and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

[cerebral]

Who: Charles Xavier & Remy LeBeau, later Erik Lehnsherr.

What: ...someone isn't handling integration well.

Where: Near the fog.
When: Newdi early afternoon.

Notes: Mind horrors.
Warnings: None.

It had started out with good intentions. No, that's a lie. It had started out with Charles telling himself that this was a walk like any other, while he kept the real reason why he took that particular route at the back of his mind.

The fog bothered him. He could accept the gods as extraordinarily powerful beings, although he questioned their self-proclaimed divine status. He could accept magic and had already began to read various introductory books on thaumoturgy. But there were few solid facts about the fog --it was there, it gated them in and it contained monsters, but the rest was up to speculation.

And in the meantime, every part of him was railing against the idea of being trapped in this city. Perhaps if Raven, or Hank, or any of the other younger mutants were here, he would have put on a brave face and tried to handle things better for them. When it was himself--

But it wasn't only himself, there was Erik. And Erik was going out into the wilds while telling him not to, which only gave him more reason to worry.

At least, Charles thought, he had no intention of entering the gloom in front of him (although it only assuaged his guilt a little.) All he needed was to be near enough to let his mind wander into the great vastness before him.

After a long time staring at it, he closed his eyes, put two fingers to his temple and searched.

What he found was in some ways much, much worse than the rumours or his own imagination.

Comments

[magnetic]

Aaand another unexpected turn. You are just full of surprises tonight, professor.

Erik takes a moment extra to align his boots, and when he finally sits up he begins removing the black harness, quiet and easy in his movements. Where his frame becomes narrower than the suit's tailoring had accounted for, the thick blue and yellow fabrics buckle. The bones of his knees press against the padded fabric there. There are fresh abrasions on the knuckles of his right hand, just scabbing over, and by the way that scar on his lip looks more pronounced than usual it seems he won't be able to get away with skipping a shave in the morning.

Charles receives a sort of sideways look, then. This may not be the ideal time to ask, but... is there ever one, really? (Also, he brought it up, so there.) "When?" When was this, when did they die—however he wants to interpret this careful inquiry, it's left open.

[cerebral]

His eyes were starting to droop there. They open again at the question, and he frowns for a moment, as if trying to remember what he'd said a moment ago.

"Father, I was five. Mother, eighteen." He says it as though someone had asked him something mundane, like what's the make and registration of his car.

Had he not told Erik that? He was sure he would have realised. People don't go inheriting large estates as birthday gifts (no Charles, you can read their minds, not the other way around).

"Lab accident and liver failure, respectively." He goes quiet for several minutes before deciding he would very much like to roll onto his other side.

[magnetic]

Over his shoulder, Erik watches his friend turn, and continues to watch for a short while after. Presently, he resumes loosing the nylon harness; the black straps slip free of his arms something like a vest. Heavy fasteners clinking softly. The quiet rustle and creak of the flight suit as he moves.

When he finally intones, "I'm sorry," it may come across as reserved, but sincere nonetheless.

A moment passes in silence, then, before the mattress retakes its usual shape in the absence of an extra body.

[cerebral]

Charles makes no reply, which means he's sleeping or pretending to sleep. Either way, his breathing becomes noticeably shallow and rhythmic, and if Erik were to check, his friend would look very much at peace (for now, at least).