Look this Life in the Eye (2/2)

[monstrousregiment]

Title: Look this Life in the Eye (2/2)
Author: monstrousreg
Word count:  3274
Warnings: Childhood physical abuse mentioned, beware.
Pairing: Erik/Charles.
Summary: There's a locked door in Xavier Hall to which no one has access. In making inquiries, Erik realizes he's built his opinion on Charles on the wrong foundations.

“You thought I was going to hit you?”
Charles’ eyes dart away, shoulders pulling in as if he were trying to curl in on himself. Erik feels something tight inside his chest coil in even tighter as his stomach turns.

Notes: Fill for this prompt. Chapter 1

 

Erik does return the following day, but Charles isn’t in his bedroom.

“Where is he?” he asks William, arching a brow when the man starts, surprised.

“Please cease to sneak up on me, sir,” the butler says, unimpressed. “It is quite unbecoming.”

“Please start being more aware of your surroundings,” Erik replies, arching a brow. “Now, where is he? And don’t even bother lying to me, I don’t like that, it’s tedious.”

William releases a sigh that implies he is the most put-upon being in the entirety of the vast Universe. Erik thinks his own position allows him to compete, but then again, this man has to clean up after Sean and Hank. Maybe William can win, just this once.

“He’s in the garden by the pond. He likes going there, its’ very quiet. I might point out that he goes there when he wants to be alone.”

“You might,” Erik agrees, brushing by him to go to the pond.

Charles is lying on the grass, eyes closed, enjoying the sun on his face. He flicks his eyes open when Erik looms over him, his long shadow falling across Charles’ pale face. Erik sits down, stretching his long legs and leaning back on his hands, staring at the sky.

There is a long silence, as Erik gives Charles the opportunity to settle himself. He knows the telepath is uneasy and nervous by the way he’s moved slightly away from Erik, where he would normally move closer.

Erik debates on a way to start this conversation, and finally arrives at the conclusion there is really no delicate manner of going about this subject, or if there is, he’s simply not built to figure it out. Charles is the delicate one, after all.

“You realize, I hope,” he stars softly, still not looking at Charles. “That you are no longer a helpless child.”

It is, in fact, debatable whether he ever was—Charles’ gift manifested very early. But one way or the other, he was still abused, so Erik doesn’t point that out. Besides—Erik wasn’t very helpless either, at that age, and see if that stopped Shaw.

“And you know, I would expect, that he would have to go through a lot of very powerful, very angry people to get to you now. Not to mention me.”

Now he turns to look at Charles, and finds the telepath has closed his eyes.

“Intellectually,” he concedes, “I understand that.”

“You have to know, surely you must know,” Erik insists, straightening. “I would never hurt you, Charles. Never.”

“Oh, Erik, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to feel like this. I know that, of course, yes.”

There is another long silence, as they look at each other.

“Why did you not tell me?” Erik asks. “Of us all, am I not the one that would understand?”

Charles sits up, “Yes. Yes, you are. That’s precisely why I—Erik. You have your demons. I could hardly ask you to help me deal with mine.”

“Charles,” Erik says gently, “Do you not trust anyone?”

The telepath looks away.

“Charles, goddamnit,” Erik turns to face his friend, trying to remain calm. He doesn’t want to trigger Charles, and he doesn’t know how bad this situation even is. Not even William knows, and he was there. “You saw what Shaw did to me. Let me help you like you help me, for once!”

Charles swallows, closing his eyes for a long moment.

“Why the room?” Erik asks, taking a deep breath. “It’s an empty room, Charles. The man is gone. Why are you afraid of it?”

“No one ever went in there,” Charles murmurs. “That’s where he’d take me to—right. That’s—let’s not talk about this, Erik, please.”

Erik feels a shiver of cold horror run down his spine, and he grips Charles’ wrist, only realizing a second too late that it’s the wrong thing to do. Charles flinches, and Erik releases his wrist as if it were on fire. It’s jarring because Charles has never rejected his touch before, and Erik’s become comfortable in being rather tactile with the man.

“Did he—Charles, was it just violence, or…?”

“No,” Charles says firmly, shaking his head. “No, he never—no. He did it in his room because—well, he’d told everyone to stay out of it, even the maids. No one would stumble upon us there. But he never—he just wanted to hurt me.”

In Erik’s experience, the desire to hurt and humiliate someone that is weaker than yourself often comes hand-in-hand with sexual domination, non-consensual situations in which the stronger person reaffirms his power by forcing themselves onto the other. Erik himself did not go through this as Shaw was more interested in his powers than anything else, but he knows this is not unusual.

He’s reluctant to push Charles on the subject, though, and would like to think Charles would not lie to him about this.

“How long did he do this to you?” Erik asks carefully.

“You spoke to William, I assume,” Charles says without rancor, shoulders slumping.

“He didn’t know.”

“No, certainly not. William is… well, he was devastated that he hadn’t noticed. I could never tell him the truth. It—“ he releases a breath. “Two years. Just about.”

“You kept quiet for two years?” Erik is horrified.

“I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do, who to tell. Kurt—he told me if I told anyone he’d hurt Raven, and I knew he was telling the truth, he didn’t lie to me, not ever. I thought—if I told William, he’d get rid of him, and Erik, William was the only person in that house that cared about us. I couldn’t possibly bear losing him.”

Charles is trembling now, his breath shaky. Erik feels sick and tries to steady his own racing heartbeat, throat dry.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he says. “I’m not asking you to justify yourself. I just want to help you, Charles, I want to understand. Why didn’t you stop him? You could use your powers then, I know.”

“Oh, Erik,” Charles drops his head to his hands. “That’s how it started. It was my fault, it was all my fault.”

Erik scoffs, “Charles, you’ve studied psychology. I know you know you didn’t make your stepfather hit you, he did it all on his own—“

“No, he did not. Kurt and I never got along, true, but he never loathed me as much as he did once Raven came along.”

Erik is confused. He opens his mouth to say something, but Charles barrels on, lifting his head to look out to the distance.

“I started it all, Erik. I needed them to let Raven stay with us. So I manipulated their mind, with no finesse whatsoever, I made them think they wanted a little girl and my mother didn’t want to bear another pregnancy. I made them want to adopt her.”

Erik swallows, heart jumping to his throat.

“My mother was fine, she was always quite easy to convince. But Kurt—Kurt had a strong will, he knew himself well. I could make him want a girl then, but he knew he’d never wanted children before, so he knew something was off. And he knew something was wrong with me from the start.”

“Nothing was wrong—“

Charles isn’t listening. “He knew I’d manipulated him somehow. It—went downhill from there. Quite quickly. His fear made him repulsed and it soon escalated to verbal aggression. He wouldn’t do it when William or mother were around, of course, but whenever he caught me alone or only with Raven, who he avoided like the plague… until one time he did it and William happened to overhear him.”

“William was—of course he didn’t have any actual authority, but oh, Erik, William can be quite scary himself, when he so wishes. So the next time he got angry at me, Kurt took me to his bedroom to yell at me. I don’t know how—one thing led to the other, I suppose. It started with a slap, I remember. I didn’t think—well, it wasn’t that bad, and I knew parents often slapped their children.”

Charles is wringing his hands, worrying his long, delicate fingers. Erik watches as in a trance, shaking, unsure of whether he’s overrun by fury or sorrow.

“It—escalated from there, naturally. I suppose it always does.”

“You didn’t tell your mother?” Erik rasps.

“Oh. I—yes. Yes, I did. She… was not amused. She wouldn’t believe me. He was mart, Kurt—he didn’t… leave marks.”

“And Raven?”

“Erik, please, stop. Don’t—stop asking, please.”

And this is one of the fascinating things about Charles: the fact he is simultaneously the most powerful and the most vulnerable person he knows.

Carefully, moving slowly so Charles can move away should he chose to, Erik slides his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and brings him in close to his side, encouraging him to lay his head on his shoulder.

“Whatever you might have done,” Erik says tenderly. “It doesn’t justify his actions. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve to go through that. You were only a boy.”

Charles shakes his head in disagreement, but he doesn’t speak.

“But I understand now,” Erik continues, cautiously tightening his hold on Charles until he’s holding him fiercely. “Why you’re so fiercely against violence, and why you understand what Shaw did to me so well. I thought you’d lived such a different life, Charles.”

“Oh, good grief. What Kurt did to me is nothing, nothing compared to—I was very lucky, nonetheless.”

“Don’t belittle it,” Erik chides firmly. “No child should ever have to be terrified in their own goddamn home.”

“Which is why—“ Charles moves away suddenly, looking at Erik intently through glassy eyes. “Erik, I would never force your mind, you must know that, I might read it, yes, but I will never manipulate you, you must trust me on this, it’s important.”

Erik feels something breaking apart in his chest.

“I trust you, Charles,” he murmurs, smoothing the hair away from Charles’ panic-stricken face. “And you must know that I will never, ever lift a hand against you. You’re safe with me, Charles.”

“I don’t feel like I’m safe anywhere, with anyone,” Charles says, so honestly it hurts. “But Erik, I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying to—“

“Stop that,” Erik scolds. “You’re not doing anything wrong that you need to ask my forgiveness for. Calm down. You’ll learn to trust me in time. There’s no point in rushing when neither of us is going anywhere.”

Charles nods, swallows thickly.

“I told Sean we’d help him with his flight training this afternoon,” Charles says, and Erik closes his eyes, because he knows Charles is changing the subject and oh, there’s so much more Erik wants to say.

But instead he says, “I’ve been thinking about that,” and lets Charles get away.

The rest of the day goes smoothly enough, though Erik stills feels uneasy and restless. Charles excuses himself from dinner without having eaten a single bite, and goes to bed early, begging out of their usual chess game.

Erik lets him, not knowing what to do even as he watches him pull away. Charles looks haggard and worn, as if the weight of the day has landed heavy on his shoulders, and Erik knows he’s forced himself to be his usual cheerful self for the children. Another mask.

He goes to bed, but doesn’t fall asleep until well into the night.

He wakes early the next morning and takes a shower, means to search out William and make a few questions about the current whereabouts of one Kurt whatever his last-name is (he’s quite sure William will very much approve of his intentions). He puts on his undershirt and shaves and just as he’s washing his face, there’s a knock at the door.

It’s Charles, looking tired and like he’s had an awfully bad night, but there’s resolve in his eyes.

“I’d like your help with something, if you can spare a moment.”

“Sure,” Erik says, snatching up a deep-blue turtleneck and twisting impatiently into it as he follows Charles into the hallway.

He’s busy inconspicuously studying Charles’ profile, so much so he doesn’t notice where they’re going until Charles stops and Erik looks at where they are—

The door stands in front of them.

Erik stares at Charles, stunned.

“I seem to have misplaced the key,” Charles shrugs. “Very embarrassing.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I very much do,” Charles replies, setting his jaw. “I’ll not live dragging this with me everywhere. I’ll not let him do that to me. It’s quite enough, I think.”

“Charles, I want you to do this. But you have to do it because you feel it’s the right time, not because I’m pressuring you. You’ve avoided this room for years—don’t go in to it for me.”

“I’m not,” Charles says softly. “I… it’s been a long time, Erik. I don’t want to be haunted by this any longer. Please. Open the lock.”

Erik sighs, and reaches out to brush his fingers over the lock. It’s not necessary, but it feels right. He feels it slide open, the mechanism folding to his will. Charles grabs the lock and turns it, pushes the door so it opens inward, and—

Stands still in the doorway, paralyzed.

Erik closes his eyes, opens them again and brushes by him into the bedroom. A thick coating of dust lays over everything, proof that no one’s visited this room, not even to clean, in several years. Its’ quite harmless—rather bare, in fact, accountable perhaps to the fact Kurt was very thoroughly kicked out. There’s a sheet-less bed, a chair face-down over the desk, an empty wardrobe with its doors wide-open.

There’s nothing in here, except for memories.

Erik turns around, looks at Charles still in the doorway.

“Just an empty room, Charles,” he says softly. “Nothing to be scared of.”

But Charles doesn’t move. Erik moves closer and slowly, carefully, grips Charles’ hand and eases him into the room, walking backwards and almost dragging the telepath in his wake.

“Nothing to fear, Charles,” he murmurs, bringing the man close against his chest. “The only other person here with you now is me.”

And so many ghosts, Charles’ mind whispers into his own, shaky and weary.

“Nevermind the ghosts,” Erik says tenderly. “They can’t hurt you.”

And yet they do.

Erik sighs and wraps his arms around Charles’ lithe form, looking around. He makes a bold decision, and has to struggle with it the moment the door clicks shut and Charles stiffens in his arms, his hands coming up to fist Erik’s sweater and push away.

“Easy,” Erik says, walking backwards without releasing Charles. “It’s just a room, Charles. A floor, four walls and a ceiling. Not very challenging at all.”

“I’d like to leave now,” Charles protests, now beginning to struggle against Erik’s chest.

“Just a little while longer,” Erik replies.

He turns, and gently but firmly pushes Charles down onto the bed. Charles is visibly alarmed now, and attempts to get back up, but Erik insists. If he truly wanted to, Charles could put an end to this with a simple thought—but he doesn’t stop Erik, and that says something. Charles is not a child anymore, scared of using his powers, and he and Erik are close enough the telepath knows Erik would not be upset or angry.

Erik settles down on the bed, on his back, and guides Charles to sprawl over him, face against his neck. The long curving line of Charles’ back is stiff and tense, and Erik smoothes a hand down to his waist and back up, over and over, soothing, reassuring.

“There’s no one here but us, Charles. Relax.”

It takes hours before Charles’ body become limps over Erik’s. Charles finally falls into an uneasy doze and Erik looks out the window and notices the sun if high up now, probably closer to noon.

Erik takes a moment to be awed, that he’s got Charles, safely on his arms, in the room that plagues his nightmares, asleep. At some point he must fall asleep himself, because he comes brusquely awake when Charles shifts, inhaling deeply as he stirs.

“Oh. Oh, dear—I must be crushing you. Allow me—“

“I’m comfortable,” Erik says, because he really, really is. He reaches up to wrap his arms more securely around Charles’ back, blinking sleepily. He shifts on the bed, bringing up a leg to press his foot on the mattress and get even more comfortable. “This is nice. I should sleep with you more often. On empty, dusty, old bedrooms.”

“Why yes, that sounds quite lovely indeed,” Charles says, sounding not the least enchanted with the idea.

“Hm. Don’t turn now, but there’s a cockroach the size of your head on the opposite wall.”

Charles stiffens. His wide eyes dart down at Erik’s steel-blue ones.

“Um. Did you know, we used to have a rat problem?”

Erik stares. “Alright. Explain to me how that is relevant.”

“Right. Well—you see—there is a, um, rather—well. There’s a rat—in bed with us.”

Erik releases him so quickly they both fall right off the bed, spring to their feet and run to the door, where Erik pushes the telepath ahead of him.

“You didn’t think to mention that before?” Erik demands in a hiss as he stumbles out the door, which obediently slams and locks behind them. “Rats and cockroaches? Really?”

“I wasn’t planning on falling into bed with you in Kurt’s bedroom, surprisingly,” Charles retorts, dusting his sweater like it’s on fire. Erik indulges in a moment of triumph when Charles shows no apparent panic at the mention of the room. “You’re the one that wouldn’t let me get up, remember?”

“You didn’t look like you might complain were you were using me as your mattress.”

“You weren’t exactly complaining about me being on top of you, either, if I’ll recall correctly.”

Then Charles freezes, straightens and brushes his hair back with dignity.

“Good afternoon, William,” he says politely.

Erik whirls around. William is standing a foot from him, hands behind his back, tall and elegant and decorous as only an Englishman can be. He looks straight through Erik, and then gives Charles what might possibly pass as an affectionate glance for an English butler.

“And to you, Master Charles,” he drawls, unimpressed. “I trust the issue with the room has been resolved satisfactorily?”

“Well. Others have arisen,” Charles says, and Erik cannot believe it, but here he is with two Englishmen having a conversation about infestations when Charles and he have just faced and conquered Charles’ demons and clearly William thinks they did it with their clothes off.

“Ah. I shall have to care for that at once. Is there anything else you might need?”

Erik thinks, tell him we aren’t fucking, go on, because really, William would never forgive Erik, but his face would probably be priceless. But Charles shoots him a dark look, and shakes his head.

“That will be all, thank you, William.”

“Hm. Mr. Lehnsherr, Master Charles.”

The butler slips away as quietly as he arrived.

“And he complains about me sneaking up on people,” Erik grumbles.

Charles laughs, out loud and boyish and light, and Erik can’t help but grin, and go easily along when Charles gently grasps his arm and steers him towards the stairs.

“Let us get something to eat, Saint George.”