Fic: On the Breakers

[skull_bearer]

(Please dear god why did I write this? I know I have a fine old tradition of writing seriously depressing fic but this takes the friggin' biscuit. I will have to write Present Perfect to cheer up. Present Perfect is more cheerful that this. Ghost was more cheerful that this. You Have Been Warned.)

Prompted by this here:
Being thrown into metal pipes/walls by the force of a nuclear reactor WOULD HURT REALLY BAD. IN FACT, I'M THINKING BRUISED RIBS HERE. SERIOUS INTERNAL INJURIES OCCURRED DURING THAT FIGHT. Not to mention all those glass cuts across his forehead. Just ouch.
When Charles tackles him to stop the missiles Erik just goes unconscious. And Charles pulls off the helmet and is overwhelmed by how much pain Erik is in.

 

On the Breakers

 

                It's getting hard to think. Everything is beginning to shut down, his world tightening to a razor-thin edge of what he has to do. Move, speak, act. Every breath is pain. Every step is pain. It's not even localised any more, his spine, his right leg, just under his ribcage where Shaw had pushed the girder until something inside Erik broke. It's more nebulous now, a blurring fog of pain.

 

            He's speaking, he has to speak, to parrot Shaw's lines to get them away. Without him, they'd be defenceless. Four children who still barely know how to use their powers, and Charles, who'd give them all a second chance, these mutants who followed Shaw, a second and a third and a fourth until he woke up one morning with a knife through his throat. Because Erik wouldn't be there to protect him.

 

            It's not much further, a few steps. He can feel the guns turning to face them and feels like screaming not this, please how much more? He sees Charles' face, pale as he looks out on the ships, then back at Erik. He's hurt and betrayed, Erik can feel that even through the metal of the helmet. He won't take it off, no matter how much it hurts. If he did Charles would know and he'd turn his back on Shaw's legion of murderers and the human monsters aiming guns at them because nothing would be more important to him then. Everything depends on Erik standing, walking steadily, speaking smoothly and swallowing down the blood welling in his mouth.

 

            I'll stop them. His thoughts are starting to break apart at the edges. I'll stop them, turn the missiles and stop them. It would be the best way, he'd be a monster himself, every inch the monster Shaw tried to turn him into, but that would be alright, because Charles would hate him them, and never, ever try and look for him. As long as Charles never knows, Erik's fine with anything.

 

            The world is dimming around the edges and the sun glitters dizzyingly off the smooth sides of the missiles. Stop. He wishes he could command the whole world. Just stop. I'm so tired. Soon. Just stop them, turn them and leave with any who'd come with him. Those who'd come would be the dangerous ones.

 

            If nothing else, he'd make the world somewhat better for those he loved. He wishes he could stay, and guard them forever, sit on the topmost tower of the mansion and look out forever watchful for any threat. That would be a good life, Erik thinks, the missiles hovering above his head. A pity. Forever a pity. It seems a common pattern, Shaw has taken away everything he loved, one way or another.

 

            Charles is screaming at him, his voice is swaying in and out of focus like a badly tuned radio. "...Good, innocent men... just following orders."

 

            Erik tries to smile, but if he does Charles will see the blood. So easy really. Hate me, hate me forever and never look for me.

 

            "I've been at the mercy of men just following orders." He's only vaguely aware he's speaking, his throat is raw and his lungs tear with pain with the effort of breathing through the blood, he can feel the words reverberate through him, every broken bone jarring from it. "Never again." Never. Never never never. If he can't keep Charles and the children safe he can at least end this threat now.

 

            The missiles turn, and the burst it takes to get them going again almost ends him, his bad leg buckles in a way legs shouldn't, a new joint between knee and ankle. Breath catches in his throat and the pain's no longer enough to focus him. It just hurts.

 

            Charles gives a shout and lunges at him, Erik starts, shifting his weight onto his bad leg and goes down, Charles on top of him and the missiles falling into the ocean. A hand presses against his chest and he feels his ribs give. The pain spikes and he can't even cry out, just a low broken hiss, and his head hits the ground, the helmet rolling off. Charles is staring at his hands, the blood must have soaked through Erik's clothes because they're both scarlet and no no no no no you weren't supposed to know the slowly dawning horror in Charles' eyes, horror and panic and his hands are shaking over Erik's body not knowing where to touch. Erik tries to close off his mind but there's just so much pain and he's so tired, it's like holding water in his hands, it's leaking through everywhere. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry you weren't to know. You were supposed to hate me and let me go and never try and look for me.

 

            No. No no no no. Charles' thoughts are a low chant in Erik's mind as he fumbles with the fastenings of the ridiculous uniform. It's supposed to be waterproof, but it's been torn in the fight which broke Erik's body, and Charles just tears at it until it's open.

 

           

 

 

 

 

 

            Erik closes his eyes so as not to see Charles' expression. He can feel it, he knows it's bad. He's never been this bad before because you don't come out of anything this bad. He manages to draw in a breath and it feels like being dragged over broken glass, and brings with it a cough that has him spitting blood on the warm sand.

 

            Erik. Erik opens his eyes, black spots swim in the sky in front of him and the air feels noticeably cooler. "Charles?" he tries to say, but most of what comes out is blood.

 

            There's no answer, in his mind or otherwise, but instead he's pulled up in warm arms and his head is pressed against Charles' chest. He can feel his friend's heart beating, and it's the best thing in the world. It's so good he wants to cry.

 

            Shhh. Erik closes his eyes again, it's getting too hard to keep them open. There's no sound from the ships out at sea, no sound from the mutants on the shore. Peace. Finally.

 

 

            You should have told me. Charles' voice is raw and wild even in his mind. We could have - could-

 

 

            Nothing. He answers. Nothing. You know that. It's over. If it wasn't for Charles, the words would almost be a relief. There's been so little good in his life. All of it is currently holding him.

 

            Charles' fingers stroke over his hair, his neck, rub at the juncture of jaw and skull. Good of Shaw to have left his face untouched, to have allowed him even the chance of this charade. A pity it failed.

 

            I would rather mourn you that hate you. Charles' breath is coming in shudders, he must be crying.

 

            Another breath. It hurts, it hurts. He wants it to stop and suddenly it does. Just me, I stopped off the part of your brain that feels pain. We can... if I could - He can feel Charles struggling in his own mind for a plan that will not come. Erik tries to press closer, breathing easier now, his lungs are being torn to pieces on his broken ribs, but at least he doesn't have to feel it. He's just tired now. Just tired.

 

            Yes, there's tears in that thought. Just sleep. I'll be - I'll be - The thoughts fracture like waves on breaking rocks. I'll be here.

 

            Yes. It's selfish. If Erik had his way Charles would never have known. Would have gone on unknowing that Erik was gone. But now and here he's glad it didn't work. It's warm and safe now, better than being alone.

 

 

            I would have found out. Charles whispers, the world starting to rock beneath them and Erik feels himself start to slide away. I would never have left you.

 

 

            Everything is weightless, black so deep it has no colour.

 

 

            I never will.

Comments

[sevcrucio.livejournal.com]

Fuuuuuck that hurt T____T As painful as Present Perfect is, at least they both survive... Still, wonderful writing once again!