who is the man I see where I'm supposed to be?

[atthemercyof]

[ Locked to oldcardigans ]

[ Power is still coursing through his veins when they turn, when he follows Charles across the little gravel path, Mansion looming in front of them. The day is still and he can hear the echo of his laugh buzzing around his ear. Running a hand over the back of his neck, he lets out a breath, caught between too much energy and the weary nature of long forgotten feeling.

He's almost loathe to leave the proverbial shadow of the satellite, to remove himself from proof of his domain, but he can keep the knowledge very safe in his chest. He's one step closer, stronger for it. Exhilaration is a strange thing, making him feel keyed up and emotionally wrought and so very capable. Falling into step beside Charles, throwing the thing one last glance, he concentrates on the man beside him. ]

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[atthemercyof]

[ It isn't his body moving against his own will that slams into him, but the word. One. Instantly Erik feels sick, imagines the earth tilting dangerously from underneath him. There's a flare of pain so raw and sharp, that if Charles weren't holding him in place he thinks he'd be paralysed from it anyway.

His mind is one confusion babble before his voice cuts through, hard and angry to mask the nononononono dragging itself up from the very depth of within him. ] Stop. Let go of me. [ Fury sliding into each syllable. ] Let go of me now.

[oldcardigans]

[Maybe he should shut himself off from the noise, the mess of confusion and wrath and pleading that would destroy his heart if he were listening to all of it at once, but Charles lets it slide over him, needs to know that he cares about what happens to him.

Shaking his head in refusal, his eyes show the mercy that his voice doesn't.] It's not going to be fair. He's not going to agree to stop using his powers just so you can exact your revenge. You’re so eager to die for what you think you have to do that you don’t think of what it would mean if you lived. You have to choose. Die knowing that you tried your best to avenge your mother, or live and put blood on my hands. Because believe me, Erik, you'll need me before the end of it. [Grip on the trigger tightening.] Two.

[atthemercyof]

You don't know what you're doing. [ His voice is raised, anger giving away to fear when it breaks. Erik very rarely shows his emotions, hooks it all down out of the way so that no-one can see. But this is different, this is terrifying and cruel and he can't find his centre. He can't move his hand, and the confusion in his mind makes trying to pull the gun out of his grip like trying to hold on to sand. It's like each word is a hair-trigger, tapping against glass and feeling it shatter, Erik desperately trying to pull anger from beneath the smothering, cloying fear invading his mind and his senses.

He needs to get Charles to stop, eyes still locked on to the weapon in his hands. ] You've proven your point.

[oldcardigans]

This is where some serenity would help, no? [It's cruel, he knows, but watching Erik struggle to reach for his oldest and most reliable weapon feels a little like there's already a hole in his head. Was Erik just humouring him all this time? Did he let Charles believe that he could help him overcome his past knowing that when the time came, he'd throw it away, everything Charles tried to teach him all chaff, its only purpose to be in the way of the old rage he'd summon instead?

A tear slipping from his eye, he drops his hand, and with it, his control over Erik.] Stopping you is out of my hands, you know that. If I'm in the middle of this and it's down to choosing between you and Shaw, what did you think? That I'd abandon you in the name of symbolic victory? I just don't want you to fool yourself into thinking this will be the end of it. [Wiping his face with a steady hand, even as his calm is fraying.] Don't throw your life away so carelessly.

[atthemercyof]

[ The minute there is silence, Erik does the one thing he's been waiting to do since Charles took control of him. He lets go of the gun and it hovers enough that when Erik closes his fist, the whole thing crumples with a loud sound. The wreckage holds still in the air for a moment, Erik certain that if he could, he would obliterate the entire thing from existence, before he lets it drop. He steps back, can't bear to look at the other man, radiating something terrifying and wounded, some part of him furious and ready to rail against everything in sight.

Breathing harshly through his mouth, mind a jumble of impressions, of a countdown that just never stops, and he needs away. Away from the one person he's come to care about while promising himself that he never would. Because Charles had tried to show him what he could do, and Erik only knows what he could lose.

Without saying anything, his feet propel him away, fighting the wave of nausea, of the very loose grip he has on himself. Erik could shatter to pieces and he can't risk that, drawing himself away from the house without conscious thought to where he could go, to whom he's leaving behind. ]

[oldcardigans]

[There isn't anything more Charles can do just now. He's destroyed something crucial; a promise he made to himself to never use his powers to lash out at Erik, yes, but moreover he's overstepped himself again to strike at the vulnerable parts he was entrusted with. The fragile hope he'd cultivated about confronting him is crushed and laying invisibly next to the twisted metal, Charles watching him go with the oddly distant feeling of being left behind, too.

His message is received, it seems, leaving his mind open and inflicting Erik's pain onto himself for no other reason than he deserves to feel hurt compounded on hurt if he's caused it, no matter whose it is.

Staggering to the nearest shade, a mad grab for whatever small sanctuary he could, he bows inward and lets his face crumple into a mask of sorrow, hands pulling at his hair.]