Later, he’ll hate himself for inflicting this on Charles. He’ll hate himself for how quickly Charles responded, gave him what he asked, but there’s nothing else he can do. He can’t not fight, not with Shaw’s intentions
( ... )
Charles doesn't panic - doesn't actually panic until he can't swallow past all the blood in his mouth. He blacks out, comes to a few seconds later in time to curl sideways and throw up. The motion is unkind to his ribs, which he thinks must be broken by the way he can barely breathe
( ... )
Oh god, it hurts to hear Charles making jokes. Of course at this point everything hurts, and he presses himself more tightly against Charles, reaching so carefully to drape an arm over him
( ... )
Charles lifts a hand somewhere in the vicinity of his temple, fingers unsteady. "No, no, it's all right, my friend, I'm just- not at my best right now." But he's grateful, regardless, and after a moment he readjusts himself. Lies back down and gestures for Erik to do the same. Lost in each other. As far as concepts go, it had an infinite amount of appeal
( ... )
Oh, he still knew about them, and it wasn't so much a matter of shying away as getting every memory in one lump-sum package deal. Charles has dealt with the sensations, the emotions, but he has not yet sat down and stitched them into a coherent whole. The memories of a fourteen year old undergoing severe trauma are difficult to parse down, even for him
( ... )
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