Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The Tod: Do ye know why we're still alive, with hundreds, maybe thousands of men that'd be glad to kill us?

Snitter: They wouldn't dare. I've only got to drown, or jump under a truck, and the sky will fall down and all the men will die. Have you ever thought of that, Rowf? That puts us one upon them!

-The Plague Dogs by Richard Adams

The water is cold. It stiffens his muscles and makes his body sluggish, but still he swims. He can hear the whitecoats commenting on his performance, scribbling notes as they watch their lab rat perform. He can see them at the edge of his vision. Erik hates them.

He stretches his power out, reaches for the smallest ounce of metal. There is a massive amount looming overhead, but he already knew that. This is not his first time in the water.

“Begin,” one of the whitecoats say, his voice emotionless, he might as well be a robot. The stopwatch begins to tick.

The metal above his head gives a horrible screech and Erik can feel his heart pounding in his chest. "Charles" he thinks, but the thought vanishes into the ether. Above, the great block of metal descends, it is a slow drop, but soon Erik must brace his hands against it and push. The metal is cold and slippery on his palms, he can feel the steady thrum of the dense iron lighting across his senses.

Tick. Tock.

The push of his palms is nothing, he does not have the physical strength to force the block away, but his powers press into it. Waves of magnetic current shove into the metal and he keeps it at bay. He kicks wildly in the water, the floor of the pool is too deep; he has no traction, only the raw strength of his powers.

Tick. Tock.

He does not know how long he struggles. There is only the metal and the chattering of his teeth as his body goes numb. The mechanism controlling the block gives a violent wail and Erik slips further into the water.

Tick. Tock.

He screams, pushing the metal with everything he has. He sinks further. Now his chin is in the water and he has his shoulders pressed to the cold metal. He sinks further. His mouth goes under.

Tick. Tock.

He can only breath out of his nose now, rapid inhales because he is panicking. He always panics here. Why is he so weak? “Charles,” he cries out again, but there is no answer.

Tick. Tock.

The block shoves him deeper until only his eyes are free of the cursed water and his lungs burn, they burn. This is it, he thinks, they won’t pull me out this time. He shoves against the block, one last desperate bid for air, he moves it enough to take one shuddering, gasping breath before the thing descends, a mountain of immovable iron.

Tick. Tock.

Erik lets himself fall, gives into the freezing depths of the pool and lets the numbness invade his bones. He thinks he can see the outline of his hands melted into the block. “I’m sorry,” he sends.

Silence.

***

“Erik.”

“Erik.”

“Erik!”

Erik jolts awake with a hacking cough. He gags, and has to pull the plastic tubing from his throat. Water dribbles from around the tube as he yanks it free and tosses it to the other end of his cage.

“To your right.”

He reaches out, grabbing the plastic bucket to his right and heaves until water and bile clears out of his stomach. He takes a moment, pressing his brow to his forearm and just breathes. The bile is sour in his nose and smells of chlorine, but it is air, and he is grateful for it.

Erik slowly moves away from the bucket, his body feels weighed down, like the metal block rests over his chest, forever pushing him down. His cage is plastic, a sturdy, clear substance that haunts him. Though it does offer him an easy look at his neighbor. “Charles,” he projects, sending a wave of happiness and relief. The doctors had dragged Charles away the night before. They often separate them for testing, but last night had been the first time that the link between them had gone quiet.

He forces himself to crawl over to their usual corner of the cell. A small air hole is drilled between the two cages, just large enough for them to touch fingers. Charles is already there, leaning into the wall as if it is the only thing keeping him up, Erik suspects it is.

“Oh Charles, what did they do?” From this angle Erik can see a jagged scar running along the left side of his shaved head, leading from the temple and curling around his ear. The cut hasn’t even been properly stitched; instead staples keep the bloody mess patched together.

“It hurts,” Charles mental voice is muffled, like he is talking through cotton.

Erik presses his fingers against Charles in the small connection between their cages. The skin on skin contact sends a fresh wave of feelings from Charles, "pain, fear, it hurts, it hurts, Erik, gone, gone, dead, he’s gone, I can’t hear him, they've killed him, hurts, Erik, Erik, ERIK!”

Erik jerks his fingers away. His heart is pounding and he is breathing too quickly. He feels like he does right before he goes into the water. “Charles, they didn’t kill me, I’m here, I’m right here,” he sends along their link. It feels strained now, damaged.

He reaches his senses out, wondering if the staples are metal, he thinks that maybe if he can make Charles feel him use his powers he may calm down. The staples are not metal, but the 2X4 inch plate bolted to Charles skull is. “Oh god, Charles,” Erik gasps, because he recognizes that alloy.

Erik is not sure how long he has been with Charles, but he knows it has been a couple of years. He had been at the lab for at least a year himself when the scientists had dragged a small boy into the room and shoved him into the cage next to him. They said nothing to him, but Erik had been used to that by then.

The boy had been small, barely covered in a thin hospital gown and shaking so badly he looked like he was going to hurt himself. “Hello,” he had called, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper.

The boy had jerked up, looking at him with impossible blue eyes. Then his mind had rolled over Erik. Charles had burrowed into his brain like a seed, stretching out new roots. He had been overwhelmed, no longer himself, but a part of a whole.

It had taken three days for Charles to finally pull out of his mind, but by then the link had been forged, an adamantium cable coiled around them. Charles had explained, as best he could what had happened. His parents had taken him to the Institute, as they apparently called this place, and the men all wore helmets that blocked their minds. It was harmless to the scientists, but for Charles who had been born able to read minds, it was like being placed in an isolation chamber.

To Charles, everyone in the world had died and he was surrounded by faceless puppets, monsters that hurt him without a flicker of thought to latch onto. When the doctors had realized that their new pet telepath was going to wither away and die if they did not do something, they had shoved Charles in a cage next to Erik and had hoped for the best.

He had almost been too far gone, but nestled in the mind of another mutant Charles had finally recovered. The scientists had been ecstatic, and had spent endless hours testing the new bond between them. They had seemed particularly interested in the fact that both of them went nonverbal after the bond had settled, no longer needing their voices when they could pass along thoughts with ease.

Anytime Erik was with Charles the doctors always wore their helmets, strange metal things that burned against Erik’s powers. He couldn’t quite touch them, his powers slipping harmlessly off the metal.

He feels that same metal now, bolted across Charles skull and knows it must be muting his powers, keeping everything quiet, even muffling Erik’s voice. There is something a bit different about it though. He touches at it with his senses, looking as deeply as he can, into the small structures that make up the whole. The metal in the helmets is dense in a way that he can’t quite manipulate, the molecules like a series of triangles trapped in boxes. The metal in Charles head has been mixed with something; a smaller molecule is trapped within the larger ones. Erik can sense the way it offsets the boxes, making them wider and easier to grasp.

“I might…” Erik sends the idea of him pulling the plate out, of the pain it will cause and his uncertainty of if he can or should do it.

“Please,” Charles mental voice has gotten softer. He shifts just enough to look up at Erik, his eyes as impossibly blue as they had been all those years ago. He is still so small, though he thinks Charles might be the age now that Erik was when he was stolen and brought to the Institute. Erik had been eight, he’s pretty sure he is twelve now, but there is no way to tell.

“I’ll hurt you,” Erik says, but he knows that if he does not remove the plate, Charles might not make it. He had nearly died with no minds to touch, Erik didn’t want to think about what would happen if he was locked inside his own head.

Charles gives a sharp nod and Erik gets an overwhelming sense of trust, acceptance, it’ll be okay.

Permission given, Erik closes his eyes and stretches out his metal sense. He has worked at a molecular level before. The scientists had made him melt and blend a variety of metals and alloys to test his fine motor control. Erik had liked those tests, certainly better than the endurance test the pool represented.

The molecules sing to him, he can feel their slight vibrations within the structure of the plate. Erik releases a pulse of his power, forcing the molecules to vibrate more, shaking within the structure, loosening it, stretching it. The movement of the molecules gets stronger and the bonds holding everything tight starts to weaken. The molecules prefer chaos, and Erik revels in pushing them in that direction. The vibrations stretch the bonds and he can feel the plate loosen and melt.

He coaxes the melted plate out of the cut, between the staples in Charles’ head. Charles screams, blinding pain lighting across the bond, the tie between them returning to full force as Erik pulls the cursed metal out of him.

There is a distinct scent of burning flesh, the metal heated from Erik’s manipulations. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sends, trying to hurry pulling out the plate, but careful not to cause too much damage.

Finally, it is done. The metal gathers in his palm, a small floating ball coated in blood. “Charles, god, Charles,” Erik’s heart is still pounding, and he can feel it clench as he looks at the blood seeping from his friend’s head. Two of the staples have torn free. Erik can just see the flash of pale bone beneath the bright red of the blood.

“No, don’t worry my friend,” Charles sends across a wave of thank you. Erik can feel that he has a horrible headache and the whole left side of his face burns like it is on fire, but the crushing weight that had been digging into his brain is lifted.

Erik sighs with relief, letting his body collapse against the wall, he feels tired to his bones.

They must sleep after that because when Erik comes back to himself, the lights have been dimmed and he feels a little better. Along the bond he can feel Charles tugging at him, almost frantic.

“Erik! The plate, do you still have it?”

Erik wakes up sluggishly. He swats the air by his ear as if he can shake Charles out of his head. He is exhausted and has no interest in being awake only for the scientists to drag him back to the hated water.

“Erik!”

Charles insistence, finally makes him sit up. He looks over at his young friend. He’s a mess with his shaved head and the dried blood splattered across his skull and along the left side of his cheek. The jagged scar and pulled staples makes him look deranged.

“What Charles?” he asks, unable to mask his irritation.

“You pulled the plate out, is the metal still here or did they take it when we were sleeping?” Charles asks, exasperated.

The implication is immediately obvious, and Erik calls out with his power. The small ball he had collected rolls out from under the sheet he usually sleeps under. He knows the doctors keep an eye on them, with cameras, but the times they are watched are sporadic and impossible to determine. This time, they have been lucky.

Erik’s powers are still strained, like a sore muscle that has been overused. “I’m not sure if I can.”

“You can, I’ll help, it might be our only chance Erik.” Charles slips along the bond and lends his focus. He isn’t controlling Erik, he is simply there, a steadying presence. Erik takes a deep breath and forces the metal ball to start spinning, faster and faster in his palm. He sends it out like a missile, bouncing wildly in and out of his cage. The volume is probably too loud, but he can’t help it, he can only force it to move faster and faster. In moments, he steps out of the cage, the shattered remains crunching beneath his bare feet. From the outside it is easy enough to unlock Charles cell. They had to use simplistic locks to avoid the use of metal.

“Careful,” he says, helping Charles up. He is a little unsteady and has to lean against Erik for support. The shattered plastic tears into both their feet, leaving specks of blood as they make their way to the door. The lock is on the outside, but it is metal and Erik flicks it open with a wave of his fingers.

The hall is quiet, the lights dimmed. “I don’t sense anyone,” though Charles sounds uncertain, knowing that anyone with a helmet would slip right under his guard.

“Come on, we’ll go this way.” Erik leads them down the long corridor, leaning against one another and limping. He is pretty sure he remembers being dragged down this hall once to test the strength of his power in the hanger. They pass a few labs along the way. There are animals in cages and strange creatures preserved in jars. The sight makes them both shudder.

They continue at an agonizing pace, both too exhausted and injured to move faster. The threat of being discovered increasing with every moment. Down one hall, beside an enormous metal door that sings along Erik’s senses, Charles stops them. “Wait, there is...he needs our help.” He looks to the door, fingers pressed against his temple in concentration.

“Help?! Charles, we can barely help ourselves,” Erik scowls.

“Please,” Charles begs.

With a wave of his wrist, powers straining, Erik unlocks the door. He’s never been able to say no to Charles. The room beyond the door is tiled from wall to ceiling. The floor is slanted in such a way to lead towards the drains in the center. It looks alot like the room Erik and Charles are shoved into weekly for their cleaning.

That is where the similarities end, however, the walls are lined with metal instruments, each more wicked than the last. There a massive...chair-like structure in the center of the room and there is a man strapped to it. He is completely naked, making it easy to see the healing cuts along his thigh and side from what looks like knife wounds. There is blood trickling along the still wet floor, intermixed with red chunks that might be tissue, but Erik refuses to look closer.

The man on the chair is heavily muscled and covered in scars. His left arm appears to have been replaced completely by a metal replica. Erik can feel a series of sturdy bolts securing it to the man’s spine and connecting it to his bone. The chair is mainly metal and has a strange helmet that curls over the man’s head, covering half his face. His wild mane of dark brown hair covers the other half.

“So much pain, they have done terrible things to this man,” Charles sounds close to tears.

Erik isn’t surprised, he is pretty sure the scientist do terrible things to everyone who is not one of them. Still, he helps Charles limp over to the man.

They remove the weird helmet and Charles presses his fingers to the man’s temple. Erik can feel Charles focusing his telepathy, wielding it with singular purpose as he enters the stranger's mind. He gets flashes of sensation, great pain and confusion, an iron will and a deadly intent.

Charles steps back a moment before the man jerks out of the chair, the restraints strain and give with a jerk of his metal arm. He comes awake with wide eyes, darting wildly from side to side as he slips to floor with surprising grace for a man that had been unconscious.

“Hello Bucky,” Charles greets, his mental voice at its most soothing.

The man, Bucky, rears back as if struck, staring at Charles with wide eyes.

“Bucky?” He asks, “Is that my name?” His voice is raspy and softly accented, American, Erik thinks.

Charles nods. “I think so, they tried to steal your name, they almost succeeded. It was buried so deep.”

Erik shivers at the thought. They almost stole his name, before Charles. He had not heard it in so long, had gotten used to being called Experiment X-42. After their three day coma, Charles had whispered into his mind ‘Erik’ and he had remembered. They made sure to call each other by their names often now, to never forget that they have a name, that they are people.

“Would you like to leave?” Charles asks. “We could use your help.”

“Christ, yeah you do. You’re both just kids. Fucking Hydra,” Bucky curses, his face twisting into a scowl. “Are you talking in my head?” he asks squinting at Charles.

Erik feels his fingers twitch, he is exhausted, but he is pretty sure if he puts enough power behind it he could yank Bucky’s arm right off his spine.

“Yes, I’m a telepath. My name is Charles, this is Erik,” he gestures to them, smiling.

“Of course you are,” Bucky shakes his head. “Come on, I think I remember the way out of here.” He goes over to a metal cabinet in the wall and pulls out a pair of black cargo pants, sturdy black boots, and what appears to be a bulletproof vest. “They took my knives,” he growls, pulling on the gear. He shoves a collection of things from the drawer into his pockets before grabbing some of the surgical knives on the wall and tucking them into places along his belt, pants, and boots.

When he is dressed and armed, he turns to them and seems to shift into a different person. His back straightens and he holds his body like he is ready to spring into violence at any moment. “Come on,” he gestures at them, voice gruff and accent different.

“Who is this?” Erik asks.

“We can trust him,” is all Charles offers, and that, Erik supposes, is enough.