badfic_manor | (no subject)

Entry tags:

plot: weeping angels

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*after the weeks he'd had, Charles would love to enjoy the days of peace that followed the angels. He'd recognized that the angels themselves has disappeared, or at least permanently become statues, and normally he'd be able to rest in relief, but...

But the other presence had only gotten worse, and for two days he's been in a constant state of tense. Helping Sam hadn't decreased the feeling, in fact, forcing his way past images of hell only made it worse. Not that he ever came close to regretting that. The man desperately needed help, and Charles thought he was doing a good job in keeping him from mentally imploding.

And yet...this presence was creeping along him, feeding off the pain, and the anxiety Charles experienced building that wall.

He hasn't been able to sleep, so he'd made himself a cup of coffee and holed up in the library with a book, where he can be found now. It was quite as familiar as his own library, but big enough that he felt he could make himself right at home sitting here for a few hours. The books in front of him were a lengthy set of research journals based on the reality and physics of a world he'd never heard of, so Charles was pouring over the text in an effort to distract himself from the feeling of Impending Doom.

Feel free to come across him and realize this man hasn't had a decent night's sleep since the month started.*

((presuming this happens sometime after Charles finishes helping Sam))

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[ It wouldn't do for Erik to panic. He's Magneto now (still Erik in his most private and protected of thoughts), and the monster in the helmet must be strong enough to withstand everything. Waking up in an unfamiliar place isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to him, and he's quick to adjust. Though it had looked so much like the Mansion -.

Libraries hold knowledge, and Erik's careful exploration of this chilly place had bought him down this path. If he can find out where he is, he can get out. Only

- Only Charles is right there, books in front of him, and Erik has a heart-stopping moment of panic before it's swept away in a tidal-wave of carefully placed indifference. His helmet is still in place. He's safe. ]

*Charles is completely oblivious to the presence of another person in the library with him. He's slowly rubbing his temple with one hand, trying to alleviate a headache as he reads. All his efforts to block out the presence around him was failing miserably.

Letting out a sigh of defeat, he closed the book and leaned back in the chair to pinch the bridge of his nose.*

I don't know how much more of this I can take.

[ He should turn around right now, he really should, but Charles' voice has reached a pitch of despair he's never heard before. Keeping to the shadows of the stacks, Erik takes a half-step forward, quiet for all that he subtle.

He'd never tested just how silent his thoughts are underneath this thing. But still, if he can prove to himself that Charles is surviving, he'll leave. ]

*Oh he's surviving, if only that right now. The closer Erik gets, the more it shows that Charles is awake right now out of sheer force of will. There are heavy circles under his eyes, and while he has at least made an effort to keep clean, his hair is unkempt and his clothes are far more rumpled than he normally keeps them.

Letting out another aggravated breath, Charles gather up the journals in front of him and stands, intending to take them to the kitchen in order to read somewhere he has easy access to caffeine.*

[ There is something not quite right here, something that's on the very tip of his fingers, Erik is missing something. But his mind is stuck on the man before him and nothing else, can't focus on what it is.

Does the cause really make him this exhausted? ]

*He ran his hand through his hair as he moved around the stack, still unaware he was being watched, and made for the door. Before stepping through, he paused, one hand on the doorknob, and tilted his head slightly.

Something was different...but no. It was nothing.*

Oh, Charles. You're going mad, aren't you? Only to be expected, considering.

*he opened the door finally. He needed more coffee*

[ He's standing, Charles is holding himself up on two legs and that can only mean one thing. He's dreaming. It has to be so. A dream like this is bitter-sweet, too cruel but not close enough to a nightmare.

Erik steps away from the shadows for a moment, tries to hold on to his inner strength. His power twists around the metal fixtures in the room, not doing anything, but holding on like a security blanket.

Softly. ] Hello, Charles.

*The door had juuuust about closed, and so all Erik can hear are these books thumping on the ground and silence for the few seconds after.

Charles was spending those seconds reaching out, brow furrowed, but he couldn't feel anyone close enough to talk to, much less who that voice belonged to.

Turning, he pushed the library door back open and peeked back in.*

Erik?

[ It would be impossible to stop the way his heart clenches, but he keeps the mantra up. Dreamdreamdream. Tilting his head to the side, helmet gleaming in the light. ] What a pleasant surprise.

*several emotions cross his face, and pain is never one of them. Relief, curiosity, and surprise were predominant*

*and then he settles on 'good god, Erik, what are you wearing?'. He automatically assumes this is one of the author's jokes, though, so doesn't question it.

Including the fact that Erik is here but he can't hear him. That had to be the author's influence*

Oh thank god. I thought I was never going to see any of you again.

*he steps fully into the room and moves closer.*

[ It's alarming, how quickly Charles' expression shifts to kindness when it should be something else entirely - anger, hurt, something more to betrayal. Even in his own mind, Charles should rail against him. ]

I don't know what you mean.

I've been stuck here for more than a month, and I haven't been able to figure out how to get home. It's some kind of pocket dimension controlled by a girl they call the 'Author', and I'm not the only one she's caught. I had hoped the next time I saw you would be at home, but quite frankly I'm just relieved to see a familiar face, with all that's been going on.

*there's that exhaustion again*

[ Erik starts to laugh, a low, bitter sounding thing, his expression clouding over slightly. He doesn't believe any of this, wants to reach out and touch any way.

Calming. ] You look tired.

*Charles watches him, confused. He'd give anything to catch his thoughts right about now, but it wouldn't do to get upset about that.*

Yeah, well. You're not wrong. I don't think I've had a decent night the past three weeks. Come, let's go to the kitchen. I need more coffee or I'm not going to be able to function.

[ He should say no, should end this right now, Erik wants to wake up right now, wants to bring himself back to a painful reality where Charles is damaged beyond repair and doesn't look at him like that any more.

But he's weaker than he likes to think, nods his head once, the weight of his helmet at odds with the thoughts buzzing lightly in his head. ] All right. Lead the way.

Of course.

*he leads the way back out of the library, stopping to pick up his books and the empty mug while he was at it, and moved through the halls with semi-familiarity.

He kept frequently glancing around the open areas, giving the sense that he was wary of something coming at him, but decided not to say anything about it. The angels were gone, and that presence didn't seem to be coming any closer*

Most of the others here are easy enough to get along with. We're all in the same boat.

Mhm. [ His voice is distracted, falling a step behind, gaze trained to the small of Charles' back where he knows a bullet hit. If anything, it's a cruel dream. ] It looked like your Mansion originally.

*he pauses, thoughtfully, and looks up as if he'd never thought about it before*

Hm, I suppose it might-

*and it just occurs to him that he hasn't even been home in years.*

Erik...

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