Archive of Our Own

X

When he was a boy, they would lose him to the forest. A nursemaid would turn her back for a second, a tutor would look down at the page for but a glance and he would be gone, racing to the outdoors like he was born there—a changeling child, the servants would whisper out of the queen's earshot—and disappear into the woods that sprawled along the mountainside just outside the castle walls, deep and dark and unknown.

In his fourth winter there was a span of two days that he was lost completely out in the woods, snow falling steadily from the dark night sky as every servant and all the men-at-arms posted at the castle combed through the barren, foreboding trees calling his name. By the time the first night fell many believed it was futile, and searched for a body instead of a child. Down in the town below the villagers huddled in their homes beside their fires for warmth and listened to the search party's cries that sounded like the howling of wolves, rising and falling in volume almost eerily and riding the cold north wind.

“Chaaaaaaarles! Prince Chaaaaaaarles! Chaaaaaaarles!”

They found him on the eve of the second night, not frozen in death as all had feared but alive, curled in a small hollow at the base of an old oak tree. He'd not been shaking with cold or fear, his eyes bright and clear instead of glassy with the hypnotic shock that other lost children usually displayed after having the fortune of being found after a far less amount of time. He greeted his rescuers, the captain of the Kingsguard and his first sergeant, with a cheery smile, lifting his arms obligingly so the captain could lift him up to carry him home.

His little body was uncannily warm, the first sergeant reported later, and as he'd tucked his head beneath the captain's chin the little prince had murmured happily, “I love the woods.”

X

Urgent hands shake him from his dreams, jolting him back to a confused, disorientated wakefulness, the bright moonlight streaming in through the window that hadn’t been open when he’d originally climbed into bed not enough for Charles to determine who looms over him in the dark. Without thought he reaches forward with his Gift that allows him to read minds while blinking the sleep from his eyes, meaning only to parse the surface thoughts of his late-night visitor to determine whether or not he should be reaching for the dagger beneath his pillow, only to flinch when his mind is battered away with unexpected force.

“I’ve told you not to read my mind,” a familiar voice says tersely, and Charles swallows back the shout for the guards that had already been half-formed on his lips.

“Raven,” he says in surprise, relaxing into his pillows again briefly. His voice is still hoarse from sleep, so he clears his throat before he sits up, peering at her through the dark. Her silhouette is distorted by the heavy cloak she’s donned, hood pulled up over what he knows are golden curls for now. “You can’t blame me for a knee-jerk reaction to being shaken awake at near midnight. What on earth are you doing here?”

She catches his hand by the wrist before he can move to fumble with the matches and candle on his bedside table. “Keep quiet,” she says, and Charles’ eyes have finally adjusted enough to see her glance towards his bedroom door, where two guardsmen should be posted. “We need to go. Now.”

“Go?” Charles asks blankly. His head is still muddled with sleep. Raven woke him in the middle of one of his deeper dreams, so his thoughts are coming slower than they normally do. Perhaps he misheard her. “Raven?”

Raven slides down off the edge of his tall bed where she’d been half-perched in order to wake him, moving closer to the window and folding her arms. With the moonlight illuminating her from behind but her hood keeping her face in shadow, she looks like some kind of wraith. “Listen, we don’t have much time. Your stepfather plans on having you assassinated tonight so he can claim your throne.”

Charles is suddenly wide awake now, her words hitting him like a cold breath of frigid mountain air from the open window. “That’s a heavy accusation,” he says slowly, even as his heart begins to sink in his chest. An assassination plot at this time makes too much sense.

It’s never been a secret that Kurt of House Marko had only ever married Charles’ widowed mother in order to advance his own position in court, appointing himself as Charles’ regent as Charles had been too young at the time of his father’s untimely death, only a boy of seven, to claim the throne, and Charles’ mother the queen too deeply entrenched in her grief to care. Charles has never liked Kurt, easily able to read the man’s greed for power and fortune with his Gift, and in turn Kurt has never liked Charles—the only thing still standing between him and absolute rule of Westchester.

Charles is due to fully inherit his birthright in only a few short weeks’ time on his eighteenth birthday, and once he wears the Summer Crown there will no longer be need of a regent in the court.

“There’s no way he has enough court influence to appoint himself king,” Charles says, still unwilling to fully believe Raven. “House Xavier has ruled Westchester since its founding days.”

“You don’t think he hasn’t been promising your nobles money and perks for supporting a change in the royal line?” Raven asks sharply, and then she sighs. “For someone who is supposed to read minds, you’re very naive. Marko’s been buying allies left and right, convincing them to support his smooth transition to king once you’re out of the way. It’s too easy to paint you as a prince more interested in his studies than the throne, and that if you’re allowed to become king you’ll continue on ignoring them and the realm.”

“I would never ignore my duties to the—” Charles begins hotly, voice starting to raise in indignation, but Raven shakes her head and he subsides, mouth falling to a thin, angry line.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Raven says, almost gently, “but you have to admit, Charles, you’ve spent far more time in the library these past few years studying old scrolls than sitting in court.”

“I’ve been studying those old scrolls so that I can become a proper king and not rule blindly,” Charles points out stiffly, but then it’s his turn to sigh. Raven’s on his side; she’s not the one he should be arguing with. “I still can’t just—how do you know about this? Where is your proof?”

“You have to trust me, Charles.” Raven regards him solemnly, none of her usual mischief sparking in her eyes. She’s utterly serious. “He’s been breeding contempt for you.”

And Charles believes her—of course he believes her, she’s his oldest friend. He has every reason to take her word at face value and without doubt, but there’s still a part of him that resists. “Say you’re right,” he says, “and I’m supposed to be murdered tonight.” It’s astounding how calmly he can say it. Just another sign that deep down he knows that this has been a long time coming. “If I run away instead, where do I go? And how does that solve anything? Either way I’ve disappeared, and Kurt’s way to the throne is clear.” His fists clench on top of his quilt. “I won’t sit back and passively allow him to take Westchester.”

“If you come with me now you’ll survive the night, for one thing,” Raven answers right away, like she’s been expecting him to raise this objection, “and for another, if you go missing and Kurt has no body to prove that you’re actually dead, he can’t claim the throne right away. He’ll still have to wait until your eighteenth birthday, and if you still haven’t shown up by then to claim the throne, only then can he seize power.”

“I know how our laws work,” Charles says, exasperated.

“Shh,” Raven shushes him, darting a glance towards the door. “Your birthday is in three weeks. Plenty of time to regroup with allies and come up with a plan to secure your throne.”

“What allies?” Charles spreads his arms wide, but keeps his voice at a whisper. “According to you, Kurt has the nobility eating from his hand.”

For a moment Charles thinks Raven might actually stamp her foot, catching such a strong wave of impatience coming off her as an unintentional projection. She controls herself admirably, squaring her shoulders and narrowing her eyes. “There is a plan. Our time is up, though, we need to move now. I promise things will be explained to you, but we can’t linger here any longer. Trust me, Charles. Am I your friend or not?”

Charles stares at her for a few long moments. He wants to say, You want me to trust you, even though you don’t trust me with your mind? But he doesn’t. This isn’t the time or place for that old argument. Raven’s never let him read even the surface of her mind, ever since he can remember knowing her. She isn’t going to change that now.

“Of course you’re my friend,” Charles says at last, plain and honest, “you’re my only friend.”

Raven smiles at that. “Then come on. Get dressed and pack light. Quickly.”

Charles rolls out of bed, shivering when the cold night air takes the place of his warm blankets. He stumbles over to his clothes press and Raven turns away to grant him privacy so he can quickly strip out of his sleepwear and into sturdy trousers and the simplest shirt he owns, deciding that Raven will appreciate him being incognito as far as his status goes. He adds a vest for warmth and shrugs on his cloak—there’s nothing he can do about the high quality of the material, but it’ll keep him from freezing.

“Where are we going?” he asks in a low voice as he pulls on socks and then reaches for his old hiking boots hidden from the maids in the far back corner of the press. Now that he’s up and out of bed, decision made, he’s wide awake with nerves and pumping adrenaline. Someone was going to murder him tonight. He’s going to leave the castle, his home, his people. What will they think of him for disappearing? For a moment his hands falter where he was tying the laces of his boots, but then Raven’s hands cover his own and she deftly takes over, crouching down on the floor with him.

“What, did they never teach you to dress yourself, you spoiled noble brat?” she asks lightly, tying his laces in two neat bows.

Charles feels some of the tension leave his shoulders, startled into a muffled laugh. Raven’s never stood on ceremony with him, and he’s never wanted her to. “That’s Your Royal Highness, to you.”

Raven wrinkles her nose and pushes herself back up to her feet. “Come on. We need to put in some good distance tonight. We’re going into the forest and you know that’s the first place they’ll start to look for you.”

“How far are we going?” Charles asks, crossing back over to his bed. He slides a hand beneath his pillow, searching for the sleek hilt of his dagger. Raven raises an appreciative brow when he pulls the simple sheath out. “I’m not entirely naive as you think I am,” he says dryly, securing it to his belt. He’d much rather prefer taking his father’s sword, but that’s all the way down in its place of honor in the armory and Raven will likely throw a fit if he asks for a chance to go and fetch it. The dagger will have to be enough for now.

“That was harsh of me,” Raven admits, probably the closest she’ll come to apology. “You don’t need to worry about food. Anything else?”

Charles pauses, his mind gone annoyingly blank. There’s no use in asking Raven again where she plans to take him, which means there’s no way for him to know what he should bring. Does he need anything? How is he supposed to gather allies to his cause if he has nothing but a cloak and a dagger?

An idea strikes him, and he practically runs over to his writing desk to yank open the top drawer. After a few seconds of fumbling blindly his fingers close around the heavy signet ring that used to belong to his father, pulling it out from where he’d stashed it years ago to keep it out of Kurt’s greedy hands. He doesn’t need to be able to see the ring to picture the proud Xavier coat of arms engraved in the bezel, swiping his thumb over the worn lines once before sliding the ring into his pocket. It feels right to take it. At the very least, it’ll prove who he is if it comes down to it.

“Charles,” Raven says firmly from the window.

“Coming,” he answers automatically, wheeling around to face her. She’s already perched on the edge of the windowsill, half out of the room already.

For a fleeting moment Charles spares another thought of not quite believing what he’s doing but then he crosses the room to join Raven, climbing up beside her and offering her a hand to hold onto as she lowers herself down onto the narrow ledge below his window on the outside of the castle. Charles follows after her, scraping his shin against the gritty stone as his feet search for the ledge, wincing when his dagger clangs softly against the wall. Between this and the entire conversation he and Raven had in his room, it’s amazing that the guards posted out in the hall haven’t come to investigate. Charles isn’t sure whether to be relieved or dismayed.

The ledge is narrow but Charles knows it well, an old standby escape route from his room that he’s used countless times throughout his youth—it’s easy to get outside if you have a path that will bypass any nosy guards or servants. It curves along the outer wall of the tower that serves as his wing of the castle, and then on the east side the stone blocks the tower is made of get bigger and chunkier, making it easy to spelunk up and down if you know where exactly to put your hands and feet. Charles hopes that this wasn’t the route his would-be assassin was planning on using to get into his rooms.

Luckily he and Raven are quite alone as they climb down one at a time with only the moonlight to guide them, hugging the weather-worn wall tightly as they descend. There are few guards posted on some of the upper battlements of the castle, but they shouldn’t see Charles and Raven unless one of them makes enough noise to draw attention.

They end up on the roof of one of the castle’s four atriums, ducking down low and scurrying across the flat, open surface. There’s a small staircase tucked out of the way in one corner that Raven makes an immediate beeline for, Charles hot on her trail, and they descend down the winding stone steps swiftly and silently, pausing only once at the bottom to make sure no one is nearby before stealing across the outer courtyard. They stick to the shadows, though Charles can’t help but feel that the castle is less protected than it should be. Perhaps Kurt ordered a lighter nightwatch in order to make things easier for his hired assassin.

The reality of his situation is finally starting to sink in a little more poignantly, and Charles grits his teeth even as he follows Raven through an archway—noticeably unguarded—and out of the castle at last. This feels too much like tucking his tail between his legs and running away.

They dart across the small stretch of grassy field that separates the back end of the castle from the beginning of the forest, slowing only once they reach the shelter of the trees. Charles pauses on the very edge of the woods, taking one last look back at the castle that is his birthright, where he’s destined to lead the people of Westchester, his people, through another prosperous age. He can’t let his kingdom fall to ruin because of the greed of one man and a handful of nobles. Charles will return.

“Come on, Charles,” Raven says softly, and Charles obeys, pulling his hood up over his hair and follows her into the dark forest, which has strangely always felt more like home.

X

Charles follows Raven through the woods for the next two days without complaint, even though by now he’s well overdue a more detailed explanation. He doesn’t ask where exactly she’s leading him to and she doesn’t offer any further information, tight-lipped and grim faced as they hike, crossing through streams whenever they find one and always heading uphill, up the mountainside where the temperature is colder even during the day and at night Charles can hear wolves howling in the distance.

“Is there any pursuit?” Charles had asked her on the first morning, having woken at sunrise to find Raven standing on the edge of their makeshift campsite that had been little more than two sleeping areas scratched out in the dirt. They’d been up more than half the night, putting as much distance between themselves and the castle as possible before Raven had finally allowed them to stop and catch a few hours’ worth of sleep.

Raven hadn’t answered at first. Wearing nothing but her cloak, she’d reverted back to her blue form, all lithe muscle and gleaming scales, nothing at all like anyone else Charles has ever met, and with her back to him she’d been silhouetted dramatically by the early morning sky. He could feel her mind churning but as always he’d kept his promise and hadn’t read her thoughts.

“There is,” Raven had said at last when Charles had gotten up to stand beside her, yawning sleepily into one hand even while reaching out to take her hand with his other, “but most of them are going in the wrong direction.”

“Most of them,” Charles observes. He can’t sense any other minds within the range of his telepathy but Raven’s always had uncanny knowledge of the happenings of the forest; she’s always known where to find Charles whenever he could give his nannies or tutors the slip and dash into the forest that always seemed to call his name. She’d always shown up not long after Charles started each of his excursions, ready to laugh and play when they’d been children, and willing to walk with Charles on long, winding routes through the trees when they’d grown older and Charles used the forest as a refuge to think and escape from the increasingly roiling politics of the castle. Until now it’d been a week since his last trip into the forest.

“There may be a couple on our trail,” Raven admits, but then she gives a faint, not entirely pleasant smile. “But not for long.”

Charles gives her hand a small squeeze. “Better keep moving in any case, my lady,” he says lightly.

Raven’s smile warms, and she knocks her shoulder against Charles’. “I’m glad I got to you in time, you noble fool.”

It’s not a stretch of the truth at all for Charles to agree, “Me too.”

The first day is an easy hike, the slope of the mountain gentle and, Charles supposes that night, he still has the knowledge that the castle is only a day away if he is suddenly overcome with the need to turn back. The second day is harder, more of a climb than a hike, and they don’t speak very much in order to concentrate and conserve energy and oxygen, which Charles can practically feel growing thinner and thinner the higher they ascend. Even the forest is quieter, the trees tall and silent around them, growing at impossible angles out of what feels like nearly vertical terrain. Raven produces thin biscuits out of a pocket in her cloak when Charles is hungry, and makes him drink water from her deerskin so icy cold it hurts his teeth when he’s thirsty.

They reach the top of the mountain ridge on the third morning, the sun still angled overhead in the sky as they stop to breathe for a moment and stand on a patch of level ground to enjoy the lack of strain on their leg muscles. Up here there’s nothing but the sound of the wind, and outcrops of rock weathered down by its relentless, invisible fingers and bleached by the sun, glittering with feldspars and mica.

No trees grow along the ridge but the forest continues its sprawl down the other side of the mountain, spreading out as far as Charles can see even at this height, wild and rugged land for miles and miles seeming to stretch on into infinity—or at least until it meets the next range of mountains that look more like hills on the horizon. When he turns back, Charles can’t see the castle or the village he knows lies somewhere far below.

“You’ve got to give me something, here, Raven,” Charles says at last. “We’re effectively standing on the borders of Westchester. I’ve followed you this far because I trust you unreservedly, but if I’m going to follow you further I need to know why. Or at least where.”

“You know the why,” Raven says, taking his hand to steer him around, away from his country. “You’re following me because had you not, your stepfather would have you murdered. As for where, we’ll be there by sundown.”

“Your grand plan is to have me camp in the wilderness?” Charles asks her skeptically.

“Well you might consider it camping, since you grew up in a castle,” Raven answers dryly, “but actually I’m taking you to my friend’s house.”

“Your friend lives out here?” Charles waves his free arm to indicate the vast expanse of forest before them. “Raven, I need allies. I’m sure your friend is lovely, but I need more than one person on my side if I’m going to drive my stepfather out.”

“Don’t worry, Charles,” Raven insists, “we have a plan. We’ve actually been waiting three years for this. I promise that I’ll—that we’ll explain in full once we’re there.” She steps out in front of him to take his other hand too, looking up at him intently. “Whatever happened to the chubby little princeling I first met, always ready for an adventure?”

“I’m not chubby.”

“You were,” Raven says fondly, though her grin is wicked. “Darling little butter roll with the biggest blue eyes I’d ever seen.”

“You talk like a grandmother,” Charles accuses, but her grin is infectious and he finds himself smiling back.

“Says the youngest 60-year-old to walk the face of the earth,” Raven scoffs. She lets go of his hands and pokes him in the chest, right above his heart. “But what does this tell you, Mr. Feelings?”

Charles considers her. He should be terrified, he thinks, as he looks past her out across the forest below. He’s miles from home, dragged out of bed in the middle of the night with possible assassins on his tail. But he isn’t afraid. It feels right to be in the woods—it’s always felt right and safe amongst the trees, and the strange feeling of someone calling his name, like a voice that can faintly be heard only if the breeze is just right, or a mind that’s just beyond the reach of his telepathy, has only grown stronger with each passing hour. Not even the nightly howling of the wolves has made him nervous: instead it feels like a greeting instead of a warning.

And yet...can he walk away from his country, his birthright, his home, because of a gut feeling?

“I’ll have answers as soon as we arrive?” he asks at last.

“Yes,” Raven says, all traces of humor gone and her face serious. “And I promise that we’ll return.”

That more than anything is what Charles truly needs to hear, nodding slowly. It’s the guilt of abandoning the people of Westchester to his stepfather’s unchecked power that’s holding him back the most—Kurt will never be anything but a tyrant king, and Charles can’t stomach the thought of allowing him to rule. “Lead on.”

“Step carefully,” Raven replies, already heading down the mountain, and Charles takes a deep breath and steps out of Westchester for the very first time.

X

The sky is orange and purple with twilight by the time they reach where the ground levels out at last. The route down this side of the mountain was shorter and more direct than the one they’d taken to climb up on the opposite side, but Charles’ muscles and knees are protesting in exhaustion from the strain of the climb down; it’s relieving to walk without having to brace himself from falling.

Raven is tireless, even picking up her pace a little as she darts through the trees following an invisible path that Charles can’t see. He feels her anticipation from what she projects without meaning to but Charles doesn’t push, concentrating on keeping one foot in front of the other and not slipping on fallen leaves or tripping over exposed roots. Her excitement only grows as they continue on, leading Charles to believe that they must be getting close.

Without warning a dark shape drops down from the tree branches overhead, stopping them both short. Charles startles, shocked by the stranger’s sudden appearance because he hadn’t even felt another mind—and when he reaches forward with his telepathy automatically to gauge whether the imposing figure in front of them is friend or foe, he slides off the man’s mind like rainwater on a glass window. He’s never encountered a mind before that he couldn’t read and it throws him off, like he’s missed a step in a dance and can’t seem to catch up with the beat.

Even Raven is startled, flickering back to her pale-skinned blonde form and grabbing onto Charles’ arm, calling loudly, “Hank!” Wishing for his father’s sword, or any sword, Charles maneuvers them around so that Raven is somewhat behind him and he stands between her and the man as the other begins to approach, free hand inching towards the dagger at his belt.

“Relax, it’s just me,” the man says, stepping out of the deepening shadows of the trees. He comes to a stop in front of Charles, arms folded and puffing on a fat cigar. “I’m your greetin’ party.”

“Logan,” Raven says, relieved and annoyed all at once. She squirms out of Charles’ protective grip and puts her hands on her hips. “Give us a little warning next time before you drop down out of a tree like that. We had a few pursuers on the way here and for a second I thought you were one of them.”

“Odds are the forest took care of them by now,” Logan says with a dismissive shrug. He’s sizing Charles up with his sharp eyes so Charles straightens, taking a half step forward and holding out his hand.

“Charles Xavier, how do you do?”

“Oh I know who you are,” Logan says wryly. He glances down at Charles’ offered hand and for a split second Charles thinks he might actually ignore it but then he extends a large, callused hand and shakes Charles’ firmly. “Logan Howlett, but your manners are a bit wasted on me.”

“Well it seems you are my host, in one way or the other,” Charles says politely, “and I’m indebted to you for helping me, though if you know who I am I’m afraid I can’t recall meeting you before.”

“We ain’t met, Your Highness,” Logan answers, but he sounds amused. “Come on, then. We’d better get back before McCoy gets antsy.”

“Has everyone else arrived?” Raven demands as they set off through the trees. She strides ahead alongside Logan so Charles is left to fall into step behind them, wondering what exactly Raven’s gotten him into.

“Arrived and waiting,” Logan reports, and adds over his shoulder, “all dying to meet you, too, Chuck, since we’ve heard so much about you.”

“Raven hasn’t told me anything about you,” Charles answers stiffly. He should have pressed Raven harder, made her tell him more. Now he only feels as if he’s been tossed into a pond, expecting to be able to touch the bottom only to find that he can’t reach—unprepared and very out of his depth.

“I promised you answers when we got there,” Raven reminds him, “and we’re almost here.”

“Don’t worry,” Logan adds with a laugh, “you’re in for the crash course of your life tonight.”

Up ahead, Charles becomes aware of the low buzz of other minds on the peripheries of his awareness, and soon enough they’re close enough to smell the smoke of a cooking fire and hear voices. They emerge from the trees into a wide clearing, a large but modest cabin sitting proudly in the center while a group of five or six people are set to work tending a large, crackling fire built a hundred or so paces away and laying out food across a long wooden table nearby. After three days with only Raven and the silent trees of the forest for company, Charles feels like he’s walked into some kind of dream; he’s too old now to believe in fairies anymore, but with the darkening night sky and the way the fire’s glowing flames throw long, dancing shadows around the clearing, it’s hard not to believe that he hasn’t stepped into the middle of one of the fairy woods parties one of his nannies used to tell him about as a boy before bed.

But no, the people are all his size and the food is very real—his stomach grumbles loudly at the smell of the food, hungry for a hot meal after three days of biscuits and the occasional clump of berries. Logan overhears and smirks at him, and Charles is just about to open his mouth to defend himself when something amazing happens.

One of the girls near the fire unfolds wings from her back, large dragonfly wings that glisten in the firelight, and as Charles watches she rises up lightly to hover in midair, wings beating too fast for the eye to follow. She laughs at something the red-haired boy below her has said before spinning gracefully in midair and taking off into the night sky.

A flying girl. Flying. Perhaps he really has found fairies after all.

“Don’t look so surprised, Chuck,” Logan tells him, clapping him once on the shoulder hard enough to startle Charles out of his dazed stupor. “Raven says you can read people’s thoughts, right? Who says there can’t be other extraordinary people too?”

“I call it telepathy,” Charles is startled into saying, the one thing he’d never told a single other living soul aside from Raven. He has a funny feeling in his chest, and he turns to look at Raven who watches him with a small smile. “I never—I thought we were the only—why did you never tell me?”

“Oh, Charles,” Raven says with a sigh, drawing him in for a hug. “There were many times I wanted to, believe me. But what do you think you would have done if I told you there were others like us, others with Gifts? You would’ve wanted to rush out here at once to meet them, don’t deny it. But with all the politics in motion at the castle because of your stepfather, you know you couldn’t have afforded to disappear that soon. It was better for you to stay, preoccupied with your lessons.”

“I would’ve returned,” Charles mutters, resting his chin on her shoulder. He feels like a small child that Raven has been watching over all this time, which is a sting to his pride since over the years he’s come to view her as a younger sister, albeit a strange one that lived out in the forest and adamantly refused his offers of coming to live in the castle, even in the dead of winter. In his more whimsical moments, Charles had sometimes even believed that Raven was actually some kind of forest sprite or spirit, because he couldn’t think of any other explanation for her. This is infinitely better.

“Well you’re here now,” Raven says, letting go of him, “and you’re going to get those answers I promised.”

“Finally,” Charles says, heaving a mock sigh of relief so that Raven laughs. His eyes move slowly across the group gathered around the table and fire. “Everyone here is...Gifted?”

“Everyone,” Raven confirms, eyes shining, and Charles’ chest fills with an emotion he struggles to describe, a turbulent mix of uplifting relief and genuine awe, both stemming from the revelation that there are others, just like him, who have extraordinary abilities. Talents. Gifts.

It’s a heady feeling to realize that he and Raven aren’t as alone in the world as he’d thought.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you,” Raven says, but Logan stops her with a shake of his head.

“You and I need to get everyone gathered around and settled,” he says firmly, “or otherwise this meeting is going to take half the night. Introductions can happen later.”

“Alright,” Raven agrees, “I’ll go fetch Hank—”

“Chuck here can go,” Logan says dryly, “he’s less likely to turn McCoy into a bumbling wreck.”

“What are you trying to say?” Raven demands, hands on her hips.

“He’ll be just inside,” Logan says to Charles, nodding towards the cottage. “Just drag him out here so we can start.”

“Alright,” Charles says quickly, wanting to be helpful and eager to escape from the impending storm brewing in Raven’s expression, “we’ll be right out.”

He hurries across the clearing before anything more can be said, making a beeline for the front door of the cottage and glad to let Logan deal with Raven and her temper. He pauses in front of the door for half a moment, wondering if he should knock first or just go on in, and the decision is taken out of his hands when the door is practically thrown open from the inside.

“—by the end of the night,” the other boy is snapping back over his shoulder, and he turns just in time to avoid colliding directly into Charles, coming to an abrupt halt in the doorway. He’s not much older than Charles, a year or two at the most, with sharp, refined features and flinty eyes of indiscernible color, glowing slightly with the reflection of the bonfire over Charles’ shoulder.

“Hello,” Charles finds his voice after a brief few seconds during which they both stare at each other wordlessly, “are you Hank?”

“No,” he answers, unreadable gaze flickering across Charles’ face assessingly.

Without truly meaning to, Charles reaches forward with his telepathy, instinctive upon meeting anyone for the first time to brush against their thoughts and gain a measure of their person. He almost winces when his powers slam into a cold, metal block, built like a fortress around the other boy’s mind.

“Was that you?” His eyes narrow at once and he regards Charles with brimming hostility. “You’re a mind reader?”

“I’m so sorry,” Charles says quickly, stunned. “I wasn’t trying to—read your mind,” he says lamely. It’s apparently no longer a secret, in this company. “Well, I was, but not any deep, private thoughts and wait a moment, how were you able to feel me? No one has before.”

The other boy blinks once. Some of his outward signs of aggression fade, but his eyes remain wary. “I’ve met another mind reader before. I know how it feels.”

“Another telepath,” Charles breathes in wonder.

“Who are you?” the other boy asks suspiciously.

Charles gives himself a mental shake. His entire world has been upended several times in the past three days, three times alone in the past ten minutes. “Charles Xavier of Westchester, at your service.”

“You’re Prince Xavier?” he asks, and Charles isn’t sure whether or not to be miffed by how incredulous he sounds.

“Is there a problem?” Charles says, raising an eyebrow.

“I—” he hesitates, something oddly vulnerable in his face before his expression abruptly closes, slamming shut like a door, reverting back to mirror the impenetrable fortress surrounding his mind. “No,” he says, voice gone flat and cold as he brushes past Charles, out of the cabin and striding towards the edge of the woods.

Charles watches him disappear into the trees, thrown off completely by such an odd reception so much that he doesn’t even have the presence of mind to call after him. When he can’t make out the boy’s lean figure anymore in the deepening shadows of the trees as night begins to fall in earnest—and honestly, who goes out alone into the woods after dark like this?—Charles reaches out with his telepathy again, following the other’s mind even though he still can’t read it, until it winks out of existence completely. Charles blinks in shock, casting his awareness out as far as he can reach. There’s nothing.

“Sorry about that, Your Highness,” someone behind him says, and Charles turns back towards the open door again. Another boy stands on the threshold, smiling at him sheepishly from behind square glasses, all gangly limbs and the pale skin Charles would expect to see on a scholar. “He has a flair for the dramatic, I’m afraid, but I’m sure he meant no offense. I’m Hank McCoy,” he says before Charles can ask, bobbing into a bow that is neat enough to be acceptable in court but tellingly awkward nevertheless, “I’m glad you and Raven made it back safely.”

“Just Charles is fine,” Charles greets him, extending a hand to Hank like he had with Logan. Hank’s grip is strong despite his body language. “I don’t think it’s necessary to stand on ceremony, given the circumstances. Who was that?”

Hank lets out a short, rueful laugh. “That was Prince Erik Lehnsherr of Genosha.”

“Genosha?” Charles casts his gaze back towards the trees, but of course the other prince is long gone.

He knows from his geography lessons that Genosha is a small country located on an island in the Emerald Sea, far beyond the rocky coastline of Westchester. They used to have strong relations with Genosha, but 15 years ago trade trickled before drying up completely and no word has been heard from Genosha since. Couriers were turned politely but firmly away, informed that the island’s borders were closed, and according to Charles’ tutors his father hadn’t pushed the issue out of respect for the friendship between the two countries, and had let it lie completely since it didn’t appear as if Genosha was going to become hostile.

“The very same,” Hank says with a nod, watching Charles speculatively. A brush against his mind garners friendly surface thoughts that tick away with straightforward observation; he’s measuring Charles up, but politely so. “I don’t suppose you came to tell me dinner is ready? I’m starving, if I may be so blunt.”

“I don’t know about dinner,” Charles laughs, “but I’m hungry, too. Logan sent me to fetch you, at any rate, so it must be. He seems impatient for the meeting to begin?”

“Logan is always impatient,” Hank says with a huff of breath, stepping out of the cabin and pushing the door shut behind him. “Though I can’t deny that I’m a little eager too. I assume Raven’s told you everything?”

“Nothing, actually,” Charles admits dryly, “she wanted to wait until we were here and gathered with everyone.”

Hank blinks at him from behind his glasses, eyebrows raised appraisingly. “You trust her very much.” His thoughts are tinged with warmth, so Charles knows he’s not being mocked.

“She’s my oldest friend,” Charles says simply, “I have no reason not to. I may be a telepath, but I don’t make a habit of reading people’s minds without permission, and she’s asked me not to, so.” He runs a hand back through his hair with a light sigh. “I do hope things are explained to me soon, though. Not to say I don’t trust you, but…”

“You’ve come a long way on just faith,” Hank agrees, and his hands make a fluttering motion as if he wants to put them on Charles’ shoulders reassuringly and only just holds back. “I promise it’ll be worth it to hear what we have to say. We know about the state of Westchester, Your High—Charles, and I swear that we’re here to help.”

“I’m willing to listen,” Charles replies honestly, in the face of such earnest hope. He still has no idea what purpose these people have, living in the woods far out in the wild lands and bold enough to assure him help—he’s still privately of the opinion that he’s going to need an army to uproot his stepfather—but the least he can do is listen to what Raven and her friends have to say. “Lead on?”

Together they rejoin the rest of everyone else closer to the fire, and through the clamor of Logan corralling everyone into taking plates and filling them with the food set out on the table—a simple meal of soup and fresh greens and what appears to be a small selection of wild berries, a hundred times more welcome than the cold biscuits Raven’s been feeding him until now—Charles manages to be introduced to everyone gathered: Armando, Alex, Sean, and Kitty, all with incredible, unique Gifts. By the time everyone is settled in the girl with the dragonfly wings returns with a jug of cold water, introducing herself to Charles as Angel just before Logan calls for silence.

“Alright,” Logan says gruffly once he commands their attention. The firelight flickers across his face where he sits to the left of the empty head of the table. He looks down the table to where Charles sits, occupying the other head of the table, and meets his gaze frankly. “No sense in beatin’ around the bush any longer. We need your help to take back Genosha.”

“Genosha?” Charles asks, dropping his soup spoon with a soft splash. “I thought I was coming to you for help to take back Westchester.”

“Hear me out, Chuck,” Logan says, holding up a placating hand. His eyes are wary, though, watching Charles carefully. “You remember—or at least you had to have learned, at some point, that Westchester and Genosha were on friendly terms?”

“Yes, but then Genosha closed her borders and froze all relations.” Charles looks around the table, at all the faces watching him. “Wait, are you all Genoshan?”

“I’m not,” Raven pipes up with a tiny grin, but Logan silences her with a look.

“Let me tell the story, Chuck,” Logan says to Charles, “and then you can ask all the questions you’d like. This is going to sound very familiar to you, but when Prince Erik was a boy his father, our king, grew ill. His top advisor, Lord Shaw, took advantage of the king’s weakened state under the false guise of shouldering the king’s duties but in actuality he was planning a coup. He bought up all the nobles, gaining their support and slowly but surely instituted policies that solidified his power, all while our king was growing weaker and weaker in health. Shaw’s the one who closed our borders, and cut us off from Westchester and the rest of the realm. And then, when he judged the moment right, he murdered the king and his wife the queen.”

Charles stares at him in horror. “And the prince?”

“Witnessed the entire thing,” Logan replies grimly. He looks away for a moment. “I should have seen it coming. I should have been able to stop the whole thing from happening. But Shaw took us all by surprise. He and the king were boyhood friends. He was trusted.”

“After that, Shaw’s power became absolute.” Armando picks up the narrative, somber but even. “He and Lady Frost—House Frost is one of our wealthiest and most influential noble families—married and appointed themselves as regents over Erik, but everyone knew that they were basically our king and queen. Erik was supposed to be little more than a puppet.”

“Erik’s not exactly puppet material, though,” Kitty speaks up, mouth twisting wryly. “He’s got a temper, and he isn’t meek about it. He hates Shaw, and over the years he’s let that hatred stew.” She jabs a berry off her plate with a dagger and pops it into her mouth. “It’s his entire purpose to destroy Shaw.”

“Why didn’t he?” Charles asks quietly, but he thinks he can guess the answer.

“Shaw is too strong,” Sean says, gesturing wildly. “He’s Gifted too, and his power is like, infinite strength. Anything you throw at him he’ll bounce it back tenfold.”

“Lady Frost can turn to diamond,” Angel adds, “and plus, she can read minds.” She looks at Charles sidelong. “Raven says you can too.”

Charles sits up a little straighter. Another telepath? “I can,” he says slowly. “I’ve never met anyone who could do the same things I can before. Or anyone aside from Raven who is Gifted.” He smiles weakly. “This is all very new to me.”

“A lot of people in Genosha are Gifted,” Alex speaks up. “We were surprised when Raven told us the crown prince of Westchester was Gifted too.”

Tentatively, Charles does a brief sweep across the surfaces of all their minds except for Raven and Logan. They aren’t afraid of him. Wary, yes, as anyone would be of a stranger to whom they’re pleading their case to, but not afraid of him. Not afraid of his power.

“What then?” he asks, drawing himself out of thought. “You had to have ended up out here in the wilderness somehow.”

“Erik’s eighteenth birthday happened, three years ago,” Logan says. “As our only prince and only surviving member of the royal family, he should’ve inherited the throne and become king. Shaw and Frost didn’t want that, however, because like Kitty said, Erik was no puppet. They knew full well that once he was king, they wouldn’t be able to control him. Not for Frost’s lack of trying, though. Her plan was to get into Erik’s mind and literally control him, but we were a step ahead of her.” He bumps fists with Armando. “I have natural resistance to mind readers thanks to my Gift, and thanks to his, Armando can create his own when he wants to. We taught Erik how to shield and protect his mind so Frost couldn’t infiltrate him. So when that failed, Shaw decided that he’d just go ahead and finish the job he’d started years ago and kill Erik instead. We barely got him out. He wanted to stay and fight, so I might’ve taken the liberty to knock him upside the head and drag him out of the palace. These guys all insisted on coming along.”

“We all grew up as squires with Erik,” Kitty explains, “there’s no way we could allow Logan to take off with Erik alone. He’s our prince, we’re all sworn to protect him. Plus, none of us wanted to stick around under Shaw’s rule either.”

“Well actually, I am a physician,” Hank says, “and Logan forced me to come along. Not that I wouldn’t have come anyway,” he says hastily when Logan gives him a look, “someone had to make sure you didn’t permanently damage the prince’s head when you knocked him out.”

“We crossed the sea and landed on the coast of Westchester,” Logan says. “After a couple of world-class tantrums, Erik agreed that it was for the best to lie in wait and gather strength before attempting to reclaim his throne.”

“I can see you’ve done a good job of lying in wait, out here in the forest,” Charles says skeptically, “but unless you have an army hidden out here too, where’s the strength?”

“This,” Logan says with a grimace, “is where things get strange.”

“I guess it’s my turn,” Raven says sweetly, and Logan rolls his eyes. She clears her throat. “So here I am one day minding my own business as I skip about through the forest only to suddenly run into a group of bedraggled Genoshans lost in the woods. They kind of took me by surprise since they saw me in my blue form, but they were quick to show off their Gifts too and assure me that they came in peace.

“Logan explained the whole story you just heard, and then added that they were trying to make their way to see the king of Westchester and ask for help, counting on Westchester to remember her friendship with Genosha. I had to inform them about you, Charles, and how your stepfather is basically on his way to mimicking what Shaw’s done.”

“That must have been disappointing,” Charles says ruefully.

“It certainly put a dampener on the mood,” Raven agrees with a nod, “but luckily for them, I had a solution. I’m a forest dweller, you know. And you know that these woods are magic.”

“Magic?”

“There’s a deity that presides over this forest,” Raven explains, “and she lives deep within the trees where no mere humans can travel. Even Gifted people wouldn’t be able to find her, but I’m one of hers. I know the way.”

“One of hers?” Charles asks.

Raven sighs. “I’m a forest sprite, Charles. She created me to help watch over and protect her forest. Part of my duties included watching over and protecting you.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re due to be king of Westchester,” Raven says. “Granted, I wasn’t originally supposed to ever come into contact with you. I never revealed myself to your father, after all. But you were different. Special. Gifted.”

“You watched over my father?” Charles asks blankly.

“Your grandfather, too, but that’s not the point right now, Charles. The point is that I led Erik, Logan, and everyone else to—well she doesn’t really have a name. We call her the Mother of the Forest, or just the Mother. But I thought that since Westchester wouldn’t be able to help, she might be willing. At first, too, it seemed like she might. But then…”

“You’ve met Erik,” Hank says hesitantly, “he’s...kind of…”

“Rude,” Kitty says with a snigger.

“Bitchy,” Angel agrees.

“Idiotic,” Alex says flatly.

“Troubled,” Armando offers.

“Brat,” Logan says with a snort.

“Savage, man,” Sean adds with a nod.

“Well, I noticed that he’s not here to tell his story himself,” Charles answers diplomatically.

Logan huffs out a breath. “We’re not exactly doing him justice. He’s a good leader. He’s actually grown up a lot these past three years, though he still has his moments. He’ll make a grand king when the day comes. But the thing is, when Raven introduced us to the Mother, Erik wasn’t at his best. He’d just lost his kingdom, to the man who’d murdered his parents. He’d been robbed of his revenge, and we were hundreds of miles away from home in the middle of the wilderness with not a lot of hope on our side. When the Mother wasn’t looking like she was going to magically pull an instant solution out of thin air, Erik’s temper snapped.”

“It wasn’t pretty,” Raven says, “and the Mother wasn’t impressed. She decreed that if Erik was going to act like an animal, he might as well be one, too. So she placed a curse on him.”

“A curse?” Charles asks, alarmed.

“That’s why he ain’t here right now, bub,” Logan says grimly. “Every nightfall he transforms into a wolf, and stays that way till dawn. Wolf by night, man by day. She turned him into a werewolf.” He lets out a mirthless laugh. “Last I checked normal people still fear those, so it makes it kind of difficult to muster the troops.”

Stunned, Charles isn’t sure what to say at first. His best friend really is a forest sprite, who is potentially hundreds of years old and serves a forest deity that has turned the prince of a neighboring kingdom into a werewolf. All of this in his own backyard, under his very nose. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale or dream, and yet he’s still sitting here at a table full of people watching him carefully for a reaction, real and in the flesh. He doesn’t have to pinch himself to know he isn’t going to be waking up from this.

“Seeing as I’m currently a refuge from my own kingdom as well,” Charles says at last, “I’m afraid I don’t see how I can be of any help to you, as much as I’d like to be.”

Raven smiles at him. “Haven’t you always felt like the forest is home, when others have found it dark and foreboding? Haven’t you ever heard it calling your name? The Mother likes you, Charles. She’s always wanted to meet you. You’re the first person in Westchester to be Gifted, and you’re the crown prince to boot. Until now, only a tiny, isolated population in Genosha ever had Gifts. You represent huge change to come. You can usher in an entire new age.”

“Listen, Charles,” Logan says when Charles remains quiet, “our original plan was to wait for you to ascend to your throne, and then come knocking on your door. But your stepfather stepped things up with his assassination plans, so Raven had to get you out of there. The stuff going on in Genosha ain’t pretty. Shaw’s killing people off only on the account of not being Gifted, and the rich are getting richer while the poor are getting poorer. People were already beginning to starve when we left three years ago. If you can help us, help Erik to take his throne back, I know he’ll help you in return. We all will. We’ll owe you something huge.”

“I can lead you and Erik to the Mother,” Raven says, “and you can ask her to lift her curse on Erik and he can plead his case again in a much more humble fashion.”

“And then, gods willing, we can go back to Genosha and confront Shaw.” Logan folds his arms where he sits. “If you can stop Frost, you can also get into Shaw’s head and stall him long enough for Erik to stand a chance at taking him down.”

“I don’t…” Charles trails off when he sees just how desperately hopeful everyone at the table is trying not to be.

He’s practiced plenty of times with his telepathy, using it on unwitting castle guards to see if he could slip past them unnoticed in the hall, and even going so far as to changing his stepfather’s mind on a few occasions when he’d felt Kurt looking for him, deftly switching Kurt’s thoughts away to forget about Charles for the time being. Once he’d even frozen the entire front hall of the castle, bustling servants and posturing nobles still as statues for Charles to step through like a visitor in a mausoleum. That had spooked him, to realize just how much he might be capable of with his Gift.

But he’s never met another person with a Gift exactly the same as his own, let alone someone who sounds like she has far more experience wielding it than he does. Logan and his compatriots want Charles to stop her, and by stop it almost sounds like they mean kill.

“What if I can’t convince the Mother to lift the curse on Erik?” Charles finally asks. “Is he just going to give up, then? Are you all going to remain here as exiles for the rest of your lives?”

“I think you underestimate your persuasive abilities,” Raven says with a grin.

“We’ll deal with that scenario if it comes,” Logan says, shaking his head, “and it’ll be up to Erik what we do if he’s stuck with the curse forever.”

“Erik is very lucky to have you all,” Charles remarks honestly, looking down along the table and taking in each of their faces. “I wish I could say that I would have half as many loyal friends if our positions were reversed. Not,” he adds, reaching over to take Raven’s hand and fold it between both of his own with a small smile, “that I’m ungrateful for who I’ve already got.”

“Don’t get sappy on me now, Your Royal Pain-In-My-Ass,” Raven says, but she squeezes one of his hands meaningfully. “But please, Charles. These are all Gifted people just like us, and I know they’ll help you get rid of Kurt—or at least throw him out on his rear,” she amends when Charles frowns, “to satisfy the pacifist within you.”

“I swear that we’ll help you,” Logan says solemnly, and all around the table everyone else nods in agreement, “even if the curse on Erik isn’t lifted.”

“Very well,” Charles answers at last, and can’t help but smile back at the relieved grins that break out on everyone’s faces, “I’ll do my utmost to help lift the curse.” He doesn’t say anything about fighting Frost off if it comes down to a confrontation in Genosha. One thing at a time.

“Thank you, Charles,” Logan says, the others echoing the sentiment after him. “We’re aware that you have your own kingdom to look after, especially right now, so we’re very grateful for your help. We won’t let you down.”

“And I’ll try not to let you down in turn,” Charles says. He shivers when the breeze abruptly picks up, realizing for the first time how low the fire has burned down. It’s gotten late, though the sky isn’t pitch black—splayed out above them overhead are millions of stars, breathtaking for all that they are coldly serene and so far away.

“Well, now it’s settled,” Raven announces brightly into the lull of silence. “You’d all better get some rest since we’re due for an early start tomorrow morning.”

That sets off a flurry of activity, and Charles finds himself ushered back towards the cabin with the promise of a warm bed to bunk in for the night. Raven surprises him by crawling up into the blankets with him after everyone else has settled down too, so they can curl around each other just as they used to when they—or when Charles, at least, was much younger, and they’d nap together on lazy summer afternoons in the woods.

“Thank you, Charles,” Raven whispers to him, and in the dark he can feel that she’s slipped back into her blue form. She’d kept her blond form all throughout dinner, which was rather unlike her but Charles hadn’t asked. “I know this is a lot, and probably not quite what you were expecting when I promised you help. But these are good people. They deserve to get their home back.”

“What is it you like to call me? Sanctimonious but selfless,” Charles whispers back, and Raven has to stifle a laugh. “I think you knew that I wouldn’t be able to say no.”

“You could’ve if you wanted to,” Raven replies softly. “I know you’re worried about Kurt and Westchester.”

“Of course I could’ve,” Charles agrees, “but I couldn’t say no. We’ll probably miss my birthday, and Kurt will be able to rule, but…” He’s quiet for a moment. “It won’t be for long.”

“No,” Raven says, and she sounds so confident and assured that Charles has to believe her, “it won’t be for long at all. Just think, Charles, you’ll be able to say that you saved two kingdoms.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Charles says with a small, fond smile. “Let’s see if I can help Prince Erik first.”

“Then you’d better shut up and go to sleep,” Raven says, her own grin evident in her voice, “because we’re in for some long days.”

Charles only resists the urge to pinch her since he doesn’t want to get kneed in the stomach. “Goodnight, Raven.”

“Sleep well, Charles,” she answers, “we’ll all be standing guard.”

The day must truly be catching up to him because despite the churning thoughts in his head he manages to drop off quickly, though not before he swears he hears a lone wolf’s howl in the far off distance.

X

They head out early the next morning, Raven leading the way confidently while Logan brings up the rear, everyone else spread out between them as they make their way through the trees. The clearing quickly disappears from view, the cabin dark and cold where they’ve abandoned it, and Charles has a sense that one way or another, none of them plan on ever returning.

Erik has rejoined them, already human again by the time he’d emerged from the trees only a few minutes before they’d all set out, so Charles misses the opportunity to see him in wolf form. He is silent and his face impassive as Logan briefs him on the meeting last night, only giving a single nod as if he’d expected as much. He makes no efforts to come over to greet Charles or perhaps even thank him where Charles stands near Hank and Raven, which makes Charles start to wonder if Erik fully grasps the extent of the favor Charles is doing him.

Charles starts out near the front of the party, close to Raven, back in her blond form and in the lead, but when Hank creeps up to talk to her Charles gets the sense of being a third wheel and so he drops back to hike with Alex and Armando for awhile, getting to know them a little better and taking the opportunity to ask them more about each of their respective Gifts. Armando is friendly and open, and while Alex is slightly more reserved Charles doesn’t feel as if he’s unwelcome. Kitty joins their small clump and after a brief demonstration of her own Gift, passing seamlessly through a solid tree trunk and emerging unruffled on the other side, begins to regale them with tales from their days as squires, and Charles doesn’t need his Gift to know how wistful they all are as they talk and laugh about their lives back in Genosha.

When the conversation turns more towards training techniques Charles quietly drops back further to walk with Angel and Sean. They tell Charles more about Genosha itself, and how the island kingdom has a few small villages scattered all around its coast but the city on Hammer Bay has the largest population density by far. It sounds like a large portion of the natives are Gifted, which Charles thinks is fascinating—it must be due to their relative isolation that genetic oddities have been able to propagate so readily—though they assure him that there’s still a fair number of humans without Gifts too.

“How could have none of the Westchester envoys never noticed any of this?” Charles asks in dismay. “We had a fairly strong relationship for generations before Shaw came to power and cut off all ties, but I’d never heard of anything remotely like Gifted people ever being reported.”

“For a long time, people still kept their Gifts hidden,” Angel explains, “and in Genosha it was kind of like an open secret that was kept from foreigners. Also, no one in the royal family had ever been Gifted until the Queen gave birth to Erik. After Erik manifested, there was a lot more acknowledgement that a lot of us were Gifted. It didn’t hurt that people with powerful Gifts like Shaw and Frost rose to power too, and Gifts became even more visible.”

“They’ve done more harm than good, though,” Sean says dryly.

“Of course,” Angel says, with an impatient nod, “but you can’t deny that between the prince being Gifted and Shaw and Frost taking influential positions in the palace court, it changed the whole kingdom’s perspective on Gifts in general, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Sean snorts incredulously. “Yeah, maybe in that light. But I think you’re forgetting the methods Shaw and Frost used to change that perspective. It’s not fair to grant lighter taxes to people with Gifts while those without are taxed to poverty, and you know they were starting to get more and more prejudiced by the time we got the hell out of there.”

Charles can sense an argument coming on, and as an outsider he’s not sure he’s qualified to add insights to politics he’s unfamiliar with. It seems to him Genosha could have had a wonderful thing, with so many diverse Gifts appearing in people across the island, but with Shaw and Frost’s interference they’ve turned that wonder into some kind of utopian horror. As Angel opens her mouth to fire back a retort, Charles quietly drops back further to avoid getting drawn into the fray.

Without entirely meaning to, he finds himself falling into step with Erik, who walks alone at the back of the train, Logan nowhere in sight.

“So,” Charles says casually before an awkward silence can crop up. He decides to do away with any formalities since no one here has been very formal to begin with, needing very little encouragement to address Charles by simply his name rather than a title, so he assumes Erik must be the same. “What’s it like to be a wolf? Is it easier or harder to take a piss in the bushes?”

Erik glances over at him sharply, and for a moment Charles thinks he may have misjudged or perhaps cracked a joke on a subject Erik finds far from humorous. After a second, however, the corner of Erik’s mouth twitches. “Easier. No belt and trousers to deal with.”

“Fascinating.”

“I realize this is a highly unconventional way of reforging ties between Genosha and Westchester,” Erik says dryly, the rumbling cadence of his voice steady even while they pick their way over an old fallen log, “but Genosha will not forget. I will not forget.”

“Is this your stunted way of saying thank you?” Charles wonders, and smirks when Erik actually coughs, caught completely off guard.

“Raven said you were inquisitive but bookish, not straightforward to the point of impertinence,” Erik says once he’s recovered.

“Why can’t I be all three?” Charles asks with a wide gesture. “Over the course of the past few days I’ve had my life completely upended—not that I’m trying to compete with you, you understand. I suppose it’s not a competition in the first place. But anyway since all of this is rather unconventional, as you said, we might as well be frank with one another.”

Erik eyes him for a moment as they walk, something intent and appraising in his eyes. “You are a surprise, Charles,” he says eventually when he looks forward again, but he sounds more amused than annoyed, which surprises Charles. After all he’d heard about Erik last night he’d imagined Erik to be short-tempered and recalcitrant, yet here they are practically bantering.

“I’m very used to being underestimated,” Charles says lightly, “especially since I do give off the impression of being bookish and my stepfather has always valued swordplay over things like history lessons. But Raven should know me better than that. I followed her all the way out here, didn’t I?”

“I have already revised my opinion of you three times throughout the course of this single conversation,” Erik admits, “and I expect I’ll continue to do so for as long as we’re in the same company.”

“Good,” Charles says with a grin. “I’m glad to meet you, Erik.”

“Likewise, Charles,” Erik says dryly, but his lips twitch in another fleeting smile.

X

The next three days are spent in a similar fashion, hiking for long hours in the morning and stopping only to take a brief break midday before continuing for several more until Logan agrees to making camp for the night. As the forest grows wilder around them Charles finds himself spending most of his time walking beside Erik, peppering him with questions about Genosha when the day is young and he still has the energy, and keeping a weary but companionable silence when the day’s gotten long and Raven’s swift but relentless pace through the forest all but steals Charles’ breath.

Erik doesn’t seem to mind talking about Genosha; he only ever shuts down the conversation if Charles tries asking more about his past. His mind is as impenetrable as ever to Charles’ telepathy but now that he knows Erik a little better Charles can read some emotions off of him, and it doesn’t take much to discern that Erik still harbors a deep-seated rage for what Shaw did to his family and kingdom.

Out of politeness, or perhaps true curiosity, Erik asks Charles about Westchester in turn, and more often than not Charles finds himself comparing policies and laws with Erik regarding their separate kingdoms. It’s easy to see why Genosha and Westchester were friends for so long; both kingdoms share a desire for longtime peace and prosperity for their citizens.

“You know,” Erik remarks on the fourth morning, so casual that Charles wouldn’t have been able to see this coming even if he could read Erik’s thoughts with his Gift, “if nothing had changed, you and I probably would’ve been introduced at our own betrothal party.”

Charles nearly faceplants in the undergrowth when he misses a step, only one of Erik’s broad hands slipping beneath his arm to steady him saving him from embarrassment. “Now who’s being straightforward,” he mutters, waving off further assistance and taking a short detour around the opposite side of a tree to grant himself a second in order to recompose his expression.

“It’s not a stretch of the imagination,” Erik says once they’re past the tree and side-by-side again. “Our kingdoms already had close ties. None of the other noble families in Genosha have any prospects my age, so unless I was to wait for someone to come of age, my p—” his voice cuts before he can finish parents but Erik’s composure doesn’t change, “—my hand probably would’ve been offered to you.”

Charles considers. He has no way to know what plans his father might have had for him, and Kurt had never pursued any matchmaking or finding suitors for Charles since his goal was to remove Charles from his position in the line to the throne, not strengthen it. But for Erik to suppose that they would’ve been betrothed...it’s not entirely far-fetched.

“I doubt I would’ve accepted,” Charles says airily, trying not to let his grin show, “you’re entirely much too stingy when it comes to scaling back the navy. I’m afraid it never would’ve worked.”

“We’re an island nation, we need a strong navy if we’re to dissuade pirates and anyone else from thinking we’d be easy pickings, alone and isolated as we are,” Erik answers calmly. They had this debate the day before which is probably why he’s not getting up in arms about it again. “Besides, you suggested immediate and large cuts. If that were the only deal-breaker of our hypothetical marriage, I might’ve been willing to compromise.”

“Compromise,” Charles says with a slow smile, and this time it’s Erik who clears his throat and winds around the opposite side of a tree trunk. “In that case I hypothetically probably would’ve kept that in mind.”

Erik’s recovered enough to smirk at him, eyes dancing with an appreciative light that Charles kept up the joke. “I don’t suppose our task master is going to allow us to stop for midday any time soon.”

Charles cranes his neck back to look up at the sky. The forest has changed, moving from lush, deciduous trees to tall and wide set coniferous pines, so the sun is visible high above. “It’s getting close to that time, at any rate.” He glances back to Erik. “You stay up all night, too, to run as a wolf. You aren’t exhausted?”

“I’m tired,” Erik admits after a beat, voice lowering slightly in pitch as if he doesn’t want anyone else to know; as if it weren’t obvious enough by the dark bags beneath his eyes. “But the wolf wants to run at night, and I can’t exactly stop him.”

“There are two of you in there, then, when you change?” Charles asks curiously. He still has yet to see Erik’s four-legged form and isn’t sure how a request for a viewing might be taken.

“Yes,” Erik says slowly, “I suppose that’s right. I’m still myself, but there’s something else that takes over. The wolf. It isn’t malevolent, it’s just a beast. But it wants to be a wolf, so my human self becomes...overridden. I’m still there, just underneath.”

“So you can remember what you’ve done, but it’s not you that did it,” Charles says, and Erik dips his chin in a nod. That answers the question, at least, of why Erik always makes sure to leave their camp before his body shifts. “I wonder if there’s a way for your human mind to supersede the wolf mind, and be in control of yourself even in the wolf’s body.”

“I don’t know,” Erik answers, “though it hardly matters now. In three more days I won’t be shifting into a wolf anymore anyway.”

“If we’re successful,” Charles corrects quietly. He’s still unsure how he’s supposed to convince the Mother to lift the curse, and why she would deign to listen to him in the first place. No one else seems to share his doubts, but he doesn’t want Erik to get his hopes up regardless.

“Why Charles, you’ve already hypothetically convinced me to scale back my navy,” Erik says with another self-assured smirk that absolutely does not have anything to do with the sudden dip in Charles’ stomach, “surely you can hypothetically convince a witch to lift a curse.”

“I’ll consider it if my hypothetical betrothed is exceptionally nice to me,” Charles says loftily, “not hypothetically nice.”

“Stop here for lunch,” Logan’s voice calls out to bring the party to a halt. Up ahead, Alex makes a wisecrack that makes Armando and Raven laugh.

“Why don’t you take a seat,” Erik says, gesturing to a spot on the ground that’s relatively clear of any underfoot vegetation, “and I’ll go see what variation of biscuit Sean has to offer us today.”

“Such hospitality,” Charles remarks dryly so that Erik smirks again, but happily sinks down to the ground with his back leaned against a tree while Erik picks his way forward to collect their lunch rations of the day. It’s a rather good thing Charles was already well at home in the forest and not the spoiled kind of prince, he muses idly as he stretches his legs, or this adventure would be treating him a lot rougher.

Erik swiftly returns, sinking down opposite of Charles. “May I?”

Charles grins. “By all means.”

A moment later the dagger sheathed at his hip slides itself out of the worn leather, floating up into the air on invisible strings before gliding neatly into Erik’s waiting hand. Erik takes great pride in his the affinity he has for metal thanks to his Gift, and Charles isn’t averse to letting him show off. Their Gifts had been another topic they’d instantly connected on, and Erik had been intently interested at how Charles is seemingly the first Gifted person in all of Westchester.

“It’s honey again today,” Erik reports as he swiftly cuts the two biscuits he’s brought back in halves. “At least it’ll cover up the stale taste.” He floats the dagger back over to Charles and sets to slathering the crumbly bread with honey from the tiny crock he’d carried back too.

Charles plucks his dagger out of the air. “I’m capable of feeding myself, you know.”

“You?” Erik glances up at him, eyebrows raised. “Positively helpless.” He hands one of the biscuits over and takes a huge bite of his own.

Charles scoffs as he takes the offered biscuit. “At least I don’t trip over one of my own men on my way back into the campsite.” That had been just this morning, when Erik had been stumbling back into their small campsite after returning to his human body. He’d tripped over Sean and the resulting scream, superpowered thanks to Sean’s Gift, might’ve been powerful enough to wake the dead.

“Sean was supposed to be on watch, he shouldn’t have been sleeping,” Erik mutters. “I think my ears are still ringing from his unearthly screech.”

Polishing off the rest of his food, Charles snorts. “I think every bird in a ten-mile radius took flight and has yet to come back.”

“It has been oddly quiet today,” Erik agrees, casting his gaze around them speculatively. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve heard much aside from the wind.”

“I assumed it was because of the Mother?” Charles glances around them too. “Getting closer to her lair, all living things beware, and the like.”

Erik shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think she’d want her minions to be afraid of her.” He pushes himself back up to his feet and brushes himself off casually. “Stay here.”

Charles raises an eyebrow at Erik’s back as Erik picks his way over to where Logan’s taken a seat and crouches down next to him, their heads close together. Closing his eyes, Charles casts his telepathy outwards, brushing past the minds of his companions and reaching further out into the forest. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to find—someone sent by Kurt to find him, perhaps?—but there’s nothing, but it’s a strange kind of nothing; it’s so carefully nothing that Charles can’t help but feel there actually is something, the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he comes back to himself and opens his eyes.

“Erik?” he calls softly, keeping his tone calm. He starts to climb to his feet when both Erik and Logan look back over at him, only to freeze in place when the long shaft of an arrow buries itself in the tree trunk just above his head with a loud thunk.

“We’re under attack!” Logan shouts, and Charles’ belt yanks him forward so that he hits the ground hard, just as arrow whizzes past overhead.

“From behind!” Erik snaps as Alex, Armando, Angel, and Sean come running. They charge straight past him and Charles hears a loud shout go up before Alex lets loose one of his plasma blasts and an explosion rocks the ground.

Raven sprints up and pulls Charles to his feet, towing him over to where Logan and Erik stand, joined by Hank as well. “Charles, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Charles assures her, brushing his front off. “Thank you, Erik.”

“What the hell, Logan?” Raven demands angrily as Sean gives a shrill scream. “You’re supposed to see this kind of shit coming!”

“They’re downwind,” Logan says grimly, “I still can’t even smell ’em.”

“They’re not carrying any metal,” Erik adds with a scowl, Logan’s hand on his arm seeming to be the only thing keeping him from running towards the sounds of the fight echoing through the trees. “Even their arrows are tipped with stone.”

“I can’t sense their minds, they’re blocking me out somehow,” Charles reports, “which means someone knows about us. All of us.”

“Shaw,” Erik snarls, whirling at once, but Logan yanks him to a halt.

“Shaw ain’t here,” Logan says firmly, calm in the face of Erik’s glare. “Maybe he sent these guys and maybe he didn’t, but I doubt he’d be out here in the middle of nowhere himself. You leave this to us and press forward with Raven. We’ll catch up to you when we’re done here.”

“I know how to fight, Logan,” Erik says coldly, pulling his arm out of Logan’s grasp.

Charles folds his arms. “So do I.”

“They’re not carrying any metal and they’re blocking you out of their heads,” Logan says with a snort, “so between you, you have one dagger. This whole damn quest is for you, Erik, so it’ll be pretty awkward if you get yourself killed. Same goes for you, Chuck. Get out of here. You can make stupid-ass grand gestures once we’re facing Shaw for real.”

As much as he hates the idea of leaving the others to fight an enemy for him, Charles sees the sense in Logan’s words. “Erik, he’s right. Let’s go.”

“I’ll stay here just in case,” Hank says grimly, dropping to a crouch. Charles can see tinges of blue in his skin. “You guys go.”

“Come on!” Raven says impatiently, and that seems to snap Erik out of his staring contest with Logan. He takes off at a jog with Raven so Charles has to sprint to catch up, the three of them barreling recklessly through the trees in the opposite direction of the fight.

“We don’t know how many of them there are,” Erik says grimly as they run, “they might’ve already gotten us cut off and surrounded.”

“We should be coming up on a big river, actually,” Raven answers breathlessly, leaping over a tiny sapling, “so if we can make it there and at least get out backs to it, I—”

“Look out!” Charles cries when he hears a sharp twang, throwing himself sideways into Erik, crashing into him and taking them both down to the ground as an arrow whistles through the air where Erik’s body had been a second prior. He loses track of Raven as he and Erik roll through the bushes with their momentum, coming to a hard stop on on his back before Erik knocks all the breath out of him by landing on top of him.

“Charles?” Erik hisses, concerned, and scrambles off of him, keeping low in their temporary shelter of bush branches.

“I’m fine,” Charles says faintly, pushing himself up into a crouch and willing his dizziness away. “Where’s—?”

“Shh,” Erik says, slowly pushing himself to his feet. “I think it was only one man who followed us but I don’t see him.”

“Get down then, you idiot,” Charles snaps, tugging on him, but Erik merely pulls Charles up to his feet too, and steadies him when Charles sways.

“I think he might’ve gone after Raven, she peeled off in the opposite direction.”

“We have to help her,” Charles says at once, and Erik nods, wrapping his hand around Charles’.

“This way.”

Walking through the bushes silently is an impossible matter, and Charles winces at every rustle of leaves or crack of twigs as they make their way through the trees. He keeps a tight grip on Erik’s hand, tensed and ready to yank Erik back out of the way of any more arrows, and is comforted by the fact that Erik’s squeezing him just as tightly. The sounds of the battle behind them are far off, now, fading in the distance, and Charles wonders if that means one side is winning or if Logan and the others are leading their attackers off in a different direction.

Without warning Erik turns and shoves Charles back around the nearest tree, covering the back of Charles’ head with one hand to keep his skull from cracking back against the bark and using the other to cover Charles’ mouth and stifle his reflexive yelp.

“The archer,” Erik breathes, lips barely moving, and when Charles nods he slides his hand off his mouth and down to Charles’ shoulder instead, keeping him pressed back against the tree but cradled close.

Charles peers over Erik’s shoulder, catching a glimpse of their attacker. The man stands with his back to them in the center of a clearing, a quiver bristling with arrows slung over one shoulder and bow held limply down at his side. His head is cocked as if listening, and as Charles watches he slowly reaches back over his shoulder to draw one of the arrows.

“That isn’t Genosha’s uniform,” Erik whispers, sounding puzzled, turning his head slightly to look back at the archer again.

“I know,” Charles whispers back with cold dread, “because it’s Westchester’s.”

Erik’s gaze cuts back to Charles’ sharply. “I can hear the river,” he murmurs, and sure enough when Charles listens past the loud beating of his own heart, he can make out the sound of rushing water coming from somewhere to their left, “we just have to get rid of him. Let me take your dagger.”

“No,” Charles whispers flatly, doing his best to keep his voice down, “you can’t kill him, we don’t know why they were sent here.”

“They were sent here to attack us, unless that’s escaped you.”

“If they’re from Westchester then they’re my people,” Charles whispers vehemently, “so we do this my way.”

Erik looks like he wants to shake Charles by the shoulders. “You realize that my people probably aren’t sparing the others back there.”

“Self-defense.”

“And this guy has shot arrows at us multiple—”

“Run, you idiots!” Raven shouts, bursting out of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing from them in her blue form, chucking a stone at the archer when he immediately flips his bow up to aim an arrow at her. “Go for the river!”

The archer keeps his arrow and ignores Raven in favor of seeing who she’s yelling at, whirling around to spot Charles and Erik. Charles grabs Erik’s hand again and pulls him to the left, both of them stumbling through the undergrowth while behind them Raven lets out a wild cry, launching herself at the archer to keep him from firing arrows after them.

Please be safe, Charles thinks desperately as he runs, and he doesn’t realize he’s actually said the words out loud until Erik pants, “She’ll be fine, she’s a fierce fighter.”

The sound of rushing water grows louder and louder until at last the river itself comes into view, cutting serpentine through the trees and moving so swiftly that rapids have formed around some of the boulders that jut up out of the water. The river is wide, far wider than Charles expected, and for a moment all he can do is stare blankly at the water while he catches his breath.

“What now?” he asks.

“We find a way across,” Erik says grimly, already stalking along the bank. Now that he’s dropped his hold on Charles’ hand both his fists are clenched at his sides, still angry about having to let others do his fighting for him.

“We can’t wade,” Charles says, joining him on the edge of the water. “It’s too fast. We’ll be swept under even if we somehow don’t slip.”

“Well I don’t see a bridge,” Erik snaps, frustrated, and Charles puts a hand on his arm.

“Calm, my friend,” he says, “Raven obviously meant for us to cross somehow. There’ll be a way.”

Erik takes a deep breath, visibly composing himself. “None of the rocks here are close enough to hop across on either.”

“Then let’s head upstream,” Charles suggests, “maybe there’s an easier crossing point and we can—”

Pain erupts in Charles’ lower right leg, his words cutting off with a ragged scream as an arrow embeds itself deep into the meat of his lower leg, almost punching straight through. His leg collapses before he can even think to compensate and Charles pitches forward, dimly aware of Erik shouting his name before hands grab him to keep him from hitting the ground face-first.

“Charles!” Erik shouts again, hauling him up, and Charles bites out a harsh gasp as more pain lances up his leg, immobilizing it entirely.

“Over there,” Charles says through his teeth, and Erik looks up from staring down at the arrow in Charles’ leg to follow Charles’ gaze to the same archer from before, emerging onto the riverbank several yards away.

Raven, Charles thinks with icy fear. Where’s Raven?

“I’m going to put you down,” Erik says as the archer reaches for another arrow. He lowers Charles gently onto the gravelly shore, stepping in front of him as if to shield him. Charles’ dagger flies up from his belt and hacks at the arrow shaft, cutting it in half so the shorter end remains buried in Charles’ leg. “Try to find shelter if you can. I’ll take care of him.”

“Erik,” Charles says frantically as Erik starts towards the archer, dagger hovering at his shoulder. He tries to scramble back up to his feet but moves too quickly and collapses back down with another cry of pain, his leg oozing blood and unable to take any of his weight. “Erik, don’t!”

The archer has his arrow nocked in his bow now, drawing the string back slowly and taking aim at Erik as Erik sprints towards him, dagger glinting in the sunlight. Charles tries one more time to lever himself back up, trying to keep his weight off his right leg and stumbling forward as the archer releases his arrow—

Erik’s entire body judders as the arrow hits him dead-on in the chest. There’s a split second where Erik is frozen in place, swaying where he stands while the dagger drops harmlessly down to the ground, and then right before Charles’ eyes Erik collapses forward onto all fours, hunching over in pain.

“Erik!” Charles screams, launching himself forward only to trip and fall again when his injury nearly makes his vision go entirely white.

The archer draws another arrow and takes careful aim, right at Erik’s head.

Erik’s body shudders again, and then there’s a loud ripping sound as his form shifts, bones crunching and organs squeezing as his body goes from human to wolf in the space of a second, a loud howl tearing free from his throat. Charles watches in dazed shock as the arrow buried in Erik’s chest is pushed straight back out of his body, clattering to the ground and leaving behind no exit wound.

Erik’s wolf form is huge, three times the size of a normal wolf with shaggy brown fur and glowing yellow eyes that are all the more menacing with how his lips are pulled back in a snarl to reveal jagged white fangs. He shreds the rest of the remains of his clothing to free himself and then bounds towards the archer with another earsplitting howl.

The archer unfreezes from his blank look of shocked horror, loosing his arrow but it’s far too late: Erik’s too fast now, ducking beneath the shot and coiling his back haunches to leap straight at the archer’s face, huge paws extended and jaws open wide. The archer screams as Erik slams into him, the force of the blow enough to send both of them careening into the river with an enormous splash.

“Erik!” Charles shouts, dragging himself up to his feet again, though this time he doesn’t try to move any further. His eyes scan the surface of the river but both Erik and the archer fell in directly ahead of a stretch of white rapids, making it impossible to see if either of them have surfaced.

It’s then that three things occur to Charles simultaneously: one, Erik’s just shifted into his werewolf form in the middle of the day, which is supposedly impossible. Two, Charles has no idea if Erik knows how to swim in his wolf form, let alone recognize any of his friends.

Three, what Charles knows he’s about to do is very, very stupid.

With that in mind, Charles takes a deep breath and throws himself into the river.

The water is an icy cold shock to his system, making it hard to even remember to flail his arms at first and kick his way back up to the surface. It comes with the added benefit of numbing the pain in his right leg entirely, so Charles has no problems, at first, orienting himself and getting his head above the surface.

Then he hits the rapids, and everything goes straight to hell.

He’s yanked under by the current, sent spinning head over heels as the water tosses and turns him. He nearly smashes into several different boulders as he’s towed helplessly along like a ragdoll and it takes all of his strength to kick himself out of the way. He can’t keep this up for long; he’s losing strength fast, the iciness of the water sapping his energy and it’s getting harder and harder not to just close his eyes and sleep, exhaustion from today and the past several days settling in all at once on top of his still-bleeding wound in his leg that drains him just as efficiently. He gasps and struggles for breath every time his head happens to break the surface but it’s never for long, and he’s lost all sense of direction as he’s swept along like debris.

By absolute pure luck, Charles fights his way back up to the surface once more just in time to catch sight of Erik, his fur drenched and no doubt weighing him down considerably as he struggles to pull himself up onto a flat boulder, paws scrambling at the rock’s surface worn smooth by the water. Charles tries to angle himself towards Erik so that the current will carry him straight to the boulder, and as he hurtles towards Erik Charles looks past him to see if there’s any calm water they can swim to for safety, only to discover instead that they’re only several yards away from open, empty air, which can only mean one thing: a waterfall.

They’ve floated further downstream than Charles even realized, and it goes without saying that if they go over that drop they probably won’t survive. Charles is almost to Erik and the boulder now, so if they can both climb up on it and catch their breath, maybe they can figure out a way to get to shore—

Erik’s quivering front legs give out and he slips back down into the water with an aborted howl.

Charles has three seconds to make the choice between lunging for Erik or lunging for the boulder, and only one will probably result in his surviving this. Charles chooses the other, throwing himself after Erik just in time to wrap his arms around Erik’s middle as both of them are swept back under the surface, bypassing the boulder and dragged along towards the waterfall. Erik thrashes in his grip as they break the surface again after a few confusing moments underwater, growling and snapping his teeth.

It’s me, Charles thinks as hard as he can, pressing up against Erik’s foreign, animal mind. Erik, it’s me! You have to come back to me, my friend, or we’re going to die!

Charles manages one last gasp for breath before they’re dunked back underwater again, the cold seeping into his bones and his arms beginning to feel like lead even as he fights to hold on. Erik’s still trying to thrash but even he is growing sluggish, and they can’t be far from the edge of the waterfall now.

Using the last of his strength, Charles puts everything he’s got behind his Gift and pushes through into Erik’s mind, bursting past the wolf and smashing through the fortress of shields that protect Erik’s human mind, crashing into Erik at last and making contact, a huge exchange of thoughts, emotions, and memories pouring out between them from each of them until they’ve almost blurred into one.

Charles? Erik thinks, confused and panicked, and Charles can only feel relief.

There you are, he answers, and then he loses his hold on Erik’s wolf body and slips out of consciousness with the distinct sensation of falling.

X

Charles wakes gradually, the world slowly taking shape from a hazy blur to something more defined as his eyes learn to refocus. He’s freezing cold, full-body tremors running through his muscles making him shake where he lies on the hard ground, with what feels like the world’s sharpest rock digging into his back. It takes him a moment to remember what happened, his memory coming back in patches and flashes—the attack, running through the forest, the pain of being shot in the leg, the river, the waterfall. Erik.

“Aahh!” Charles yelps when a large muzzle appears directly over his face, reflexively attempting to sit up so he can scramble away, but then a large, heavy paw presses down on his chest to pin him in place like a bug.

Charles, you’re awake, Erik’s voice comes in his mind, relieved, and it takes Charles a second to connect it to the large wolf staring down at him. When I first dragged you out of the water I thought you were dead.

“I’m alive,” Charles says faintly, relaxing slightly now that he’s certain he’s not about to be eaten. “Mind helping me…?”

Of course, Erik says quickly, taking his paw away and moving around behind Charles to help him sit up. He lies down behind Charles’ back like some kind of tame dog so Charles can lean back against him wearily while he takes stock of himself.

They’re still on the bank of the river, and while Charles can hear the distant roar of the waterfall from around the bend the water here is slower and much calmer than it’d been upstream. Nothing feels broken, and it’s amazing his head isn’t cracked open wide; the only injury he’s got is the wound in his lower right leg, still slowly oozing blood out from around the broken arrow shaft embedded deeply in his muscle.

“Are you alright?” Charles asks after a moment. His voice comes out as a croak and his chest feels sore, like something heavy was pressing down on him at some point.

I’m fine, Erik answers silently. After we went over the falls, I dragged you up out of the water and made sure you coughed out any water in your lungs before you passed out. You weren’t breathing at first. It scared me. The last thought comes hesitantly, like Erik hadn’t entirely meant to share it.

That would account for why his chest hurts—a giant wolf stood on him till he started breathing again. “Thank you,” Charles says, “you saved my life.”

You saved mine first, Erik says at once. I don’t...what was that, before we fell?

Charles tries to think back. His mind is still muddy, woozy from the fall, and it’s hard to think straight with his teeth chattering this hard. The river must come down from the mountains as snowmelt, to be that freezing cold.

“I don’t know,” Charles answers slowly, nothing but honest. “You—the wolf was panicking, and was going to end up killing us both, so I tried to reach through to your mind. I was panicking too, and drowning, so I must have used more force than I meant to, and...Erik, I can remember your childhood.”

I can remember yours, Erik answers, deliberately neutral. I rather think I know everything about you now.

“I’m sorry,” Charles says, feeling a little wrong-footed as he tries to line up two separate sets of memories in his head. The juxtaposition is dizzying. “I didn’t mean to.”

I know, Erik assures him. It’s just very...different. A gross breach of privacy, but at least it’s mutual.

“I’d understand if you were angry,” Charles offers up. It’s not a stretch to assume that Erik’s an extremely private person, especially given his past and the way he constantly keeps his mind shielded. Erik hadn’t offered up much about his childhood before Shaw’s takeover during their talks while they’d hiked with the rest of their companions in the days prior, but now Charles can see it all: how much Erik loved his parents, and how much they loved him in return. He cuts the memory off before it can reach their deaths.

I...don’t know how I feel, Erik admits. It’s not like you can put it back or erase it.

“No,” Charles agrees quickly. He has no idea how he did it in the first place, and isn’t certain that attempting to erase Erik’s memories from his mind or his memories from Erik’s mind wouldn’t cause some other kind of damage. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Erik huffs out a sigh, and Charles’ entire body rises and falls with the motion where he leans against Erik’s side. Something tells me you shouldn’t be anyway. You did save our lives.

“You’re still a wolf, though,” Charles says, twisting around to look at Erik. “I thought you only shifted at night, but gods, Erik...I thought you were dead when that arrow hit you.”

I did too, Erik says, his tail shifting a little uneasily. This has never happened before. When you were still unconscious I tried to see if I could will myself back to being human again, but nothing worked. His mental voice turns bitter. At least I got to keep my human mind this time.

“You’re welcome,” Charles says lightly after a moment, and Erik turns his head to press his nose against his arm in rebuke.

I’m not blaming you for the shift. But thank you, at any rate, for letting me keep my sense of self. If the cost is a few memories, then...I’d pay it again.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Erik,” Charles says, but it comes out less heartfelt than he’d envisioned and more pathetic-sounding when his chattering teeth make his voice waver.

You’re freezing, Erik says, standing up so abruptly that Charles nearly falls backwards. And it’s getting late, too. I tried running back towards the falls to see if there was any way back up, but nothing I could climb in this body. An edge of frustration enters his voice. We have no way of telling if the others are alright.

“I can’t sense anyone at all with my Gift,” Charles says after a moment of reaching out to try. This kind of emptiness is different from the kind he’d sensed before—not a deliberate absence of human minds, but a definite and unrelenting one: he and Erik are very much alone. “The fighting must’ve led them all further away.”

He hopes desperately that they’re all unharmed—and Raven, gods, Raven, who he’d last seen attacking the archer who’d ultimately ended up in the river with Charles and Erik. Charles hopes that doesn’t mean he’d finished Raven off first.

We need to get you warmed up, Erik says, drawing Charles back to the here and now. And we need to do something about that.

Charles automatically jerks his leg away when Erik puts a paw down near the arrow shaft sticking out of him. “Can’t we just leave it?” Charles asks, even though he already knows the answer to that. Past the cold that seems to have settled in the very marrow of his bones, his entire leg is throbbing, and it’s only going to feel worse once his body temperature is up.

It’s going to get infected, Erik says, better to pull it out now and wrap it tight.

“Wrap it with what?” Charles mutters, casting around.

...Good question, Erik says after a pause.

“My cloak,” Charles says, unhooking the sodden mess from his shoulders. “Can you tear some strips off for now? Once I can build a fire we’ll dry it out so I can rewrap my leg with dry bandages later.”

Yes, Erik agrees at once, and sets to it with his teeth, tearing off the end of Charles’ cloak. Will this do?

“That should be fine,” Charles says absently, staring down at his leg and shivering miserably. It’s going to be painful, and he’s being a baby about it, as Raven would say, but that isn’t going to change the fact that it’s going to hurt.

Ready? Erik prompts him gently, depositing the wet rags he’s torn off of Charles’ cloak within reach. Just do it fast.

Charles reaches down to touch the broken arrow shaft and that alone is enough to make him flinch, leaning back to brace his hands behind himself with a gasp. “It’s too tender. I can’t do it now.”

You have to, Erik says firmly. He circles around Charles, his massive form taking up all the space in front of Charles as he crouches between Charles’ legs. Let me?

“Alright,” Charles says warily, trying not to tense as Erik opens his massive jaws to close his teeth almost delicately around the arrow. He lets out a hiss of breath at the slight pressure it puts on his leg. “Do it!”

Do not kick me, Erik mutters, and just as Charles is about to snap at him to get it over with, Erik yanks his head sideways and pulls the arrowhead out of Charles’ leg.

Charles shouts in pain, whole body jerking back and his vision wavers for a moment. He leans forward to quickly wrap the damp strips of cloth around his leg tightly to stanch the blood flow, wiping away a few errant tears of pain away from his eyes when he’s done. Erik watches the proceedings silently with his eerily intelligent wolf eyes, and then surprises Charles by leaning over to lick his hand when he’s done.

What, Erik says defensively when Charles looks at him, sounding half-surprised at his own action too, you look like you needed it.

“What I need is a fire before I die of exposure,” Charles replies, but reaches over to ruffle Erik’s ears.

We should move away from the riverbank, Erik says, picking up the rest of Charles’ cloak with his teeth. Just in case there’s anyone else looking to attack us.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stand on this,” Charles admits, gesturing at his leg. “And what if Raven or Logan or anyone else is looking for us?”

We’ll worry about the others in the morning, Erik decides, sidling up beside Charles. Use me as a brace, come on.

Charles buries his hands in the thick fur of Erik’s scruff and pulls himself up, balancing awkwardly on one leg. Gingerly, he tries shifting some of his weight onto his right leg but he feels it start to buckle right away and quickly shifts back to one leg with Erik for support.

Come on, gimpy, Erik says, sounding amused, let’s go put you somewhere safe and then I’ll go see what I can do about getting you some firewood.

“Careful,” Charles warns as they start off towards the trees, hobbling alongside Erik with one hand on his broad back to use him like a living walking stick, “I might get used to having you wait on me hand and foot. All dogs can learn to fetch, right?”

Watch it, Erik says, growling around the cloak stuffed in his mouth, I’m not a dog.

“Wolf, then,” Charles amends. “You’re not nearly as annoyed about being trapped in that form as I imagined you might’ve been.”

I’m holding out on the hope that I’ll shift back like normal tomorrow morning, Erik answers, and if not then, we’re already on our way to see the Mother. You’ll convince her to lift the curse so I won’t have to be like this for long anyway.

“Ah,” Charles says, looking studiously up at the sky already darkening with the oncoming night, “right.”

X

Charles wakes the next morning surrounded by a wall of breathing fur, soft and warm. Disinclined to move, it takes him a few moments to figure out that yes, Erik is curled around him protectively, still resoundingly wolf, still fast asleep and bound to stay that way for hours more if left alone.

The sky overhead is already streaked with pale light brought on by the coming of dawn, and Charles is content to remain as he is in Erik’s warm fold, next to the ashes of the fire from last night that still give off a small amount of warmth. Their campsite—if it can even be called that—is nothing more than a small hollow tucked away within thick bushes, sheltered enough to keep them hidden but not so dense to keep Charles from building a fire the night before, the pure relief when his twigs finally sparked and began to smoke as a precursor to flames nearly enough to leave him sagging. Erik brought him larger sticks and carefully they’d fed their fire until at last it was warm enough for Charles’ tremors to die down.

There’s no hint of them now, his body relaxed and deliciously warm. He’s aware of the cold morning air, covering them like a blanket but as long as they stay curled up together like this it can’t touch them. Charles knows he ought to sit up and reassess his leg, check how his wound is progressing and change his bandages, but Erik shifts, paws twitching as he dreams, and then settles again, huffing out a soft sigh and Charles supposes that he’ll be just fine if he waits.

They’re going to have to decide what they’re going to do. A brief stretch of his telepathy tells him that they’re still very much alone, cut off from their companions. Do they waste the time of backtracking and attempting to climb back up near the waterfall to try and find their friends? Erik’s already said that it looked impossible for him as a wolf, and clearly he’s going to be a wolf for awhile yet, not to mention Charles hasn’t tried putting any weight on his leg yet—it feels fine right now, but he hasn’t tried to move.

Or they can press on ahead, and keep going until they reach the Mother, only neither of them knows how to find her. Raven was their guide, and without her they might as well be hiking aimlessly through the forest. They can try to make their way back to the cabin, but that’s already four days behind them now, and Charles isn’t sure which direction they’d have to go anyway. They’re well and truly lost.

Oddly, he isn’t frightened by the prospect. His mind isn’t spiraling into panicky terror at the thought of being stranded in the woods, far beyond any regular means of help or aid, and nor is he beginning to imagine all types of hungry predators that could stumble upon him as easy prey. Charles has never been afraid of this forest, not even when he was small. It’s always been more welcoming than dark or foreboding.

And why is that, he wonders. What is it about these gnarled trees that invoke a sense of calm rather than wary caution?

The sky is orange and pink with sunrise and a few of the birds are beginning to chirp by the time Erik rouses, whuffing once into the dirt with his snout before lifting his head and blinking down at Charles, bleary enough to lend his wolf features an almost dopey expression so Charles has to laugh.

“Good morning,” he says, tentatively stroking the fur on Erik’s flank, “it looks like you’re going to be four-legged for a little while longer.”

Erik lets out a rumbling growl. I can’t say I’m glad, but at least one of us is enjoying himself.

Charles’ hand has moved upwards, carding gently through the sleek fur on Erik’s side, feeling out his lean, muscled body. “Are you always this grumpy in the morning?” he wonders absently, smoothing out a rough patch that’s matted and tangled. “Or do I have the singular pleasure of dealing with your mood?”

Erik grunts in lieu of replying like a normal human being, and then a moment later a large, wet tongue drags itself up the side of Charles’ face, licking him again and again even when Charles starts to squirm in protest and tries to push his hulking wolf head away.

“Ugh, Erik, really, that’s absolutely disgusting, get off me—”

Even Erik’s mental laugh is short, but his tail thumps the ground once in true amusement. If you’re going to pet me you at least have to let me thank you.

“Animal,” Charles accuses, sitting up, though he doesn’t go far: he shifts his body sideways and leans his back against Erik’s side. “We have some decisions to make.”

Indeed, Erik agrees. Why don’t you take a look at that leg first.

“We can either try to find the others or try to keep going to find the Mother,” Charles says as he carefully begins to unwind the cloth wrapped around his lower leg. The fabric is dark enough as to where he can’t tell if it’s been stained all the way through with blood or not. “Though I’m not sure how we can manage either, to be frank.”

Hm, Erik says, eyes trained unblinkingly on Charles’ leg. Charles gets the feeling that he’s not paying attention to anything he’s saying.

Blood still leaks slowly from the nasty gash, his flesh torn and the area surrounding it red with irritation. Charles winces as the last of the bandages fall away, wishing that he had some way to clean it better, because whether they removed the arrowhead or not won’t have mattered if it still gets infected thanks to dirt or river water.

How are you feeling? Erik asks carefully.

“It does hurt,” Charles admits, leaning over to grab the remains of his cloak to tear off some new strips. A night next to the fire has dried it out nicely. “It’s sort of a throbbing ache, though, nothing unbearable.”

Yet, Erik points out. We don’t know if the arrow tip was dipped in anything either.

“If I’ve been poisoned, I think I’d be displaying the effects by now,” Charles says reasonably. He starts to rewrap the wound, tight enough to keep pressure on it and for the makeshift bandages to stay put, but hopefully not so tight he’s in danger of cutting off circulation to his foot. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk on it.”

I could carry you, Erik says, and don’t dismiss the option out of pride.

Charles considers him. “You are large enough,” he concedes at last, “and luckily I’m on the smaller side but there’s only so long you’d be able to go before even I start to feel too heavy.”

So we’d better pick which way we’re going to go and not change our minds, Erik says, a stubborn edge to his voice. I think we should press on.

“But we don’t know where we’re going,” Charles reminds him. He ties off the cloth and stretches his leg out, otherwise remaining still as the bone-aching soreness spreads up his leg and on through the rest of his body. Erik is right; it’s not unbearable yet, though with time and without proper care, it’s only going to get worse. “Only Raven knew the way to the Mother.” Raven, who they don’t even know if she’s still alive. Charles pushes the thought away resolutely. Raven is fine. She probably met back up with Logan and the others once they’d gotten rid of all the enemy soldiers and they’re all fine.

You and I might not know the way, Erik answers slowly, uncertain, but the wolf might.

Charles twists around to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Erik’s wolf gaze is unblinking, wild and feral even though he lies at ease behind Charles. For a split second Charles has a strange out-of-body experience where it’s as if he’s observing himself from a distance, watching himself sit face-to-face with such a huge predator, and realizes how easily Erik’s jaws could close around his skull.

But Erik is Erik, not some random beast, and when Charles blinks once the moment is over.

She’s the Mother of the forest, Erik says, and the way Raven’s spoken about her sometimes, it seems like she has some kind of connection to everything that lives in these woods. She’s also the one responsible for the wolf within me.

Is she, Charles thinks silently to himself. He knows Erik now, as fundamentally as he knows himself, thanks to their massive mental exchange back in the river when Charles had pulled Erik’s human brain in front of the wolf brain. Erik’s temper may have been cooled during his years of exile in the forest and even thanks, in part, to the curse placed on him, but the anger is still there, buried down deep. It’s not hard to imagine if the anger were to take a physical manifestation, it would be that of a massive, fanged wolf.

It’s entirely possible that the Mother didn’t place a curse on Erik so much as she revealed Erik’s true nature. But Erik is more than his anger, Charles knows this to be true as well. There was a time, yes, back in Genosha while still trapped under Shaw’s control that Erik let his anger rule him, plotting ceaselessly and training himself relentlessly in order to kill Shaw when the time was right, but after Logan got Erik out of Genosha, and Erik was forced to live simply and surrounded by people who cared for him just as genuinely as his parents had, Charles can see clear as the strengthening daylight around them now that Erik began to change, and not just in the physical sense as he shifted every night into the body of a wolf.

Erik still longs to kill Shaw, and is certain that he’ll do so, but now there’s an after. Going by Erik’s memories of before leaving Genosha, Erik had never planned for an after once he’d killed Shaw: he’d fully expected to be brought down with him, but would at least die knowing he’d avenged his parents. Now, however, there are plans; plans to install his exiled companions into important governing positions in order to help reform Genosha into what Erik believes the island was always meant to be: a safe haven for the Gifted. No one driven solely by anger alone could ever have the capacity to think beyond the object of their hatred, but over the years Erik’s pushed past that, and for it he’s…

Amazing, Charles thinks, dimly aware that he’s still staring pensively at Erik in the present. He wonders what Erik thinks of him, having seen all of Charles’ memories too. Probably not as highly as Charles thinks of him; Charles was allowed to exist in his bubble of ignorant bliss far longer. Erik must find that scornful at best.

So I have to have some kind of connection to her, right? Erik continues, unaware of Charles’ thoughts. And you can go through me, maybe, to reach out to her and ask her for, I don’t know, guidance? He sounds like he thinks his own idea is ridiculous.

“I could give it a try,” Charles says, attempting not to show how skeptical he is too. “If you’re willing to allow me that deeply into your mind again. After last time, there’s no telling what kind of effect it’ll have on either us. My Gift is still very much an experimental one so I can’t tell you for sure.”

A second later Charles finds himself nose-to-nose with Erik as Erik suddenly leans in close, their eyes inches apart. Yesterday, did you go into my head with the intent to harm.

“No,” Charles answers, startled, “of course not.”

Would you ever come into my head with the intent to harm?

“Of course not,” Charles repeats, “Erik—”

And are you afraid of my Gift?

“No—”

Then why should I be afraid of yours, Erik finishes, satisfied. He grows serious again, all the more solemn for how his wolf eyes stare into Charles’ human ones. I trust you, Charles. How could I not? I know you.

“And I know you,” Charles answers quietly, and Erik dips his head in a nod.

Then at least give it a try. I’ve… Erik trails off, his hesitance rebounding between them for a moment. Genosha is suffering under Shaw’s reign. I’ve put off returning to my kingdom because of this curse for too long. We have to find the Mother, Charles. And the sooner I take back my throne, the sooner I can help you reclaim yours.

“Let’s worry about one thing at a time, shall we?” Charles gives him a faint smile. He shifts himself around where he sits, no longer leaning back against Erik and instead facing him directly, right leg stretched out to one side. He reaches up to put both his hands on either side of Erik’s face, holding the wolf’s head carefully. “Hold still as best as you can for me, alright? I don’t exactly know what I’m doing.”

Whatever you need, Erik agrees, and leans his head forward so their foreheads touch.

Charles closes his eyes and dives into Erik’s mind, sinking in as deep as he can go. Since this time he’s not panicking or fighting not to drown, he’s able to control his fall and not tear so haphazardly down through Erik’s subconscious—he’s incredibly lucky, in hindsight, that he hadn’t damaged Erik’s mind beyond repair out of sheer recklessness. Charles pushes on deeper, sliding past Erik’s finer motor controls and reaching down, down, down until he finds the wolf’s mind where it lies dormant beneath Erik’s.

Here Charles pauses, uncertain. He’s never been able to read the thoughts of animals, no matter how hard Raven pushed him to try when he was younger. Animals lack that human consciousness that separates them from the rest of the beasts, Charles had hypothesized, therefore rendering their minds and thoughts, if they had any, beyond even his reach. But now he’s got to try.

The wolf’s mind is awake, like Erik’s had been all the times before when he’d taken his wolf form but hadn’t been able to control it. Charles can sense the wolf watching him, assessing him with its alien brain, but isn’t sure how well it will take to contact. It’s not unlike standing on the edge of a deep lake, the bottom dropping off immediately like a trench to depths unknown, and he’s wavering on the edge of plunging in. Charles takes a deep breath, somewhere far away in the physical world, and reaches out to touch the wolf’s mind with a single strand of his telepathy.

In the end, that’s all it takes.

A new consciousness rushes forward out of the wolf’s to envelope him, as if it’d been waiting for Charles all along. Charles lashes out reflexively in surprise, overwhelmed at the sudden rush of feeling, overwhelming him with thoughts and sound and a bright, blinding light—

She sits beside him like a golden flame, warm and somehow vast while still being contained. If standing beside the wolf’s mind was like standing on the edge of a lake, sitting beside hers is like brushing up against a compilation of an endless amount of consciousnesses, the entire collective mind of the forest examining him back.

Charles is not afraid.

Of course you aren’t, the Mother says with a laugh. She doesn’t sound like a child but her voice is young, even while she grants him the sense that she’s impossibly old. You recognize me. I’ve been calling your name for a long time.

It was you, he realizes, a forgotten memory bubbling up to the surface of his mind. You kept me safe and warm that night out in the snow.

You were a sweet little child, she answers fondly. I was sorry to let you go. That’s why I sent Raven to keep an eye on you henceforth.

That’s why I was always drawn to the forest, Charles says, you wanted me to come back.

I wanted you to come home, yes, she agrees, and Charles has a jolting moment of fear that if she truly wished it he’d never be able to leave, the forest or her. But you are in a unique position, Charles Xavier. It was better that you remained where you were.

I’m the first Gifted in Westchester, he guesses, and the Gifted are about to become more prominent than ever before, even outside of Genosha.

Yes, she says, pleased that he follows. It’ll be up to you to guide the people forward, in a direction that will suit all. You already know the dangers of holding one race above the other.

Like Shaw.

Like Shaw. She’s silent for a moment, and Charles can feel her looking through his thoughts. It goes without saying that she’s only allowing him to feel her perusal out of courtesy.

I’m with Erik now, Charles says anyway. We’re trying to find you but we’ve been separated from Raven and neither of us know the way. Will you lift the curse on him? He pauses. I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I think he’s learned his lesson. He needs to have the curse broken, though, if we’re to take back Genosha.

She laughs, a deep, rich sound that seems to well up from inside Charles too, an unrefined, playful joy that has him laughing along with her. It appears to me that my assistance is no longer required, she answers with the impression of a brilliant smile.

It’s not the answer Charles is looking for, but he doesn’t feel it’s his place to push. He promised Erik, though. Please, he says, as humbly as he can manage, we need your help.

The flame bursts into a fiery inferno, and Charles throws up a shield to protect himself but the fire passes right through it. He braces himself for pain but instead he receives only the sensation of a warm embrace, like one he would receive from his nanny or the maid when he was small. As the wolf runs, you’re not far from me, the Mother whispers in his ear, the knowledge of how to find her unfolding in Charles’ head like a map. I’ll be waiting.

The fire winks out and Charles is left in the dark.

When he opens his eyes, Charles finds himself lying flat on his back, a wolf’s muzzle hovering anxiously directly over his face.

Charles? Erik demands. He’s standing over Charles like some kind of bodyguard, all four paws planted along Charles’ sides to box him in.

“I’m fine,” Charles says, shifting with a small groan. His head feels how he imagines scrambled eggs must feel.

Erik presses his nose against Charles’ chest and inhales deeply, as if breathing Charles in will help satisfy him. You fell backwards and didn’t move.

Charles lifts a hand to scratch behind one of Erik’s ears, trying not to grin when Erik’s eyes go hazy with pleasure and his tongue lolls out. “You were right. I was able to make contact with the Mother through the wolf’s mind. She showed me how to find her.”

Erik’s ears perk up at that, and he lifts his head again, towering over Charles. How far is it?

Charles thinks through the parcel of information the Mother dropped in his brain. “If we stop to camp tonight like normal, we’ll reach her by tomorrow night, but that’s only if you can carry me that long.”

I can carry you, Erik scoffs, bending down to nose at him until Charles is laughing. Look at you, you’re like a set of twigs held together by bits of clay.

“I resent that comparison,” Charles informs him, trying to push him off and away, “at least I’m not a giant fleabag.”

Do you want to hitch a ride on this fleabag or not, Erik asks him pointedly. Because this fleabag reserves the right to making you hobble on your own.

“Then we probably won’t reach the Mother till next year,” Charles says, and reaches up one last time to ruffle Erik’s ears. “Alright, get off of me then, and we’ll go.”

Erik acquiesces and steps back to allow Charles to sit up. You know, he remarks thoughtfully, sidling up next to Charles to allow Charles to use him as a boost up, aside from the fact that I’ve been turning into a wolf every night for the past three years, letting you ride me like a horse is probably the strangest thing I’ve ever done.

Charles laughs out loud at that, hands buried in the thick fur of Erik’s scruff as he pulls himself up to his feet, keeping his weight off his right leg. “Something tells me there’s still room for things to get even stranger yet.”

X

“You could not pay me all the gold in Wakanda to ride a wolf ever again,” Charles groans hours later as he slides off of Erik’s back for the last time, tumbling right down to the forest floor in a weary heap.

You’re going to have to again tomorrow, Erik points out, miffed. And it can’t be that bad.

“It’s worse,” Charles assures him, stretching out on his stomach and not even caring when Erik deliberately steps on him with one paw as he walks over him. “It’s not like riding a horse, your body moves differently. I’m so sore,” he adds mournfully. “Every inch of me aches.”

Erik sits back on his haunches, head cocked as he observes Charles. This is fascinating, it’s like you’re throwing a tantrum.

Charles scowls at him. “At least I’m not the one who had to stop every mile or so to take a piss.”

It’s a wolf thing, Erik says defensively, I have this strong urge to mark my territory, alright? He opens his jaws, tongue lolling out in a wolfish grin. Maybe I should pee on you too, just in case we run into a pack of real wolves.

Charles makes a face. “Go catch us something for dinner, you brute.”

I’m thinking only of your safety, Erik replies innocently, but he gets back up to his feet with a happy bound, his endless wolf energy far from depleted. Get a fire started and take a look at your leg. I’ll be back soon.

“Try not to maul whatever you catch too badly,” Charles calls after him dryly as Erik takes off as a dark blur into the trees. He gives himself a moment longer to lie still on the blessedly motionless and sturdy ground before forcing himself up. The sky is already growing dark, and he’d better collect the firewood while he can still see.

With any luck, Erik will be able to at least bring down a rabbit or two and Charles will be able to cook some of the meat. He’d made do with a few handful of berries earlier for midday, but Charles is hungry, strength sapped by a long day of clinging to a wolf’s back and the throbbing ache in his leg.

“And then we get to do it all over again tomorrow,” Charles murmurs aloud to himself as he carefully begins to pick up nearby sticks. They’re on the right track, though. The woods seem almost familiar now that the Mother has shown him the way, like Charles has come this way hundreds of times before. They’re getting close. This time tomorrow, they’ll be at journey’s end.

Or at least the first leg of the journey will be over. After that, Charles isn’t sure what they’ll do since they’ll still be separated from Erik’s compatriots and Raven. And then they somehow have to make it all the way to Westchester’s coast, and find a boat to cross the sea to Genosha...

One thing at a time, Charles reminds himself for close to the hundredth time as he carefully limps back towards the bushes they’ll be sheltering in for the night with his armful of sticks, one thing at a time.

X

Erik’s pace is slower the next day, and Charles would accuse him of holding back for his sake if it weren’t for the fact that gradually, at first, the terrain begins to incline, angling upwards and steadily getting steeper with each passing mile. They’re going up, climbing through the forest that seems unaffected by the rise in altitude, the trees growing tall and straight as ever even if it means protruding up from the ground at sharp angles.

By midday Charles can feel the muscles straining in Erik’s back with every step, lungs heaving like bellows as he climbs and climbs and climbs, forging his way upwards; their route might as well be one long staircase. They only stopped for a quarter hour at noon yesterday but today Charles makes Erik rest longer, lingering for almost an hour on the moss-covered ledge they use for a picnic spot, only the half-lie that Charles needs to keep his leg still for awhile in hopes of the soreness from all the jostling movement will go down keeping Erik in place.

Think you’re good to push on? Erik asks him at last, lying beside Charles with his large, shaggy head resting across Charles’ thighs like some kind of domestic lap dog. Charles doesn’t need his Gift to sense that Erik’s torn, not wanting Charles to be in pain but also impatient to keep moving and reach their end destination as soon as possible.

“Are you?” Charles asks in return, continuing to card his fingers slowly through Erik’s fur. He also doesn’t need to be a psychic to know that Erik’s tired: he’s been running uphill all morning long, after running all day yesterday. Even though Erik’s in a body that’s built for this kind of long distance travel, Charles is glad that they’re getting close to where the Mother waits. Maybe after they’ve spoken to her they can rest before deciding their next course of action.

He knows that won’t be the case, though. Erik will want to start for Genosha immediately, even if it means working himself to collapse.

I’m fine, Erik answers, tongue darting out to lick his own nose. Charles fights not to grin at the sight. I’m ready to go when you are.

“Let’s go then,” Charles says, and tries not to sigh when Erik lifts his head at once. “Erik. Take it slower if you have to. There’s no point in running yourself into heart failure.”

Are you worried, Erik says, sounding amused as he opens his jaws in wolfish grin. I’m touched.

“I’m worried your ego is going to cause a landslide,” Charles mutters, pushing himself gingerly back up to his feet. His leg still throbs but as far as he can tell, it at least hasn’t gotten any worse. Erik holds obligingly still while Charles climbs back up onto his back, settling carefully above his spine with his legs fitting along Erik’s wide ribcage. Like this Charles is nearly lying flat across Erik’s back, and it’s the easiest way to hold on for the ride.

Now that would be a Gift, Erik says snidely and takes off, bounding up the hill for a few paces before settling back into the wolf’s steady, tireless lope.

In the morning they’d been surrounded by swirling mists and every fern Erik brushed past smeared Charles with wet dew, but the afternoon sun has burned the mist away and soaked up any remaining dampness from the night, filtering down through the leaves of the trees in shafts of golden light. The forest teems with greenery but also with life, and Charles notes more than one scurrying rodent or branch-hopping bird as Erik barrels onwards.

They don’t talk much while Erik runs; Erik seems to have fallen into a kind of hypnotic trance brought on by keeping up his pace as he runs, and Charles is content to sink down into his own thoughts. Most of them lie back in Westchester, and what Kurt has gotten up to in his absence, and whether or not the nobility is as rotten to the core as Raven claimed. He tries to imagine how his sudden return will play out—will they denounce and reject him, and will he have to fight for his throne, or will his reappearance be enough for him to restake his claim?

Thanks to his own Gift, he knows no one at the castle is Gifted like himself, but surely the assumption that he’s the only Gifted person in all of Westchester is false. Maybe there’s a young girl somewhere down in the village who can move stone with a wave of her fingers, or perhaps a boy in one of the fishing villages of the coast who can call fish straight into his net. If Genosha already has a growing population of Gifted, Charles doesn’t see why Westchester can’t either. He’s just not traveled enough. He never got to go on a tour of the kingdom with his father that should have been tradition, putting the prince on display for the people and getting to know them in return.

He’ll do that when he returns, Charles promises to himself, and he’ll find other people with Gifts, and make sure that they know it’s safe for them to openly display their talents.

The sun continues its arc through the sky, the shadows growing longer and longer as the day wears on. By the time the sun is no longer visible in the sky, sunken down below the mountains Charles knows are far off in the distance to the west, the ground beneath Erik’s paws feels like it’s only a few degrees off of completely vertical, Erik’s breathing labored as he drags himself up step by step. Charles’ hands hurt from where they cling to Erik’s fur, knuckles white and bloodless as he holds on tightly to keep from slipping backwards off of Erik completely.

He doesn’t dare ask Erik if he wants to stop.

Almost all light has faded from the sky by the time Erik pulls himself up and over the final ledge, rocking forward onto flat, level ground at long last and sitting down out of exhausted surprise. Charles slips off his back to land on his knees beside him, stretching cramped fingers and petting Erik without thinking.

“Well done,” Charles tells him after an awkward pause, stroking his fur some more and smiling when Erik tips his head to take him in with one eye, tail waving feebly, “you’re very impressive, you know.”

I thought you didn’t want me to display an ego, Erik says, weary but pleased. The wolf in me could eat an entire deer, though, I’m starving.

“Maybe the Mother will take pity on you,” Charles answers with a small laugh, and together they push themselves back up to their feet, standing side-by-side on the edge of the ridge. In the last of the fading light, Charles can just barely make out the long distance they’ve come, watching the contour of the land slowly swell upwards to the point they stand on now, deceptively subtle at this distance but having traveled it Charles knows better—they’ve just climbed a small mountain.

Is she here? Erik asks, his back to the edge of the ridge as he peers forward instead, ears perked.

“This is where she’s led us to,” Charles says, turning to join him. His human eyes can probably make out less through the dark than Erik’s keener wolf eyes. “I showed you everything she showed me. This is the place.”

Can you smell that? Erik asks suddenly, nose quivering.

“No.”

It’s smoke, Erik continues, someone’s lit a fire ahead.

Charles tries to look through the dark, but there’s no telltale glow of flames. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Erik huffs, ducking his head sideways to nose at Charles’ knee. Up on my back one last time, Charles. We’re almost there.

“One would almost begin to think that you like carrying me around,” Charles mutters, but carefully levers himself back up onto Erik’s back; this method will be far quicker than trying to limp through the dark.

Erik trots forward, gliding like a specter across the even ground, paws padding lightly across smooth stone. Charles can make out the looming shapes of the few trees that grow up here on the top of the ridge but doesn’t flinch as Erik passes by their trunks, sitting up straight and tall on Erik’s back and trusting him not to walk Charles straight into a branch. They pass over another small rise and suddenly face what appears to be a wall of stone, but Erik continues forward until Charles wonders if he’s going to walk straight into the rock.

Mind your legs, Erik says, and then they’re squeezing between the rocks through a narrow gap that had been invisible in the dark, the cold night breeze suddenly cut off, the air now still and clammy around them.

Up ahead, light dances and flickers off the glimmering facets of the rock.

They emerge into a large, round hollow carved out so smoothly that Charles thinks it must have been willed into place rather than formed naturally. A perfectly round circle opens the room to the night sky overhead, the stars distant but bright in the single patch of sky they can see. In the center of the room a fire crackles merrily, warm and welcoming, built with sturdy logs that pop loudly to herald their entrance.

Crouched close to the flames is a young girl, her shock of red hair nearly the exact same color as the fire she gazes into with ancient eyes. She looks up at them as Erik comes to a halt and Charles slides down off his back again, standing with one hand flat on Erik’s strong shoulder blades.

Hello, Jean, Erik says, ears lying back flat against his skull.

“Good to see you again,” the Mother of the Forest answers with a smile, and gestures towards the spots across from her on the other side of the fire. “Join me.”

Erik walks forward slowly, keeping pace with Charles so Charles doesn’t have to limp as badly, moving further into the room to sink down in front of the fire together. The warmth feels good against all of Charles’ minor aches and pains, but it’s nothing compared to the presence in his mind that projects the same, familiar joy from before at seeing him again.

“Thank you for inviting us here,” Charles says, projecting back his happiness to meet her at last. “Jean, is it?” He fumbles slightly over the lack of title—it feels wrong, to address her so simply even though he’s been addressing Erik, his fellow prince, as such ever since meeting him—but Jean gives another dazzling smile and nods.

Erik lounges beside Charles, the firelight bringing out handsome hues of gold in his fur. I think you’ve made your point, Jean. As much as being a wolf has been useful for this journey, I’ve had enough.

Charles elbows him. That isn’t exactly how you ask politely for your curse to be lifted. Aloud, he says, “It would be foolish of us to believe you don’t know why we’re here. Please, will you help us?”

I would be grateful, Erik adds after a moment, and inwardly Charles rolls his eyes—the least he could do is try not to sound like the words are being dragged out from between his teeth.

Jean laughs, and for a moment it looks like the fire is in her eyes rather than just as a reflection. “It seems as if you’ve learned your lesson,” she says to Erik, deeply amused, “though I can’t determine whether it’s more because I turned you into a wolf every night for the past three years or because you’ve known Charles for a week.”

Erik growls and looks away, and meanwhile Charles tries not to flush. “I’ve come to know Erik very well,” he says after clearing his throat. “He might’ve been ruled by his anger at one point, but no longer. His character has been tempered by his exile and your curse, though I think he would’ve been capable of that without the four legs and tail.”

Charles, Erik says, looking back at him.

“It is true,” Jean acknowledges with a nod, but her tone grows sly. “Very well, then. Ask.”

“My lady,” Charles says solemnly, rewarded when Jean laughs again in delight at the honorific, “will you please turn my good friend Erik back into a human.”

“I’m afraid you’ve come all this way for nothing, in that matter,” Jean answers, “because he doesn’t need my help for that.”

What? Erik asks in confusion.

“The curse is already broken,” Jean says with a smile, “you can thank Charles for that.”

“I don’t understand,” Charles says slowly, “is it because of what I did in the river? When I pulled Erik’s human mind over the wolf’s mind?”

“Not quite,” Jean says. She waves a hand over the fire and to Charles’ fascination, a moving picture takes shape in the flames.

They’re rewatching the fight back on the bank of the river. He watches as the archer shoots him in the leg and he collapses, Erik’s worried shout loud in the confines of the cave. He catches Charles, and lowers him to the ground before he turns and runs, straight towards the archer, and in the present Charles almost wants to look away so he doesn’t have to watch again as the archer takes aim and fires again, sending his arrow straight through Erik’s chest.

“And then you turned into a wolf,” Jean says, the images melding back into the flickering light.

And I’ve stayed a wolf, Erik points out.

“You turned into a wolf outside of the proper cycle in order to protect Charles,” Jean says, “and you stayed a wolf because it was the best form for you to be in to continue protecting Charles. That selfless act broke the curse.”

I can protect him as myself, Erik says fiercely, getting up to his feet.

“Could you have carried him all this way?” Jean asks coolly. “Could you have kept him as warm at night?”

“I’m honestly not as helpless as you’re making me out to be,” Charles interjects firmly.

“Of course not,” Jean answers, tipping him another radiant smile, “but you are injured, currently. There’s no shame in needing a little help. Which,” she adds, looking back at Erik meaningfully, “is another lesson you’ve learned.”

Yes, Erik admits, sitting down on his haunches. I would not be here today if it weren’t for Logan and the rest of my men. Or without Charles.

Charles quirks a small smile, leaning over to give his ear a small tug. “I’m glad to be here, my friend.”

“So you see now,” Jean says, looking at Erik intently, “that you’re not as alone as you believed you were, the first time we met. You don’t have to do this alone. You never did.”

Yes, Erik says again, bowing his head, I’ve come to understand that very well.

“Good,” Jean says matter-of-factly, “that was all I wanted to be sure of, really.”

You’re very meddlesome, Erik mutters, and Charles gets the impression that he’d be scowling if he had the right kind of face muscles.

“Hardly,” Jean says with a small laugh, “generally I am content to reserve my attentions for matters concerning the forest only, but I can’t help it if one of my sprites brings lost, wandering travelers to my doorstep to ask for help.”

I’m still a wolf, Erik points out. I’d like to not be one anymore so I can return to Genosha to help my people.

“I think your people will love you even as a wolf,” Jean say solemnly. “It’s a testament to your willful spirit, and your fight to survive. But like I said, the curse is already broken. If you wish to no longer run on four legs, all you have to do is imagine yourself as you want to be.”

“You speak as if Erik will still be able to shift forms,” Charles says cautiously.

“Yes, the wolf is part of you now,” Jean says to Erik with a nod. “Though from now on, you’ll only shift at your own free will, not every night by force.” She grins, teeth bright and white against the shadows of the cave. “Consider it a gift, for taking to your lesson so well.”

You honor me, my lady, Erik replies, and this time he sounds nothing but sincere.

“I am very fond of you,” Jean assures him warmly, and her eyes flicker between Erik and Charles, “I’m very fond of you both. Just beware of the mind of the wolf. He may be dormant within you now, but great unbalance in your emotions can cause him to wake again. You know how dangerous he is.”

I understand. Erik breathes out, long and slow. His yellow wolf eyes drift closed and a moment later his form begins to shift, and Charles has to look away as Erik regains his human body again, only—

“Put some clothes on, Erik,” Charles mutters, his face hot for reasons other than his close proximity to the fire.

“They don’t exactly come attached,” Erik croaks, his voice hoarse from disuse. Charles hears him shift awkwardly on the ground, no doubt trying to find a position that leaves his dignity intact even while he sits naked on the floor.

Jean laughs, and then takes pity on them, waving her hand. “I think he looks good in green, don’t you, Charles? Don’t worry, it’s safe to look now.”

When Charles does, he finds Erik dressed in breeches, tunic, and a cloak all the same shade of green as the trees in Jean’s forest. “Not bad.”

Erik sends him a look that clearly says, really? Charles can’t help but smile; he’s missed Erik’s human face. “Thank you, Jean.”

“You’re welcome.” She taps her fingers on her knee, studying them both from across the fire. “Anything else, while I’m in this charitable mood?”

Erik visibly hesitates, a small frown twitching at his lips. Charles nearly reaches over to smooth it away with a thumb before he remembers—Erik’s human again. It was easy to fall into familiar tactility when he was a wolf, and pet him with absent, gentle hands whenever he was within reach, which was admittedly the majority of the past two days. Now that Erik’s back in his original body, Charles isn’t sure where their level of friendship stands, and whether even a hand on Erik’s shoulder would be welcomed or questioned.

Then Erik surprises him by reaching out himself to take Charles’ hand. “I think I’ve gotten my fair share already,” he says with a small laugh, giving Charles a swift smile before his face grows serious as he looks back to Jean. “You clearly favor Charles. You’ve had Raven watch over him for years, and you’ve told him yourself that he’s in an important position given his Gift and his birthright. Help him take back and secure his throne. Please.”

“I thought you had already made that promise,” Jean teases. She twirls a finger through a few strands of her fiery red hair absently. “I’m terribly attached to Charles, it’s true,” she says with a mischievous wink, “he and I share a similar Gift.” We’re like kindred spirits, don’t you think?

“I’m honored to be endeared to you,” Charles says with a small smile, “but I can’t stay in the forest. My place—my duty is to Westchester.”

“I know that,” Jean says, heaving a put-upon sigh. It’s very strange to know that a forest deity who is presumably hundreds of years old is still very capable of pouting. “My jurisdiction is only over the forest, I’m afraid. I can’t meddle directly in the affairs of the kingdoms myself, but,” she continues when Erik opens his mouth to protest, “I’ve just gotten an idea. I can lend you another friend of mine. I know he’ll be more than willing to give you a lift.”

“A lift?” Charles wonders, but then Jean lifts two fingers to her mouth and gives a shrill, piercing whistle, close to ear-shattering in the close confines of the cave.

There’s a sharp crack and a poof of black smoke, and suddenly they’re joined by—

Demon, is the first word that immediately pops into Charles’ head, though it doesn’t seem entirely polite. It’s the closest comparison he can come up with, though, given that the newcomer has jet black hair and skin redder than blood, a whipcord tail ending in a jagged barb twitching lazily back and forth behind him as he surveys them all with sharp, icy blue eyes.

“You called,” he drawls at last, tipping his head towards Jean.

“Azazel can cross any distance in the world in the blink of an eye,” Jean explains with a grin, “and I know he’s itching for the excuse to stretch his Gift.”

Azazel regards them with new interest. “It’s very boring, the other jobs she gives me,” he says, “please tell me you’ll be more exciting.”

“How does reclaiming two separate thrones sound?” Erik asks dryly.

Azazel murmurs a fervent oath beneath his breath in a strange, guttural language. “Just tell me where you’d like to go, comrade.”

“And I believe that settles it,” Jean says wryly. “You’ll be able to find your friends, get to Genosha, and return to Westchester in the blink of an eye.”

“Not even I think things will go that smoothly,” Erik says with a fierce grin, “but thank you, Jean.”

Jean, Charles thinks quickly, private between just the two of them. Erik expects me to fight another Gifted who is a telepath just like us, and by the sound of things she’s far more experienced with her powers than I am.

I don’t think it’s your experience level that’s worrying you, Jean replies, leveling him with a cool look. Besides, you’re plenty experienced—plenty powerful. Your stunt with Erik’s mind is proof enough.

I don’t know if Erik expects me to kill her, Charles admits. With Jean, at least, there’s no need to explain: she already knows. I don’t know if I’m capable of killing.

Oh, Charles, Jean says fondly, but beneath her words something shadowy lurks, dark and hungry; a hidden side of her that brims with feral violence even at this distance, and Charles isn’t sure he wants the experience of examining it more closely. You’ll make a good king.

What am I supposed to do, Charles asks her. I want to help Erik in any way I can, but what if it comes down to me versus her?

What if it doesn’t? Jean asks flippantly, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. I think, Charles, that when it comes down to it, you’ll do the right thing. You have good instincts.

Do I, Charles wonders, not reassured.

I think so, Jean says slyly, glancing pointedly at Erik.

“Rejoining us, are you?” Erik asks dryly when he catches her eye. “You two have been suspiciously quiet.”

“It’s none of your concern,” Jean says matter-of-factly, tossing her hair. “I suppose I should let you both get going. No doubt you’re tired of my company and are eager to get going.”

“We’re happy to stay as long as you’ll have us,” Charles says graciously, giving Erik a meaningful look before he can say something brusque. “And really, Jean, thank you for everything.”

“It’s no trouble,” Jean answers, “and it’s quite alright. It’s almost morning, you’ll be waking up soon anyway.”

“Morning?” Erik demands, head jerking up towards the window in the roof of the cave. The sky is still pitch black, with no hint of the rising sun. “We can’t even have been here an hour!”

“Is that what you think?” Jean asks, amused, and just like before, Charles is only vaguely aware of something else shifting beneath her surface. She could do them a lot of damage, he thinks slowly, if she meant them harm. “I wish you both well. Don’t forget about me, Charles. The forest will always welcome you home.”

Charles opens his mouth—and what he might have said, he doesn’t know, because the fire in front of Jean explodes outwards, a raging inferno that surges forward to consume them all and Charles yells in fear, terrified of being eaten alive, but then in the next second the flames wink out, leaving him alone in the pitch dark.

When he opens his eyes, bright sunlight streams down from overhead and Erik crouches beside him, and all it takes is for their eyes to meet for Charles to know that it wasn’t just a dream.

X

Rejoining the others takes the better part of the morning on the account that while Azazel can indeed transport them from the top of the Mother’s mountain to the banks of the very same river they’d fallen into two days ago in the blink of an eye, their companions have since moved on and they have no idea where they’ve gone. A trip back to the cabin reveals it’s just as dark and empty as they left it, and so they take a dizzying amount of trips via Azazel’s teleportation, hopping around one same, general area of the forest and hoping to land close to their friends.

“You’d think they’d’ve heard us by now, with all the noise,” Charles says wearily at last, after demanding a moment to sit down. “Is it possible to get teleportation sickness?”

“Probably,” Azazel replies, sounding amused. He’s the only one enjoying himself, eager to make as many jumps as Erik orders. Whatever he was doing for Jean before this must have been truly mind-numbing because otherwise Charles fails to see the fun in this. “Come, little prince, it’s better if you walk it off.”

“My leg doesn’t exactly agree, I’m afraid.”

“Where the hell are they,” Erik growls, frustrated. “None of them are wolves, it’s not like they could’ve gone the same distance we did. They have to be somewhere within this range.”

“They probably believe we’re dead,” Charles reasons, heart sinking at the implications. “None of them saw us fall into the river, so as far as they know we’ve disappeared without a trace.”

“It’s clear they pushed on regardless,” Erik mutters.

“Come on,” Azazel says, offering them each a hand with far too much glee, “let’s keep looking, shall we?”

In the end they nearly land right on top of the others, nearly earning themselves a plasma blast to the faces from Alex’s knee-jerk reaction to three strangers abruptly appearing in their midst. As soon as they’re recognized, however, all bets are off.

“Charles!” Raven appears to be completely unharmed, to Charles’ utter relief in the split second he has to take her in before she launches herself at him, hugging him so tightly that he wheezes for breath. “And who let you out, Azazel?” she demands, looking at him over Charles’ shoulder curiously.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Logan growls, but the effect is somewhat ruined by how openly relieved his expression is, and then everyone is all over them at once.

Kitty hugs Erik just as tightly as Raven does Charles, and Armando claps them both on the back. Sean and Angel are both talking over each other trying to explain what they’ve been doing the past two days and demanding where Erik and Charles have been too, while Alex looks on just as wearily relieved as Logan.

“Alright,” Erik says at last, commanding immediate silence. “Sorry for taking so long to get back. Long story short, we both fell into the river back during the fighting and got tossed over a waterfall. There was no way we could climb back up it, so we decided to push on to find the Mother instead.”

“She actually ended up coming to us,” Charles says quickly, seeing Raven frown—no doubt she’s trying to calculate the math of distance and time, and it’s not quite adding up. “And the excellent news is that Erik’s curse has been lifted.”

“Awesome,” Kitty says, eyes shining, “does that mean we’re finally going home?”

“It does,” Erik says with a nod, “but first we’re going to draw up a plan. Hank,” he says, eyes finding the medic where he hangs back on the edge of the group, “take a look at Charles’ leg. He took an arrow during the fight.”

“Of course,” Hank agrees quickly, approaching Charles as all the others gather closely around Erik to begin planning. “Come sit down over here and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I haven’t been able to do much other than keep it wrapped up once we pulled the arrow out,” Charles says, letting Hank lead him over to sit on a mossy rock. Raven opts to join them, crouching down next to Hank and watching his nimble hands as he quickly unwraps the tattered cloth around Charles’ shin. The wound is still bloody, but as far as Charles can tell it still hasn’t gotten any worse.

“At least it wasn’t poisoned,” Hank says, and then turns to dig in his pack, bringing out a small jar. “This might sting a little, but it’ll clean out the wound and I’ll rewrap it with clean bandages. That’s about all I can do for now while we’re still out here.”

“Have at it, thank you,” Charles says, and tries not to kick him at the first careful touch.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Charles,” Raven says quietly, her face troubled. “When we couldn’t find you and Erik after the battle...it’s been my job for years now, to protect you. I was worried that I’d failed and you were gone forever.”

“I’m okay,” Charles reminds her with a smile. “I’m sorry to have worried you. But that archer...after he shot me through the leg, Erik tried to attack him and they both ended up tumbling into the river. I couldn’t let Erik drown.” He doesn’t know why neither he nor Erik have mentioned how Erik was permanently a wolf for the past two days. It feels private, like a secret between them. “I jumped in after him and the current was too strong.”

“Stupid,” Raven accuses, but there’s no bite to her voice. “So. You met the Mother.”

“Yes, and I think I finally understand where you get your attitude from,” Charles says, and laughs when Raven makes a face. “At least I know why I’ve always been drawn to the woods.”

“I told you she’s been dying to meet you,” Raven says smugly. “And clearly she still likes you after the fact if she’s got Azazel carting you around.”

“You two know each other?”

“We’ve met a few times,” Raven says with a shrug, “we’re not the only two spirits in her service.”

Charles hisses as Hank presses a little too hard when he smears the last of his ointment onto Charles’ leg. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Hank says, more absent than sincere. “I’m done, just need to wrap it back up.”

“I can’t believe this is finally happening,” Raven says, rocking back on her heels so she can glance back towards Erik and the others. “Man, Charles, you’re like a catalyst. These guys have been sitting out here in the forest for three years, and you show up and now in less than a week they’re ready to go take their homeland back.”

“Well it’s not like I knew they were out here,” Charles points out, “since someone failed to mention that to me for all three of those years.”

“It’s not my fault,” Raven says, “it wasn’t time. Erik wasn’t ready. You didn’t know him before, Charles, the temper wasn’t pretty. He’s mellowed out a lot.”

“I do know,” Charles says quietly, more to himself as he watches Erik, currently listening intently to whatever Logan’s saying. He knows every bit of Erik.

And Erik knows every bit of him, a fact Charles is reminded of by the way Erik glances up to meet his gaze, giving his soldiers one last directive before breaking from their group, walking over to join Charles, Hank, and Raven. “So, Hank, how’s he look?”

“He’ll heal just fine,” Hank reports, too busy finishing tying off the new bandages to look up. “Probably with a scar, but honestly it could’ve been worse. You should probably stay off of it after all this, since I know asking you to stay off of it now is pointless and will be ignored.”

“You already know me so well,” Charles says with a faint smile, “thank you again, Hank.”

“You’re welcome,” Hank says, shouldering his pack and pushing himself back up to his feet. At Erik’s nod he moves off, back towards the others.

“You two seem close,” Raven remarks, looking between them significantly.

“Being lost in the woods with each other tends to do that,” Charles says, and Raven grins.

“Play nice,” she says to Erik, and then darts over to insert herself beside Azazel where he stands talking to Sean and Armando.

“What was that about?” Erik asks with raised eyebrows.

“The whole reason Jean sent her to look after me was because I once got lost in the forest,” Charles says lightly. “And what, are you my nursemaid now? I’m fine.”

“Good,” Erik replies, just as light, and choosing to ignore Charles’ other comment. “The plan is simple enough. Azazel is going to drop us right in the throne room. Shaw and Frost should be holding court. There’ll be more than enough witnesses to my return.”

“Are you going to kill Shaw?” Charles asks him, studying him carefully from where he still sits on his rock. It puts him at an even greater height disadvantage but Charles stays where he is, watching Erik.

“I don’t think that warrants a question,” Erik answers coolly. Charles can almost see the wolf bristling.

“Killing him won’t bring back your parents,” Charles says quietly, comfortable enough with his knowledge of Erik to be able to say this to him.

“I know that,” Erik snaps, but he keeps his voice down enough so that none of the others are alerted. He takes a harsh breath; slowly, the wolf’s fur flattens out again. “I won’t let him hurt any more of my people. Or you.”

“Erik,” Charles says with a small disbelieving laugh, “I’m going to be perfectly fine. Shaw isn’t going to get anywhere near me, not if I have anything to say about it.” He reaches out towards Erik and discovers with cautious delight that his shields are down, letting Charles in. Telepath, remember?

Erik crouches down in front of him, and Charles is taken aback by how fervent he’s become. “Don’t let him near you, Charles.”

“I just said I wouldn’t,” Charles answers slowly, carefully, any traces of light-hearted humor evaporating like the forest’s morning mists. None of the others are watching them so Charles chances reaching over to take one of Erik’s hand. “I don’t disagree that Shaw has to be stopped, Erik. But it doesn’t have to come at the cost of your humanity.”

To his relief, Erik grips his hand tightly, as if he too craves the now-familiar touch. “I’m all human now, Charles, thanks to you.”

“You heard Jean,” Charles says, “the wolf’s still in you.”

“I don’t need the wolf to stop Shaw,” Erik answers, a note of finality in his voice, “and I don’t need to be told how to handle my own affairs.”

Charles frowns. “What happened to the man who knew he wasn’t alone?”

Erik shakes his head, letting go of Charles’ hand and rising. “This is different.”

Charles merely tightens his grip, stopping Erik before he can turn away too. “No, it isn’t.”

For a long, measured moment they stare at each other, neither willing to blink or be the first to look away. Charles doesn’t try to touch Erik’s mind, instead trying to will Erik to understand with his eyes alone.

Finally, after what feels like a small eternity, Erik actually quirks one of his small, fleeting smiles. “I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

“Well,” Charles says, suddenly hyperaware that they’re still holding hands and yet not quite willing to let go just yet, “I can work with that.”

“I’m sure you can,” Erik says, sounding like he’d expected nothing less. He gives Charles’ hand a brief squeeze before pulling Charles up to his feet, already steadying him before Charles even has a chance to waver. “Let’s go.”

“Very well,” Charles agrees, trying and failing to quell the uneasiness in his gut, “let’s go.”

X

Later, Charles will look back on his very first visit to Genosha as being ironically short. As it stands in the present, Charles barely has time to take in the beautiful, grand arches of the Genoshan palace’s throne room, or how one entire wall is composed of nothing but glass, looking out across the turquoise blue water of Hammer Bay. All Charles can focus on is the lone figure perched on the ornate throne that stands at the end of the long, empty hall, and do everything in his power to keep her out of his companions’ minds.

“You’re outnumbered, Emma,” Erik says, voice like ice, standing firm beside Charles with one hand beneath Charles’ elbow to hold him steady as he fights Emma off. “Where’s Shaw?”

“I thought you would’ve guessed, sugar,” Emma Frost says. Her entire body has gone diamond, blindingly bright in the sunlight streaming in from the giant, wall-length window. Her mental attacks are like daggers, icy and swift, and Charles grits his teeth. “My, Erik, how I’ve missed you. The wilderness has treated you exceptionally well.”

“She was somehow expecting us, bub,” Logan mutters in a low voice. His mind, at least, Charles doesn’t have to spread himself out to defend. “At least she was stupid enough to wait for us alone.”

“Vain enough,” Erik corrects with obvious scorn. “Fan out, but keep level. If she’s truly alone, we’ll take her out first.”

“Wait,” Charles gasps as Emma gives his shields another sharp push, “I still haven’t gotten into her head, and I’m barely keeping her out of yours.” He’s stuck on the defensive, with no way of telling whose mind she’s going to target next.

“Don’t break his concentration,” Raven snaps at Erik, “if she gets past Charles we’re done!”

“It’s her diamond form,” Charles says through gritted teeth, “I can’t reach her mind when she’s like this.”

“Alex, on my mark,” Erik says, “Sean, give me your sword.”

“Wait,” Charles says as Sean tosses his blade forward, the steel stopping to hover in midair under the influence of Erik’s Gift, “what are you—”

“Now!” Erik orders, sprinting forward with the sword out in front of him, and Charles throws one arm up across his eyes with a yell as Alex squares his stance and lets out a huge blast of plasma, aiming directly for Emma on the throne.

Emma’s diamond form seems to protect her from any real damage, and instead the plasma shot acts as a distraction: Erik uses Alex’s attack as a cover to launch his own, launching himself at Emma, sword contorting in midair to wrap around her throat, slamming her back against the inlaid gold of the throne and pinning her place.

Charles sags in relief as Emma’s mental barrage cuts out, allowing him a little more space to breathe properly. “Erik,” he calls, stepping closer towards the throne with Raven’s help, “Erik, don’t.”

“Why shouldn’t I,” Erik asks coldly without turning around, keeping his gaze on Emma as she begins to choke. “You know what she’s done.”

Charles is dimly aware of Kitty, Alex, Armando, Logan, Angel, Sean, Hank, and Azazel all watching and waiting behind him, as well as Raven at his side looking back and forth between him and Erik carefully. Charles spares her a glance, giving her a small nod, and she lets go of him so he can limp the rest of the way forward alone. When he reaches where Erik stands directly in front of the throne he dares to reach out and put a hand on Erik’s shoulder to steady himself; Erik barely reacts, staring down at Emma coldly.

Emma remains proud even as she struggles against Erik’s hold, and when the surface of her diamond skin begins to crack at her throat where the sword has wrapped around her Charles gives Erik a shake. “Erik, that’s enough,” he says sharply, “we need to know what she knows.”

Erik jerks his fist back and the sword falls away, metal dripping down like water. Emma sags in the chair, diamond skin flickering out entirely and leaving her as simple flesh and bone like the rest of them. When Charles feels her start to reach towards Erik with her telepathy he strikes with his own, cutting her off and blocking her out, shutting her down immediately.

“Go on then,” she rasps at him with a mirthless laugh, “take it.”

When Charles glances sideways at Erik, Erik nods and gestures forward, so Charles takes a breath and reaches out with his Gift to touch Emma’s mind.

“She and Shaw have been in contact with Kurt,” Charles says aloud, repeating the information that Emma willingly lets him see. It leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. “He reached out to them after I disappeared, believing that I might’ve tried to seek shelter in Genosha. When it was clear I wasn’t here, they proposed an alliance.”

“That’s why the soldiers from Westchester attacked us in the forest,” Erik realizes. “But how did they even know where to find us?”

“Victor Creed,” Logan says grimly, stepping forward to join them. “You never saw him because we told you to take off, but he was there with them. His Gift makes him a flawless tracker,” he explains to Charles, “so they must’ve sent him over to sniff you out.”

“What happened to him?” Erik asks icily.

“I took care of him,” Logan answers flatly.

Erik gives him a nod, and turns back to Charles. “Where is Shaw now?”

“Westchester,” Charles says, feeling sick as he lifts the answer from Emma’s mind. “He’s waiting in Westchester at the castle with Kurt.” He withdraws from Emma, though not before he pushes her mind into a deep, telepathically-induced sleep, meaning they won’t have to worry about dealing with her for days yet. “He already has Genosha so adding Westchester to his domain was too tempting.”

“He doesn’t have Genosha anymore,” Erik says, taking Charles by the shoulders and turning him so that they face each other, “and he won’t get to have Westchester at all.”

Charles makes himself nod. “I know. I know.”

“I’ll prove it to you,” Erik says, a quiet promise between just the two of them, before his gaze finds Azazel. “Time for another jump.”

Azazel grins, flicking his tail. “As you wish.”

X

“I knew you’d come here eventually,” Shaw says when Azazel drops them all directly into Westchester’s throne room. It’s jarring, to jump from one throne room in one kingdom to another throne room in another kingdom entirely, and the two couldn’t look more different—where Genosha’s was open and airy, Westchester’s is cavern-like and full of deep, long shadows where the light of the fire crackling in the huge hearth beyond the throne itself, carved from thick, gnarled wood, can’t reach.

Shaw doesn’t seem surprised to see them but everyone else in the room is; Charles spares half a glance for Kurt, frozen beside Shaw in shock, a smattering of nobles, and the entire regiment of the castle guardsmen that stands at the ready, waiting for orders.

“Erik, my boy,” Shaw continues, and the smile he gives as he begins to walk towards them churns Charles’ stomach, “it’s so good to see you again after these long years.”

Charles pushes away the blast of emotions that pours off of Erik in waves that stems from being face-to-face with Shaw again at last, focusing only on throwing his telepathy forward at Shaw with the intent to put an end to this before it can even begin, only to have his Gift slide off Shaw like rainwater.

“I can’t feel his mind,” Charles says, cold fear gripping him, “Erik, I can’t feel his mind.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Erik says distantly, taking a step forward.

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Logan snarls, “what are you going to do without Charles being able to turn off Shaw’s Gift?”

“I see you’re enjoying my crown,” Shaw says with a smile, gesturing to the simple circlet he wears. “It comes with the nifty extra perk of being able to block out any pesky mind readers. I had it made just in case my dear Emma ever got any interesting ideas, but it appears she’s not the only one with cerebral Gifts. I didn’t realize you were Gifted too, Prince Charles.” He comes to a stop only a few short yards away from them. “How special.”

“Erik, get rid of his crown,” Raven urges.

“I can’t,” Erik says, face screwed up in concentration, “it’s made out of a metal I’ve never seen before. My Gift can’t touch it.”

“Of course, I took into account your powers too,” Shaw says with a thoughtful nod. “You remember all the practicing we used to do with your Gift, Erik. I made sure to have this crown forged from materials you couldn’t touch.” He smiles widely again, and Charles receives a nearly overwhelming surge of hatred from Erik. “I knew you’d come crawling out of the woods sooner or later, after all, though I never imagined you’d also practically giftwrap Westchester for me at the same time.”

“Excuse me?” Kurt demands, striding forward.

“Go to sleep,” Charles snaps, and like a puppet whose strings have been cut, Kurt folds down to the ground, out cold.

Shaw claps his hands. “Very good, I see you’re quite adept with your Gift already.”

“We’ve already dealt with Lady Frost,” Charles says, his voice hard. “Westchester is not yours to take. Genosha was never yours to take either.”

“I think you’ll find that I’m capable of doing whatever I wish,” Shaw says blithely with a laugh, and lifts a hand to motion the guardsmen forward. They obey, hesitantly, none of them sure who they’re supposed to listen to anymore.

Charles digs down deep into his pocket and finds his signet ring, lifting it up high to show off the Xavier House crest. “I am Prince Charles Xavier, rightful heir to the throne of Westchester. You all owe me your allegiance, not him. Stand down.” He can’t help the relieved smile that breaks out across his face when every single one of the guards stops, all of them dropping down to one knee in acknowledgement. Even the few nobles who still haven’t fled from the room bow their heads in deference to Charles’ claim.

“Your Highness,” they murmur, voices blending together into one, and Charles turns his smile towards Shaw.

“You were saying?”

“Enough,” Erik breaks in, practically vibrating beside Charles, staring at Shaw with a murderous hatred. “This is over. And now he’ll pay for his crimes.”

“You can’t execute him here,” Charles says firmly, “you’re not in Genosha, remember? You’re in Westchester. Here you follow my law.”

Erik is incredulous enough to tear his gaze away from Shaw to stare at Charles. “Really, Charles? You still intend to rob me of this?” He shakes his head, and with a loud scrape of metal he draws all three of the swords belonging to Sean, Alex, and Armando. “I don’t care where we stand, he’s still mine to destroy. You can help me or not.”

“Erik, no!” Charles shouts as Erik launches himself at Shaw, three swords spinning in a deadly vortex of sharp metal. Logan, Kitty, and Angel follow, but Charles only has eyes for Erik, who is close enough to Shaw now to strike—

Shaw’s Gift absorbs the blow, and as Charles watches he reaches out, almost in slow motion, and taps Erik on the chest.

Charles lets out a wordless shout as Erik is blown backwards off his feet, sent flying through the air all the way across the room to crash into the stone wall with a sickening thud. Logan, Kitty, and Angel are still closing in on Shaw but Shaw merely lifts one foot and then slams it down and the impact of his boot on the flagstone ignites an eruption that explodes outwards into the room and knocks Charles off his feet with the shockwave, ears ringing as all around him people start to scream. For a few confused, panicked moments he can’t get his eyes to refocus, even as he painstakingly forces himself back up to his feet, head reeling and injured leg aching, and where is Raven, where is Erik—

Azazel, Charles calls out through his daze, latching onto the teleporter’s mind, start getting these people out of here!

Understood, comes the calm reply, and then Azazel’s mind blips out of Charles’ reach.

Shaw steps out of the smoke directly in front of Charles, and before Charles can even think to defend himself Shaw reaches out and touches his shoulder.

The world turns over several times as Charles goes flying, slamming into one of the foundation pillars and falling to the ground with a groan, the distinct tang of blood filling his mouth.

“Charles!” Raven’s voice screams from somewhere far away.

Boots come to a stop in front of Charles’ face and blearily Charles lifts his head, looking up to find Shaw standing over him and grinning down at him.

“It’s unfortunate that we couldn’t take the time to get to know each other better,” Shaw remarks, rubbing two fingers together, “but I can tell that keeping you alive would be just as much of a thorn in my side as Erik’s been.”

Fierce and desperate, Charles tries again to grasp onto Shaw’s mind but he’s still blocked by the damned circlet, resting atop Shaw’s head and keeping his mind out of Charles’ reach. Shaw begins to bend down, reaching for him with both hands, and Charles wonders wildly if Shaw intends to literally crush his skull—

“Stay away from him!” Erik snarls, bursting out of the smoke with a flash of rage so potent that Charles shudders, and whatever else Erik starts to shout devolves into an actual snarl as his body contorts and shifts, going from human to wolf in the blink of an eye and continuing his leap towards Shaw with paws extended and fangs bared.

Shaw is startled enough by Erik’s change to hesitate and it costs him: he doesn’t move in time to brace himself against Erik’s attack and so when Erik slams into him, Shaw is knocked aside, slammed down to the ground by two hundred pounds of angry wolf.

“Erik!” Charles shouts, eyes wide, but when he reaches out to try and find Erik’s mind he’s met with the animalistic silence of the wolf’s mind: foreign and utterly unreadable.

The wolf throws itself at Shaw again, caught up so far in Erik’s blind, seething rage that it’s been reduced to an almost rabid single-mindedness of taking Shaw down. Shaw’s recovered from his shock of the unexpected by now, however, and bats the wolf away as easily as Charles would a fly.

Charles is crushed back against the column behind him when the wolf slams into him with a yelp, all four legs flailing and teeth snapping, collapsing together in a confusing tangle of limbs. Charles tries again futilely to reach Erik’s mind but his head is still spinning and Erik is too far gone, lost to his rage, and so the wolf remains in control.

Shaw’s circlet, however, has been knocked loose from his head.

Charles feels a wisp of Shaw’s mind just as Shaw is scrabbling across the floor to reach for his false crown, but that’s all it takes—he slams down with all of his might on Shaw’s mind, pinning him like a bug and freezing him in place, down on the floor on his hands and knees with one arm awkwardly overextended forward, reaching for the now useless circlet.

“Gotcha,” Charles breathes, and spits out a mouthful of blood.

The wolf nearly kicks him in the stomach as it scrambles off of him, climbing back up to its feet with its lips pulled back to reveal its sharp teeth, rumbling with a low, continuous growl. Charles tries to push himself further up but all he manages to do is slide forward a little across the cracked flagstone, coughing. It’s taking all of his might to hold Shaw in place as the man screams and curses at him mentally, battering at Charles’ already slipping hold on his mind, and the wolf is prowling forward towards Shaw’s motionless body slowly, ears back flat and all fur standing on end.

Charles trembles with the joint effort of holding Shaw and fear of what’s coming next, because he can’t stop the wolf but he can’t let go of Shaw, and he’s in Shaw’s mind and the wolf is coiling its haunches, preparing to leap—

Shaw’s silent scream rips through Charles but Charles doesn’t look, crumpling forward onto the ground and covering his head with his hands as the wolf does what Erik’s wanted to do for so long now, sharp teeth closing down around Shaw’s throat and ripping back.

Charles might be screaming now too, he isn’t sure, all he knows is that he’s feeling his throat being torn out only it isn’t his throat, but it feels so real, and he’s choking on air like he can’t breathe anymore, his face damp with what might be tears but why would he cry, why would he cry over the likes of Shaw—

Over the sound of crunching bones, Charles comes back to himself, whole and alive, though it still feels like a part of himself has just died.

The smoke in the room is finally clearing, and hazily Charles can make out the others. It looks as though Azazel’s managed to get a good chunk of people out of the room, and good thing, too, as half the ceiling has caved in from the force of the explosion, debris scattered everywhere. All of Erik’s men remain, as well as a handful of confused and terrified guardsmen, all of their gazes landing first on Charles and then on the wolf as it continues to tear at what was once Shaw’s body.

“Erik,” Charles croaks, even though he knows it’s not Erik right now, it’s the wolf. “Erik, stop.”

Amazingly, the wolf does pause at Charles’ voice, the only sound in the near-silent room. Slowly, the wolf swings its head around to focus in on Charles, muzzle glistening with wet, red blood. Like any kind of prey caught in the direct stare of a predator, Charles freezes.

“Erik,” he says after a moment of utter stillness, “you have to wake up.”

The wolf’s gaze is unblinking. Slow and deliberate, it turns away from the bloody carnage of Shaw’s body and takes a step towards Charles, not growling but still slinking down into the all-too familiar gait of the hunt.

“Erik,” Charles repeats again, will repeat again and again as many times as it takes, “it’s me. It’s Charles. Come back to me, my friend. I know you’re in there.” He tries to press every word towards the wolf’s mind, tries to reach down in to find where Erik’s mind must reside, but either Charles’ telepathy is too burnt out from what he’d experienced with Shaw or Erik’s mind is gone completely because Charles can’t find him.

There’s nothing but the wolf, still stalking towards Charles slowly but steadily.

“Charles,” Raven says warily from where she stands all the way across the room, pushed back against the wall to avoid a section of the collapsed ceiling. “Azazel, grab—”

“No,” Charles says, never taking his eyes away from the wolf’s, “wait. Just wait.”

The wolf is directly in front of him now, merely a breath away though Charles hardly dares to breathe. He can see the individual drops of blood that hang off the whiskers of its snout, can see the way its nostrils quiver as it scents him, ears twitching ever so slightly. The whole rest of the room might as well not exist for how much Charles focuses on the creature in front of him, trying with all his might to find his friend. His Erik.

“You promised me we’d do this together,” Charles says, slowly lifting a hand to reach out towards the wolf. “Come on, Erik.”

The wolf’s lip curls upwards in a silent snarl, baring its teeth and that’s when the growl starts, low at first before rising in volume until it might as well be echoing throughout the ruins of the throne room. Charles freezes again, hand still reaching out.

He’s just about to try reaching into the wolf’s mind again when a sharp twang rings out in the silence, and Charles’ awareness snaps back to encompass the rest of the room again, catching on one guardsman’s nerves and how his fingers had finally slipped, loosing the arrow he’d had aimed all this time at the beast creeping towards his prince—

The wolf howls when the arrow slams into its back, and without thinking Charles throws himself forward, closing the rest of the scant distance between them and grabs onto the sides of its head with both hands, bringing their faces in close together before the wolf can round on the others and attack.

“Erik,” he says, one last time, eyes still damp from pain and a little bit desperation, pushing forward all his love with his telepathy with the last of his strength, “come back to me, please.”

And then miraculously, against all odds, the wolf freezes in mid-motion, jaws open wide and sharp teeth inches from Charles’ face.

Charles? Erik asks, bewildered and frightened, and Charles has never heard a more welcome sound in all his life.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, closing his eyes in relief, hands sliding down off Erik’s blood-soaked fur, “thank you.”

Charles? Erik asks again, more urgent and so concerned, but Charles is already gently folding forward against the soft fur of Erik’s chest, grateful to slip down into a soothing kind of darkness.

X

When Charles wakes, at first he believes he’s dreaming again: impossibly, he’s in his own room in his own bed, tucked in between warm, clean sheets. His window is open, like perhaps it’s never been shut since he climbed out it after Raven so many nights ago, only instead of a starry night sky, sunlight filters in along with a soft, fresh breeze. When he tentatively stretches out his mind using his Gift, he’s met with the same familiar, buzzing mass of minds that have always made up the space of the castle.

He’s definitely home, but he doesn’t know what that means.

Unwilling to sit still and wait, Charles sits up, too quickly at first and is rewarded with a brief bout of dizziness. Once the world has stopped swaying, Charles moves more carefully as he pulls back the covers and examine his leg: still wrapped up tight, but the bandages seem newer, like they were changed recently. He slides down out of bed, wobbling only once before gaining the confidence to cross the room to pull on a fresh shirt and slide his feet into his waiting boots. His body is only a little sore, the ache nothing unmanageable.

He opens his bedroom door and is met with the sight of Armando, posted outside in the hallway, presumably to guard him.

“Charles!” He grins widely, happy to see him. “You’re up! Raven will be disappointed, she only just quit her daily hovering.”

“How long have I been out?” Charles wonders, his voice raspy before he clears his throat. “Is everyone alright?”

“Only two days, Your Highness,” Armando answers, but holds up a hand to stave off Charles’ wide-eyed incredulousness. “Don’t worry, you needed the rest to recover from all that action with your Gift. You were pretty burnt out when you collapsed, you know. And everyone else is fine. No one was hurt aside from a few scratches here and there, and your nobility is anxiously waiting for you to wake up and take over. No one really knows what to do without you right now,” he says with a small laugh, “especially since we took the liberty of putting Marko in a holding cell for you.”

Charles can only manage a brief, distracted smile at the thought of Kurt made to sit in a cell and await Charles’ verdict. He’s far more concerned about something else. “And Erik?”

Armando’s smile goes relaxed and easy, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Three doors down to the left, Your Highness.”

“I’m still just Charles to you,” Charles says absently, but he’s already starting down the corridor, walking as briskly as he can on his injured leg. “Do you mind if I just—?”

“Go ahead,” Armando waves him off, “it’s amazing we’ve been able to keep him out of your room for this long anyway.”

By the sound of things Erik’s totally fine, then, but Charles knows he won’t feel better until he sees Erik with his own eyes. He reaches the right door, hesitating only long enough to take in a small breath before pushing the door open and stepping into the room.

“—told you a thousand times now, I’m fine,” Erik is in the midst of saying, halfway through what looks like a circuit of the guest chambers he’s been given, pacing back and forth even though he probably shouldn’t be out of bed yet. At the sound of the door opening he looks over quickly and as soon as he sees Charles he falls still. “Charles?”

Charles uses a moment to just take him in, human again and alive, no longer a mindless, bloodthirsty beast. He’s bare-chested, neat bandages wrapped around his upper torso that already look like they may be in need of a changing, but he’s Erik and Charles is just so glad to see him that at first he can’t even speak.

“Charles, you’re up!” Raven says, beaming at him in relief. She stands beside Hank, and between the two of them they’re holding what looks like the materials necessary to change Erik’s bandages. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Charles manages to say at last, “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Charles,” Erik says cautiously, and Charles can feel his uncertainty and hesitation. “Charles, I—”

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Charles says in a rush, and flings himself forward to pull Erik into a tight embrace. After a brief moment’s pause, Erik’s arms drop down around Charles’ back and Erik holds him back just as tightly.

“Good,” Raven says, her smile evident in her voice, “I’m glad.” She takes Hank’s hand with one of her own, and slowly her blond-haired and pink-skinned form melts away until she stands in her natural blue form. “We’ll talk more later, then.”

“I’m glad to see you up, Charles,” Hank adds politely, and then he and Raven are slipping quietly past them and out the door, shutting it behind them to grant Charles and Erik a little more privacy.

“I’m so sorry,” Erik says at once, his voice thick, “I’m so sorry for what I did to you, for what I made you—”

Charles pulls back slightly in confusion. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“Yes I did,” Erik says, averting his gaze, “they told me what happened. How I tore Shaw apart while you were still in his mind.”

“Erik,” Charles says slowly, “that wasn’t you. That was the wolf.”

“I am the wolf.”

“No,” Charles says firmly, shaking his head. “Take it from an expert. The wolf might be a part of you, yes, but that back there had nothing to do with you. You’re not a mindless animal, Erik. I know that had you been fully conscious and in control, you wouldn’t have done that to me.”

Erik doesn’t look entirely convinced, but that’s alright. Hopefully now Charles will have plenty of time to work on it.

“How did you shift back?” Charles asks softly instead, bold enough to step forward again to press against Erik and hold onto him. Erik accepts the embrace again, adjusting his grip on Charles a little so he can slowly stroke his back.

“Once I was conscious, again,” Erik says, fumbling a little with his words, “it was easy. Just like Jean said. All I had to do was imagine myself as human again.”

“Good,” Charles says, and then they’re both quiet for a few moments. “You scared me,” Charles admits at last, “not because of how you became the wolf again, but because I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t reach your mind at first, and I was terrified that you were gone for good somehow.”

Erik huffs out a shaky breath. “I was terrified when you collapsed right in front of me.”

“Let’s never do it ever again, yeah?” Charles jokes weakly and Erik gives a slightly wet laugh.

“Deal.” He shifts again, drawing back from Charles. “And also...may I try something?”

He’s regarding Charles so seriously that Charles has no idea what he could mean, but he does know that there’s no reason at all for him to say no. “Yes, of course.”

“Good,” Erik murmurs under his breath, mostly to himself, and then he leans down and kisses Charles, a soft press of warm lips against his that immediately sends sparks down Charles’ spine in surprised pleasure.

And then Charles unfreezes and he kisses Erik back, leaning up to get a better taste of him, wrapping one arm up around the back of Erik’s neck and parting his lips with a soft sigh as Erik’s tongue slips past them to get a taste of his own, time ceasing to matter for a long, golden moment as they kiss and kiss and kiss.

My first kiss, Erik admits, the thought bubbling up almost shyly between them, a secret just for them. Charles sends back pure delight, before whispering back, Mine too.

“Erik Lehnsherr of Genosha,” Charles says when they finally part, resting their foreheads against each other so they remain pressed close, “will you help me rebuild my castle, and allow me to help you rebuild Genosha?”

“Charles Xavier of Westchester,” Erik answers with a soft laugh, one of his smiles that Charles loves quirking at the corners of his lips, his mind wide open for Charles to read every bit of truth and conviction ingrained in his words, “I accept.”