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Walk any path in Destiny's garden, and you will be forced to choose, not once but many times. The paths fork and divide. With each step you take through Destiny's garden, you make a choice; and every choice determines future paths.
However, at the end of a lifetime of walking you might look back, and see only one path stretching out behind you.
-The Sandman
Moira misses.
Or, well, she would have. The bullet’s going to hit him in the shoulder, and it won’t kill him, but it’ll slow him down. He deflects it, and he keeps walking towards her, eyes hard, daring her, try that again.
But he only takes a step before he hears a choked cry, and Raven screams, “Charles!” and everything stops.
When he turns his head, Charles is clutching his chest, knees buckling. There’s blood spreading through his suit. Erik wonders, distantly, how much blood it takes to seep through waterproof fabric.
He drops to his knees, catching Charles before he goes face first into the sand, running his hands over his face, through his hair, mumbling, “No, nonono, Charles, no, no.”
The breath leaves his chest, something like nausea rocking him.
Distantly, he hears missiles fall into the ocean.
“Erik— Erik, what’s happened?” Charles’s eyes are wide, and they go wider when he coughs. “It hurts, fuck, that really hurts.”
Erik feels around for the bullet. It’s somewhere in the sand.
It’s gone straight through him, then.
A clean exit wound. That’s supposed to be a good thing. But the blood isn’t stopping, and Charles is trembling and his skin is turning ashen.
The wound’s just over his heart. Charles touches the place where there's surely a hole in chest, and his eyes go wide when he puts together what’s happened, a pained noise ripping itself from his throat. In his mind, Charles says, I saw this plenty of times in Korea. I haven’t got long.
Rage and grief and shock all boil in Erik’s chest at once. He’s going to kill Moira, he’s— the thought stops in its tracks, like Charles has snuffed it out. Erik forgets what he’d been thinking about.
“Erik.” Charles reaches up to touch his cheek. There’s blood on his hand, and he’s smeared it onto Erik’s skin, but Erik barely feels it. It feels like it’s happening to someone else. “Stay here. Stay with me.”
“We need to stop the bleeding,” he hears himself say.
“Erik. It’s too late. Please.” Charles’s voice is cracking. He sounds scared, and Erik realizes there are tears on his cheeks. “Please. Be here.”
“Charles, it’s not too late, please.” He’s never heard himself sound so afraid, never let himself feel so afraid, not since he was a little boy.
In his mind, Charles’s voice is firm, strong. Stay with me. Be here. I don’t have much time.
Raven falls to her knees beside them. She’s screaming.
“You did this, you—“ Before she’s even got a firm grip on Erik’s shoulders, Charles touches his temple, and her eyes soften, her face crumbling.
Charles is stopping her from killing Erik, probably. She should, Erik deserves it, but Charles needs him right now. She can do it later.
Tears are rolling silently down Raven’s cheeks as her rage falls away, replaced with heartbreak. She takes Charles’s hand and kisses his knuckles.
“I love you,” she chokes. “I love you, okay? Forget every dumb thing I ever said. You saved my life, and you’re my brother, and I love you.”
Erik knows if Charles had even the slimmest chance of surviving, Raven would be telling him to fight, doing everything in her power to save him. But they both know he doesn't.
“And I love you,” Charles says, voice thick with tears. He touches her temple, showing her something, and she nods. She stands, squeezing Erik’s shoulder, revenge forgotten.
“Tell him while you can,” she says, softly.
She’d said as much to him last night. I know you love my brother. It’s okay. He loves you, too. You should tell him. We don’t know what will happen tomorrow.
And he hadn’t, because he was an idiot. Because he wanted to believe that after he killed Shaw, he might be the sort of person who could love Charles.
And now he’d killed Charles, too, before he had the chance to love him.
Raven walks away, and they’re alone.
“Charles, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’d never hurt you.” He’s shaking so hard he’s vibrating. He remembers this pain, he has his whole life, but it was dull with memory. Now, it’s sharp like there’s a hot knife in his chest, panic and devastation mingling. It feels like the bones in his chest are being crushed. “Charles, I–” Erik can’t get it out. I love you, he thinks, instead, as hard as he can.
“I know,” Charles says.
He touches Erik’s temple now, and he shows him everything:
Charles, throwing himself into the ocean for a man he’s never met, touching the most honest mind he’s ever touched, hearing Erik so clearly, his thoughts sharp through the buzzing of the rest of the world. Charles knowing in that moment he’d never be the same.
Erik deciding to stay, the delight Charles had felt. Erik driving while they were on their trip, Charles dozing in the passenger seat, watching him through half-open eyes and thinking about how very gentle he looked when he thought no one was watching.
The first night Charles had kissed him, fear thrumming between them, Erik saying, “Charles, just— look,” and touching their foreheads together, Charles brushing over his thoughts and seeing that Erik wasn’t afraid of him, and he wanted him, too.
Charles smiling at him when he’s focused on a chess game, marveling to himself about how Erik’s come to love him.
Love him.
“How long—?”
“I’ve known since you kissed me, that night. And I love you, too. Since the start.” The next breath Charles lets out is labored, like he’d used all his strength to enter Erik’s mind. “I’m cold,” he mumbles. His eyes are starting to drift from Erik’s.
Erik kisses his forehead, brushing a sweat-drenched lock of hair away. He hears ragged sobbing, and he realizes it’s his own. “It’s okay, Charles. It’s okay. I love you. I’m here.”
“Take care of them,” Charles says. He coughs. There’s blood. “Take them home.” His eyes are bluer than they’ve ever been, his skin fever-hot when Erik brushes his thumb through his tears. “Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“I can hear you thinking you’re a monster,” Charles rasps. “You’re not. You’re not, and. No more destroying, okay? When I’m gone.” Use those hands to build something, Charles thinks. Take care of them.
The pain in Erik’s chest is so deep now, he can hardly speak. But he nods.
Everything around him is dimming. He can hear Alex and Sean and Hank somewhere in his periphery, can hear Moira and Raven, all of them watching Charles. But he can’t see anything but Charles, there in his arms, for the last time.
"The ocean’s beautiful today, Erik,” Charles mumbles, his head lolling. Erik follows his gaze. The waves are so gentle, so blue, like the universe has no idea Charles Xavier is dying.
He won’t ever be able to look at the ocean again. Or maybe it’s all he’ll see again. Maybe he’ll never leave this beach. Maybe he’ll lay down and stay here with Charles. He can’t imagine ever standing again, dizziness setting in, acid in his throat. He can’t imagine anything coming next.
Charles nudges his way into Erik’s thoughts. It feels warm, like it always has. Stay with me until I go, okay?
I’ll go with you as far as I can. Erik wishes he could follow him wherever he’s going. But he knows his heart’s going with Charles, and that’s going to have to be enough. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.
Shhh. I love you.
I’m here. It’s alright . Erik brushes his fingers through Charles’s hair, humming an old Hebrew lullabye, because it’s the only comforting thing he knows how to do. Charles had only just started teaching him how to touch with loving intent, without wanting to hurt. “You can let go now, darling.” He forces himself to say it out loud, voice raw and alien. The blackness around the edges of his vision is closing in.
Erik wants to scream, wants to vomit. He wants to crush all the ships surrounding them, all of the metal singing to him out in the sea. He could kill everyone on this beach, he thinks, dimly. He reaches inside himself, for the fire of hatred and anger. It’s growing now, gasoline poured all over it. But he can’t draw any power from it: The burning’s eating him alive and he can’t move.
He’ll do it later. He’ll tear the Earth up by its core. Later.
He hears Raven cry out, hears her body hit the sand, hears her scream Charles’s name. It sounds like there’s cotton in his ears.
In his arms, blue eyes close. Charles’s breathing is more and more shallow. The panic spikes in Erik’s chest, thinking he’ll never see those eyes again. He wants to beg Charles to look at him.
That warm presence in his mind is receding. Charles is sending him waves of calm, of it’s going to be okay, you’re going to be alright, but they’re getting weaker and fainter. Erik doesn’t speak or move. He wants this to be peaceful for Charles, and if he opens his mouth, he’s afraid he’ll scream and never stop.
He tries to keep his thoughts on a loop of I love you, you’re safe, I’m here.., cradling Charles in his arms as tenderly as he can.
The last thing he hears from Charles is It doesn't hurt anymore, Erik. And he’s hit with a wave of vertigo as images of Charles as a boy knock into him, bruised and bloodied from his stepfather’s fist, then staring at his stepbrother’s unseeing eyes when he’d lost control of his powers trying to fend him off. He sees Charles in Korea, touching the minds of dying men, saving some and granting some a peaceful end. He sees Charles, in the Blackbird, screaming as he feels a coin rip through his skull. He sees himself, through Shaw’s eyes, putting the helmet on. None of it hurts anymore.
Charles shows him his own face, then, and shoves all the feelings off a deep and protective and heartbreaking love into his consciousness.
And then he’s gone, the link between them flatlining. And it’s just Erik and the sound of the ocean. Or maybe he is screaming, now. Everything’s warped, and he’s leaning over Charles’s body, kissing everywhere he can reach, and Moira’s trying to tell him they need to go, he needs to let them take Charles home, but he doesn’t want anyone else to touch him—
And then he’s falling, and he’s so disoriented already he doesn’t realize how little sense that makes. His knees hit hard ground, and it hurts, and he crumbles, his head in his hands, dizzy and broken. He can hear himself, still sobbing, sounding just this side of insane as he mumbles “no, nonono.” Charles isn’t in his arms anymore.
Erik guesses he blacked out from the grief, lost a few hours of memory. It feels that strong, like it could kill him.
Everything’s bright, and his stomach lurches as his senses snap back into him. He’s definitely going to vomit this time, he’s going to–
Then, somehow, impossibly, crouching in front of him is— “Charles?”
“Erik, darling. It’s me, I promise.” Charles is pale as a ghost, but he’s there, he’s alive. It sounds like he’s underwater, and Erik’s ears are ringing, and he has no idea what’s happening or if any of this is real, but he can see Charles, can blink helplessly at those blue eyes, and that’s enough, he’ll take it, he’ll take anything… “Erik, Erik, breathe.”
Charles grips Erik’s cheeks in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. Erik’s trying, he is, but he’s just gulping air, unable to get it into his chest. He reaches out, hand trembling as he touches Charles’s face. Charles feels real.
“Charles, you– I killed you, you died, I saw you,” Erik gasps out, his cheeks itchy from tears, his chest heaving. He’s not getting enough air, and it hurts, now that he can feel it. “What the fuck is happening, what–”
“Darling, I’m sorry to do this, but you need to calm down.” Charles touches Erik’s forehead, and suddenly, he can breathe again. “There, deep breath, okay? I am not dead. You did not kill me. I’m right here.”
“I saw…”
“I saw it, too,” Charles says softly, “It wasn’t real. It wasn’t, I promise. Do you remember where we are?”
“We were on a beach, in Cuba, we…” Erik looks around, taking stock of their surroundings. It’s an unassuming room, presumably a living room, with a deep purple upholstered sofa and a forest green loveseat. The fireplace is on. Where…?
“We came to see a mutant. Rachel. Rachel Nelson. Do you remember?” Charles says slowly.
Erik tries. He does remember, vaguely. Recruiting. Their road trip. Rachel. He looks past Charles — there’s a woman, pale faced, thin with mousy brown hair. She’s wringing her hands, eyes cast down. Everything’s still fuzzy, but he remembers introducing himself, shaking her hand.
“I don’t understand.” He’s never heard himself sound this weak, this confused, but Charles had been dead. He’d felt the hot sun, and the sand. He’d smelled the blood. So much of it.
“She’s precognitive, Erik.” Charles, cautiously, sets his hand on one trembling shoulder, brushing his thumb up and down Erik’s bicep. “When you touched her hand, she showed you… Well, a version of the future. But we’re not there. We’re in Virginia, somewhere, and I’m alive. I’m right here.”
“You were dead,” Erik mumbles. It’s the only thing he can think of.
Charles looks behind him, at the girl— Rachel. “I think he might be in a bit of shock. Can you give us a moment of privacy?”
“Sure. I’ll just. Step into the kitchen,” Rachel says. She looks at Erik, brown eyes bright with tears. She’s barely more than a teenager. “I’m so sorry. I can’t control it.”
“It’s not your fault, dear,” Charles says. “Just. A moment, please.”
“Of course.” She crosses the house, leaving them alone.
Erik’s vision is swimming, still. He barely registers her go. God, if this is real, he’ll never ask for anything again. He could forget Shaw, if he had to.
“You were dead,” he whispers again. Charles says something in response, but Erik can’t hear it.
He never had a chance to save his mother. He’s a grown man, strong enough to move a satellite dish, and he still might not be able to save Charles. That knowledge settles heavy and dreadful in his chest.
He thinks maybe he’s having a fit, oscillating between reality, Charles’s dead body in his arms, and watching his mother collapse onto the ground. It’s all blurring, converging.
Erik. Focus. Focus on me. Charles’s voice is loud and firm in his head, pulling him out of the cyclone of memories.
Erik’s scaring Charles, he can tell. He tries to look at him, focus on him.
Charles starts unbuttoning his shirt, pushing his undershirt up. “Here, darling,” he says, grabbing Erik’s hand and pushing it against his bare skin. “Feel. Look. I’m fine.”
Erik spreads his hand out over his skin, bare and unmarred, perfect. Charles has always been surprisingly sturdy, constant. Charles’s heart is pounding under Erik’s palm. But it’s beating. He makes himself picture Charles’s blood pumping, his bright eyes, the way he looks terrified but thrumming with life.
“Erik, please tell me you can hear me. It wasn’t real. I’m right here. I’m not hurt, love, I’m fine,” Charles says. “No wound, no blood, see?” I’m right here, he reiterates in Erik’s head. It’s a relief, after that awful moment where he couldn’t feel Charles anymore.
“I can hear you. I’m sorry,” Erik croaks. “Charles…” He can’t voice what he needs.
Luckily, Charles has never really needed telepathy to understand him. He’s got Erik in his arms in a moment, his little body somehow surrounding Erik, gripping him tight. They probably look ridiculous, never having gotten off of the floor, Charles with his legs tucked up under him, Erik collapsed against him. But he can smell Charles, can feel him, nails biting into Erik’s back, real.
Erik’s not sure how much time passes like that. He stops shaking, after a while, though he’s sure the shaken feeling inside him won’t dissipate for a long time. He feels smaller than he ever has, here in Charles’s arms.
“Do you think you can go out to the car?” Charles asks eventually. “Let me talk to Rachel?”
“I don’t…” It feels like the past 20 years of building his armor is failing. If he could complete a sentence, he’d say he doesn’t want to let Charles out of his sight. He feels helpless at the thought. And he doesn’t need to be sent out of the room while the adults talk. But he’s also not sure he can be in the room with Rachel again, and she’s a mutant who needs their help.
“Erik. I’ll be right here.” Charles brushes his fingers over Erik’s temple. “I think you’re scaring her. You melted the doorknob, and her good Shabbat candlesticks.”
Erik lets out a tiny laugh. It sounds hysterical, breaking in the middle. “If I feel the link drop for a second, I'm coming back inside,” he says.
“Alright. Can we get off the floor now?”
x
Charles keeps a tendril of thought with Erik, but the panic comes back once they’re apart.
Erik can’t stop seeing it. So much blood. Charles, his Charles.
By the time Charles comes outside, Erik’s vomited on the sidewalk and is sitting a few feet away with his head between his knees.
He’s never felt this unraveled, like losing Charles had ripped him open and everything inside him was spooling out, grief and terror bubbling up and out of him. Charles isn’t actually gone, not yet, he’s only been a few yards away. But the grief’s not leaving him — it’s too powerful, too real, to simply recede.
Charles sits down beside him, brushing an oh, goodness, I’m here now, it’s alright, into his mind and setting a hand on his back.
“Oh, baby,” he says softly, rubbing circles there. It feels nice. Charles is touching him and Charles is alive. Charles has never called him baby before, but Erik doesn’t mind it, doesn’t feel patronized because Charles doesn’t think he’s a child, he just loves him. And besides, he feels like a child, his mother’s ghost just outside of his periphery.
“I killed you,” he says. “You were dead.” He can’t stop following that thought down its winding path, around and around in circles. It’s the most emotion he remembers feeling since he was a child, stronger and bigger than even the discovery that he loved Charles. Like Pandora’s box, he can’t put it back in. It’s changing him, feeling this much, knowing he cares about someone enough to trigger it. “Fuck,” he chokes.
“I can calm you, if you want,” Charles says. He sounds weary. “But I think when I stopped focusing, it all came back. I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”
“No.” Erik’s sure that’s why his panic has ratcheted back up, because Charles let down the wall that was holding it back. If he can’t erase what Erik had seen, it isn’t going anywhere.
Anyway, he has to feel this. Has to know how it feels to lose Charles and make sure he doesn’t.
x
“I love you,” Charles says. It’s the first time, in the real world, and that’s not lost on Erik.
“I love you,” Erik breathes into his mouth, rolling them over, pinning Charles down. He’s trying to focus on the moment, but he keeps feeling the need to make sure Charles is breathing.
“Stop thinking so much,” Charles whispers, smiling at him. He looks gorgeous and just a little scared.
In case it’s the last time, Erik kisses him hard. “Why don’t you make me?”
x
He goes to Cuba to avenge his mother, to avenge her loss, and if he loses Charles, too, there will be no avenging him, because it will be his fault. If he loses Charles, he is not going to walk out of this better. He’s going to walk out of it irreparably broken. Alone again. He’d rather stay where he is, with all of this hate and bitterness and the throbbing hole that’s been slowly bleeding since the day his mother died. He’d rather leave Shaw out there, alive, as long as he’s with Charles.
The realization terrifies him. It comes too late.
“Are you ready for this?” Charles asks him.
His breath is caught in his throat. He’s been ready his entire life, and in this moment, suddenly, all he wants to say is no.
Charles grabs him by the shoulders, so his back hits the wall. He presses their foreheads together. “We’re going to do what we came here to do,” he says, shaking fingers coming up to cup Erik’s cheek.
A few months ago, Charles was at Oxford, and Erik was slitting Nazi throats. Charles is the one that’s supposed to die today, but somehow, he’s the brave one.
“I went back there,” Charles says. “To Rachel. I wanted to… Know how we could stop it.”
“You didn’t tell me.” It’s too late for this. The Blackbird is rattling, and Hank is going over the plan with Alex and Sean. None of them know what he saw in Virginia.
They can’t turn back. This moment is inevitable. It’s been written since he was a child.
Charles shakes his head. “It’s because I have to tell you now. She said I should tell you now.” He takes Erik’s hand in his, linking their fingers, squeezing hard. “She said to tell you. The outcome shifts when you learn to focus on what you have, not what you lost.”
What he has is in front of him. What he has is breathing, and still has a flush to his cheeks. He’s so close his eyelashes are brushing Erik’s face.
“Charles,” he gasps out, kissing him so hard it bruises. “Listen to me. If I go off book, even for a second. If I start to reach for that helmet. Shut me down.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Charles. Whatever it takes. Shut me down.”
He’s done everything he can. He melted Moira’s gun. Charles has planted a block so she can’t fire it.
But the one variable he hasn’t established a failsafe for is himself.
“Okay.” Charles swallows, bringing Erik’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “Alright. Now go.”
He can’t wait any longer. His destiny is approaching.
He lets go of Charles’s hand, and prays he can change it.
x
As soon as Shaw is dead, he melts the helmet.
He stumbles out of the submarine, ears ringing, his entire body vibrating with adrenaline.
There’s something he’s supposed to do now. He remembered it a second ago.
Come back. It’s Charles, in his mind. Come back to me.
His vision is so blurry he’s almost walked right into him. He’s on his knees in the hot sand before he knows what’s happening.
“We have to get out of here,” he wheezes. Charles is still alive. For now. Those must be his hands trying to keep Erik upright.
All around him, he can feel metal warping. There’s something he needs to do. A disaster he is supposed to be stopping. A fight he’s supposed to be ending.
But Shaw is dead. And Charles is alive. Everything else is so far off.
“I don’t want to fight anymore, Charles,” he mumbles, hoping he understands.
“Erik.” Charles sounds scared. He hears something like explosions; there’s smoke in the air behind them. “Hey. Hey. You did it. You stopped the missiles. We’re okay. But you have to stop now.”
“Stop what?” He’s going to be sick. He wishes Charles would hold onto him tighter. He can barely feel him now.
“You’re crushing the boats. You need to calm your mind.” Oh. His powers are screaming at him, but he isn’t doing it on purpose. He’s rattling apart. For once, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.
“I’m not trying to.” He retches; Charles keeps him from going face-first into the ground.
“Darling,” Charles breathes. “I’m sorry for this.”
Everything is black after that.
x
The teleporter takes them home, in the end, in exchange for them letting him and the others go, and maybe a tiny bit of persuasion from Charles.
Erik wakes up as Charles is gripping his elbow and telling him to hold on. His head is still spinning as they find themselves in the front hallway.
The children are watching Erik with weary eyes, all except for Raven, who’s always seen him for what he was.
“There’s blood on your suit,” Charles says quietly. There’s blood on his suit, too. Erik doesn’t know whose it is. “Go and change, alright?” I’ll follow you in a moment, he sends.
Numbly, because Charles told him to, he walks upstairs and peels the flight suit off. An indeterminate amount of time passes with Erik standing underneath the shower, trying to get his senses back, before Charles is in his head: I set out some clothes. Come on, now.
Charles is sitting on the bed when he walks out. He’s alive, and Erik can still count his freckles and he’s showered and changed and he looks warm. He’s wearing pajama pants, and that’s Erik’s crewneck, too big on him.
Charles has set out a tracksuit, and Erik pulls it on. It feels insane that he’s at home, in sweatpants, hours after he murdered the man who killed his mother. It feels insane that after weeks of fear like bile in the back of his throat, they’re back here, both of them alive.
The scene feels too normal. The world doesn’t look different enough.
But that’s not fair. Charles is watching him, those perfect blue eyes soft. The world, his world, is never going to be the same.
He’s frozen with the urge to weep.
“Moira's handling the CIA,” Charles says softly. “You turned the missiles into sludge. I think it’s going to be alright.”
“Okay.” Erik hadn’t thought much about it. He’d had one goal, and it was complete, and he had never thought about what was next.
“I’m sorry for, ah, knocking you out.”
“I told you to.”
“Come here, would you?” Charles sighs, impatient. Erik sits down next to him, hands in his lap, not sure where he's welcome. He knows without a doubt that he did the right thing, that he did what he needed to do. But Charles has never seen him kill before, not really.
Charles answers the question he didn’t ask. “We’re just going to lay down for a little while, alright? Then we’ll figure out what comes next.”
Erik nods minutely, letting Charles tug him down onto the pillows, and when Charles snakes his arms around Erik's front, something cracks.
He vaguely registers that he’s crying, which is fucking ridiculous and makes no sense.
"You’re just relieved,” Charles murmurs. “It's okay. It’s over. It’s over now, and we’re home.”
He ends up with his face against Charles’s shoulder, breathing raggedly, Charles hushing him. They stay like that for awhile, until some of the weight lifts off Erik’s chest.
“I love you,” Erik says, after a while. “You’re alive.”
“And I love you.” Charles tugs him closer. “I am. I’m right here.”
“I thought it’d feel different.”
“I know,” Charles sighs.
“I don’t know what to do now.”
“I do.” Charles smiles at him, tentative, brushing his thumbs over his temples. “We think about what we have.”
He closes his eyes as Charles rifles through memories: Standing on the balcony together at golden hour, taking in the light of day. Erik pushing Sean off the satellite. Alex and Hank pouring over plans. Raven rolling her eyes at them, beautiful in blue.
“You’re smiling,” Charles murmurs, satisfied. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Erik reaches out to stroke a lock of hair away from his face. “Just thinking,” he says, taking his first real breath in decades, “that we have all the time in the world.”