less of a hurry, hands still holding onto Charles' hand as if to keep it there, Charles relaxed a bit, only watching the baby with a warmth that felt comfortable in his chest.
Holding David seemed to bring him comfort he hadn't felt in a while, and he could feel a small amount of joy and what felt like love filling him, making some of the constant pain and anger he constantly felt go away. With a frown, however, Charles realized those weren't his feelings.
He blinked a few times, trying to see if he wasn't wrong about it, but he could feel a familiar feeling of a shared emotion touching his mind, although he was sure the serum was still numbing his telepathy. He looked at David more intently, watching the baby closing his eyes as weariness started taking over now that his hunger was no longer a problem, and Charles could feel that weariness touching his mind, a quiet buzz against his own feelings, making Charles' breathing stop for a moment.
David was like him.
"Oh, my darling," Charles mumbled, feeling his voice tremble. His chest tightened with a feeling he knew all too well: guilt. "I'm sorry…"
David didn't seem to mind Charles' words, but his brow furrowed again, that joy from before getting dimmer, as if he could feel the conflict in Charles' mind, making the telepath try his best to push it down, to not be a motive of pain to David — he didn't deserve to carry the burden Charles carried, to feel all the pain around him, and yet, in a way, Charles had passed that burden to him.
Charles' hands trembled, his throat closing as he felt the urge to cry, and David whined around the bottle. With a quiet effort, Charles shielded his mind from him, a trick he had learned to do thanks to Erik a long time ago, to keep David's telepathy away as long as he wasn't actively looking. David calmed down again, his face becoming serene as Charles felt the first tears fall from his eyes.
"I'm sorry…" Charles whispered, the arm holding David tightening a little, his tears falling on the blanket that kept the baby warm. "I'm so sorry… Of all the gifts, you got the one that's a curse."
David made a small sound as he kept drinking the baby formula, his fingers grabbing at Charles' hand a little tighter, not letting go for a second. Charles felt himself sob.
The sky outside was starting to turn blue as morning came, that deep blue light of dawn entering the study and painting everything with its color as Charles stared at it, feeling the baby on top of his chest breathing calmly. Charles knew he wouldn't be able to sleep if he left David on a bed alone, no crib for him to be safe in, so he just laid on the couch, taking the blanket that was thrown there and putting it over himself and the baby, feeling David sleep almost immediately as he curled over Charles' chest.
In the end, Charles didn't sleep either way, too busy staring at the small sleeping child to close his eyes.
In the little dawn light that hit them, David looked comfortable, small hands closed in fists where they rested, projecting a quiet sense of safety as he felt Charles' warmth and the beating of Charles' heart against his ear. The soft feeling pouring from the child felt like some kind of love only a baby could feel — the love for the person protecting them, giving them warmth and holding them close. It was innocent and raw, and it made Charles hold David a little closer, pressing his lips against the baby's head a few times even if he still felt guilty over the fact David was a telepath like him.
In a way, he knew exactly why he immediately wanted to take care of David, why he was holding him close at all times and making sure to never let the baby feel like he was alone like he probably felt when he was left on Charles' doorstep. It was his biggest flaw, probably, the need of care for someone and to be needed by someone.
"You're fragile, and you need me. That's all I ever wanted, isn't it? For someone to need me?" Charles said quietly, his hand running through David's soft dark hair, careful not to wake up the baby.
In his sleep, David made a soft sound, his colorful dreams being projected around the room for Charles to see, a mixture of colors and feelings, and occasionally the face of a woman and then Charles' face, both laced with that same love and warmth — Charles recognized the woman's face, sighing as he knew that was David's mother. Maybe she had brought David there once she felt what her son could do, and was afraid of him. It didn't seem too hard to believe that, and it made Charles press his lips to David's head again, knowing what it was like to have people fear them for something they never asked to be able to do.
"You need me, but I was never enough for anyone, was I?" Charles continued, eyes open as he stared at the shadows in the room. "I was never enough for Raven, I fucked up with her and she left. And Erik… Erik never needed me, did he? I needed him, and I wanted him to need me too. He left in the end as well, left me broken on that beach… God, how will I ever be enough for you?"
David stirred in his sleep, upset with something as his dreams started to turn a little more agitated, the feelings turning from warm to something cold — the equivalent of a nightmare for a baby, Charles supposed.
He shielded his mind again, pushing away the bad feelings and taking a deep breath. David seemed to calm down immediately after.
"I will try either way," he whispered, eyes staring at the way David's face seemed calm in his sleep, lips slightly parted as his cheek rested against Charles' chest. "I grew up without someone to help me with my gift, but I can help you with yours, and maybe that'll be enough. Maybe you won't hate me for passing my burden to you- maybe I will be able to be exactly what you need, teach you how to not make the same mistakes I made. And maybe when you leave me it won't hurt like it did with all the others."
David didn't stir again, his breathing calm and his dreams warm once more, a glimpse of Charles' face crossing the baby's mind. He could swear David smiled against his chest at it.
"I promise I'll try."
HANK
There were moments where Hank wondered how he hadn't snapped at Charles more often, where he was impressed at his patience with the other man. Maybe it was because he saw the state the man was in, the way Charles seemed to be so close to breaking irremediably that he didn't want to be the reason for it to happen. Or maybe he was just more compassionate than he thought, taking care of Charles with the knowledge that the man needed some softness and patience in his life at the moment, where everything to him felt like jagged edges.
And, to the telepath's credit, Charles wasn't much for testing Hank's patience, except when he did. The day Charles almost drank himself to death after Hank asked him to stop and go eat and rest was still engraved in Hank's mind, the way Charles convulsed on the ground from a seizure still feeling like a nightmare. He had laid Charles on his side on the ground that day, kicking the almost empty bottle of alcohol away from him as if it was poison — and, good God, at that moment it had been — before making a quick decision to take Charles to the closest hospital.
Charles hated hospitals. Hank thought once that it was because of Cuba, but a drunken Charles had told him that it was because of something else, from when he was a child. He never told Hank what it was, but it was enough for Hank to know that Cuba and the closing of the school was just the breaking point from a series of disgraces Charles had to face in his life.
When he had woken up — finally — at the hospital, Charles had flinched, had said he didn't want to be there. That was the moment where Hank broke, where he screamed at Charles for his drinking, for almost dying like that, and Charles had looked down and away from Hank's gaze like a child receiving a scolding.
"I won't do it again," Charles had said after hours of silence, Hank's tired eyes finally going back to him. Charles seemed devastated. "I don't want to go the same way as my mother…"
Hank had sighed, his patience coming back to him then as he gave Charles a little pat on the shoulder and, although Charles drank heavily still, Hank noticed he always stopped, that he never allowed himself to go too far again. It had been years now since the overdose; Charles had kept his promise, and Hank hadn't snapped at him anymore.
That day, however, he couldn't hold himself back again, not after watching Charles go pale all of the sudden while carrying David snuggly in his arms. Not after seeing his eyes roll to the back of his head and his whole body lose strength as he fell to the ground. Not after having to be quick — and thanking any god that listened that he was close, that he was able to see the moment it happened — so he could grab both Charles and the baby before they both fell to the ground.
David cried in his father's arms, probably startled from the fall, but Charles stayed unconscious.
Hank took the baby first, checking Charles' breathing and his heart before bolting with David to the small playpen he had assembled for him, placing David down on the soft ground of it with what he hoped was a calm smile as the baby still whined. There was a mind reaching for his then, a strong wave of fear and the need of comfort hitting Hank and almost making him stumble — David was projecting, and quite strongly, how he wanted Charles back to hold him.
"It's alright, little guy. He'll be back with you soon."
He tried to be reassuring, to help David's mind see that it would be fine, and David only looked at him with wide eyes filled with unshed tears and a pout on his mouth as he threaded on the line of crying and not crying. When David didn't cry, Hank bolted back to Charles, the man still lying unconscious on the ground.
He checked Charles again, letting out a shuddering breath of relief as he saw his breathing and his heartbeat seemed normal, before he picked the man up from the ground and took him to the small room which Hank had dedicated as a make-shift infirmary — and God knew they needed one of those with Charles around, even more now with David. He wasn't having a seizure, which was good, but Hank had no idea what had caused the fainting. He strapped the telepath to an IV bag and waited, trying to figure out what to do. Faintly, he felt David's mind around his, seemingly distracted now as he played with a few toys they had gotten him, although there was still an underlying annoyance to his thoughts since Charles wasn't there with him.
It was only when Charles woke up that Hank understood the reason for the fainting, when the telepath refused to eat something because it was time for feeding David.
"When was the last time you ate?" Hank asked, his voice tight already as he pushed down the rising anger.
Charles waved with his hand, saying with the most unsure voice Hank had ever heard, "Yesterday during dinner."
Hank took a deep breath. "Your dinner was untouched in the kitchen yesterday."
"Well, my bad I guess," Charles mumbled, trying to sit up, blinking a few times as if the movement had made him dizzy. "Can you take the IV out please?"
"You haven't been eating." Charles' eyes went to him at the accusatory tone in his voice. "You have been taking care of David these past few days but you have been ignoring yourself."
"That's hardly true," Charles said, and yet he didn't seem to believe it himself.
"What's your plan here, Charles? Starve yourself to death and leave your son without a father as well?"
"No-"
"I can see how much you care for him, because Lord knows he's the first living being you cared about this much ever since this place closed, but you can't do this." Hank ran his hands through his face, trying to calm down. David's mind still loomed around them, and he was able to hear the loud sound of protest when Hank started to get mad.
Meanwhile, Charles looked like a child being reprimanded, shrinking on himself and watching Hank warily. Hank took another deep breath, hearing David screaming from the other room — not crying, only complaining for the way Hank's mind had turned mad in the only way the baby knew how to. His eyes moved to Charles again, a question bubbling up to the surface of his mind and making his palms turn cold as he feared the answer.
"Do you want to die, Charles?"
Charles stopped for a moment, blinking at Hank as he clearly was taken aback by the question. Hank only stared at him, tired, waiting for an answer.
"No." The answer came in a quiet but sure voice. "No, I don't."
Hank nodded, something relaxing inside of him as Charles told him that. He had never been sure, if he was honest.
"Good. I don't want you to die either, and neither does David." Although his voice had softened, there was still irritation to it — Charles didn't want to die, and yet he seemed to do his very best to get close to death sometimes. "I'll take care of him for the rest of the day. You'll rest and I'll get you something to eat so you can stop your starvation- and don't complain. Maybe think of that the next time you think of starving yourself."
Hank took the IV from Charles' arm, helping him up and to the kitchen to give him something light and that wouldn't upset his stomach after the time he spent without eating, leaving him by himself as he took the bottle of baby formula to feed David in the other room. The baby didn't seem too happy that it was Hank there, whining a bit and sending a quick and strong projection of Charles' face, wanting his dad there.
Even so, he didn't complain much when Hank picked him up and fed him, frowning at Hank's face as if it wasn't the one he wanted to see, but projecting a quiet warmth from finally eating, Hank's face becoming more tolerable by the second to him.
"You're very demanding, aren't you?" Hank said. In response, David made a noise around the bottle before eagerly going back to drinking the formula. "Don't worry, your father will be back to feeding you in no time. He has you as incentive now, I guess."
CHARLES
It took a few days of eating properly under Hank's hard and worried gaze until Hank allowed him to feed and carry David around again. In the meantime, at least, David had warmed up to Hank, babbling up a storm at him and constantly going for the man's glasses. Charles had been witness to the day when David managed to be faster than Hank, pulling the glasses from the man's face and shoving the thick lenses against his mouth to lick and bite at it.
Charles couldn't remember the last time he had laughed that hard, to the point where his stomach hurt. David had watched him laugh with wide eyes as Hank got his glasses back, accompanying him after a while, completely oblivious to what he was laughing about. The sound was incredibly sweet to hear, and even Hank couldn't help but smile.
Now, David was clinging onto Hank as he slept in the taller man's arms, making Charles smile. For all the awkwardness Hank had when Charles met him, and still had sometimes, Hank was also a lovely man, which David seemed to catch on quickly, projecting a feeling of safety as Hank held him. Charles surely didn't know if he would even be alive at that exact moment if Hank hadn't been around to take care of him.
Carefully, Charles took the sleeping baby from Hank's arms, fixing David until he was comfortable and pressing his nose to the dark locks of David's hair, feeling something in himself relax at the nice smell of baby shampoo and formula on his son. It was strange for a moment how Charles had never thought about kids, too busy with his own education and his dreams and ambitions to ever stop to think about settling down — let alone the fact he didn't even know if he'd ever settle down with a woman —, while now he couldn't help but hold David close and not want to let him go, to feel the quick beating of the baby's heart against him, or the little noises he made in his sleep.
It was a small ray of light in the middle of all the darkness Charles found himself into, even with all the guilt and fear he felt towards the baby.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Hank asked, his voice worried and soft as he looked at Charles. If Charles had any kind of self-respect, he thought quietly to himself, he'd fall for someone who looked at him like that. Maybe if he did he wouldn't be where he was now.
"I am," he replied, running a hand through his son's back and sighing into his hair. David projected a kind of calm after that, as if the gestures were appreciated. "And I won't let it happen again, I promise."
"I trust you," Hank nodded, a quiet smile on his lips now before his face turned serious. "Charles, I was thinking… David's a telepath like you. Wouldn't it be better if you stopped taking the serum? So you could, you know, help him…"
Charles looked back at him, his words swimming around Charles' head for a few moments. Stopping the serum would mean all the voices would be back, and that he wouldn't be able to walk anymore. He'd need to take out the dusty wheelchair that was hidden in the closet, away from his own eyes; he'd need to go back to feeling all of that pain, both his and others'. He couldn't do it.
"I'll- I'll teach him when he's older," Charles said, eyes avoiding Hank's as shame took hold of him. He didn't want to see judgment in Hank's eyes again. "He's doing fine, so far. Maybe his telepathy isn't even as strong as mine… And- I can't. I can't."
"Alright," Hank said, his voice calm, even if Charles could hear a bit of disappointment in it. "Well, there's a bottle ready for David when he wakes up."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Hank walked away after a long look at Charles that Charles wasn't able to reciprocate, leaving him with his son in the room. Charles sat down slowly, holding the baby tightly in his arms, and allowed him to sleep, nose still sometimes burying itself in David's dark hair, feeling the soft and thin locks against his skin.
"Don't be ashamed of me," Charles whispered, begged, feeling his voice tremble.
In his sleep, David's hand grabbed at Charles' shirt tightly, a short sound leaving his lips as a wave of warmth and that innocent love came from the baby's mind.