Shards, Part I || Charleson, Captain Issott, Lawrina, & Xavier || July, 2023
Leslie: It was still morning by the time the witch awoke. The school was lively, but not as he was accustomed. Several children were still asleep, as expected.
This was a new, hospitable environment, but trust was going to be nearly impossible for some. Understandable, Leslie thought, but that wing of the school was off-limits for now. He wanted to reserve his energy for Charles, only then would he give what was left of himself to others.
If anyone was useful to the children, it was the man to have experienced their pain firsthand.
The memory of Charles strapped to that bed still haunted him, as he knew it would Charles' husband.
His roaming led him to the kitchen, of course, where he began rolling up his sleeves and taking inventory.
He wanted the advice of his daughters; their experiences in this situation were unfortunate, but vital. For now, his phone was squished between his ear and shoulder, ready to put his hands to work in the kitchen making breakfast. Despite only five hours of sleep, he couldn't just lay in bed doing nothing and wishing for more rest. He had to talk to Tristan.
Tristan: It had taken all the patience Tristan could summon, but he'd managed to refrain from blowing up Leslie's phone with concerned calls and messages. Charles had said Leslie was okay and although he had no reason not to trust that, he wouldn't be able to relax until Leslie was home and he was able to confirm it for himself.
The singular silver lining in all this was the fact that the girls had been asleep when Tristan had gotten the call from Charles and hadn't had to see his worried face. The same went for the hours since, with him off at work and his worry out of their line of sight.
Work was a welcome distraction, but there was only so much it could do. He was just about at the end of his rope.
Luckily, the universe intervened before that rope snapped.
"Are you okay? Where are you?" were given in lieu of a greeting when he answered Leslie's call.
Leslie: "Good morning," Leslie sighed. Hearing Tristan's voice was like a spray of cool water to his face. The reality of last night harsher.
"I'm at Charles' school. Making breakfast, gonna help where I can with - I'm okay." Perhaps he should have started with that.
Tristan: Leslie definitely should've started with that but even if he had, it would have done nothing to ease Tristan's worry because he had even more questions now than he had before.
"Why are you at Charles' school? Why didn't you call me when you left? I've been a basket case all morning, Les."
Leslie: "Well, y'all were with your mother and I didn't know I'd be that long. Didn't know I'd be here, after... "
For fuck's sake, they had performed magic together. He didn't have to treat this so delicately, did he? Charles was Tristan's friend, too.
"Charles was taken, last night. His family came to me for help. It was a lot at once."
Tristan: "What? Charles was taken?" Oh this was much worse than any scenario he'd been imagining for why Charles would feel the need to call him at the crack of goddamn dawn.
And now he was even more upset.
"Leslie Ethan Issott, did you really go off and do cowboy shit to help Charles without telling me? What are you, Liam Neeson?! What if something had--" Tristan took a deep breath. Two deep breaths. "Is Charles okay?" he asked, more calmly.
Leslie: The phone was pulled away by an inch, wincing at his scolding and feeling the difference in their ages as he hadn't felt in years.
"He'll be fine." That wasn't a lie. He just didn't feel a need to go into details and upset Tristan more. He wasn't very good at lying, so if he could just stick to what was truth, he could make it through this conversation.
"There were children there, just like Ruby and Ester. We didn't know until we got there. I won't be home until late. I wanna help where I can. Are you really mad at me?"
Tristan: God, it just kept getting worse and worse. How was that even possible?
“Fuck.” Tristan heaved a long sigh and leaned against the railing of his ship. “No, I’m not mad. Charles’ call just scared the hell out of me. Here I am thinking you’re safe at home and you’ve been off being a cowboy all night getting Charles and a bunch of poor innocent kids out of the dungeon of doom. Sure they’re all okay?”
Leslie: Normally Leslie didn't mind curses leaving Tristan's mouth. Some days it was downright sexy, but in this moment they felt like shame in his ear.
"I haven't got to see them yet. Making food for whoever wants some and - yeah. I need to find a node and have a long chat with Litha if I'm gonna be of any use. I dunno if any of these kids will... will have problems I've never felt before."
Tristan: “You and Charles will find a way to help if that’s the case. Don’t go worrying about bridges you don’t know if you’ll have to cross yet.”
Tristan sighed again, only this time it was to release some of the tension that didn’t seem to want to leave his body and wouldn’t until Leslie was home.
“Don’t forget to make food for yourself too, okay? You have to take care of yourself, especially since I know you’re going to be using a lot of energy. Don’t burn the candle at both ends. Please.”
Leslie: "When do I ever do that?" Don't answer that.
"I love you. I didn't mean to worry you."
Tristan: Tristan wasn’t going to answer that. His silence following that question was answer enough.
“I love you too, baby. I’m glad you’re okay and that Charles is okay and that those kids are safe. Just do me a favor and make sure you eat, okay? I’m begging you.”
Leslie: "I'm making breakfast right now! You sound like Myrtle. I'll eat, I promise. All the carbs."
He loved that Tristan cared enough to worry, but right now he didn't want that on his shoulders. And then he wondered, what was Tristan going to tell the girls?
"I'll call you back in a few hours."
Tristan: “You’re lucky I ain’t Myrtle, she’d do worse.” Blessedly, Tristan still had a few hours of work left to get himself together and figure out what to tell Ruby and Ester. Maybe he’d take them for pizza and go from there.
“Okay. I’ll let you get back to it.”
Leslie: Leslie was quick to work after hanging up. Nothing more straightforward than a massive scramble. At least this school was equipped with chafing dishes.
Cheddar cheese had been shredded and set aside. Prepped green peppers cooked separately and added with the cheese and a dollop of milk last minute. Toast stacked on the largest plate he could find between stirring.
Not his best work, but one less item of concern for staff and students. With breakfast out of the way, a piece of dry toast in hand, Leslie headed up the massive stairs to find Charles.
Charles: Leslie would find the telepath deeply asleep. His leg had been properly set, the bone forced back into place and his makeshift splint replaced with something sturdier. The hospital garb had been exchanged for soft, linen pajamas. An IV needle protruded from the crook of his elbow, but a glance at the bag would show that it was merely a saline drip.
At his side, Mason also did not stir. He hadn’t been redressed, but his shoes and shirt had been removed. The angry wound where his mark once lived had been cleaned and bandaged.
Frequent visits to the school should have made the broad, blue figure that filled the doorway familiar to the witch. Hank's shy smile was undercut slightly by the deadly sharpness of his canines.
"Hello, Leslie." His deep voice was barely above a whisper, its gentleness at odds with his size.
"They're both still out cold. Someone said you cooked breakfast? Thanks for that. We're all stretched pretty thin. How are you feeling? You seemed pretty out of it, earlier."
Leslie: Leslie remained in the doorway, hand on the knob and staring at the massive beastly figure before him. Of all of the magic he had grown up with, of all the transformations, no one had been blue. A cassowary didn't count.
"News travels fast," he smiled softly. His piece of toast was looked at, offered.
"You should eat, too. Got myself squared away. Low blood sugar got to me."
Charles was given a long look. Given Hank's size and authority, he pointed to himself and the professor.
"Mind if I... ?"
Charles/Hank: Hank raised a massive paw, gently dismissing the offer of toast.
"I'll have some after I've finished making my rounds. Thanks."
He gestured to where Charles and his husband lay with a nod. They were friends. If the professor trusted him, Hank had no problem with him.
His voice was still kept low.
"Just... try not to wake him. He needs his rest."
Hank had patients to tend to, and could not afford to linger. He slipped from the room without a goodbye, mind already on the new children.
Leslie: One patient at a time, Leslie told himself. But a part of him wanted to follow Hank. He was interesting, and his work was important.
But Charles was his first priority today, and quietly he knelt by his side of the bed, slowly pulling at the covers for a better analysis. Bruised anywhere else? It was then he remembered his head, the needles...
Carefully, oh so slowly, all ten fingertips pressed like feathers to Charles' forehead and temples. Eyes closed as he began his examination.
Charles: Indeed. Bruises lined his hidden ribs. The left side of his face was an ugly, swollen, mottled purple. A healthy dose of morphine kept the bulk of his pain at bay, but a headache was sure to rear its head when the drugs wore off.
Leslie: Litha leaned over Leslie's shoulder, draped her ethereal arms around him, and hummed.
"I know," he whispered. Perhaps he had just enough energy for one strong spell. A temporary setback. What he needed was the node hidden within the timeworn portal just beyond Charles' window. His usual way home would be repurposed today.
Don't wake up, don't wake up, don't wake up.
Not a prayer for Charles, but for the demon slumbering beside him. Please, don't wake to find a witch kissing his husband's forehead, breaking him in two on principle.
Just enough strength to mend Charles' unseemly and potentially excruciating wounds from the neck up. The longer his lips lingered the more he could take, and the more the spell took from him in kind.
Leslie stumbled back with a gasp, dizzy and starving. His piece of toast was taken from the bedside table and shoved in his mouth as he left the room.
Charles: Charles stirred at the surge of power. Just a soft mumble and a shift beneath plush blankets. When he stilled, he fell into a deeper sleep. Gentle relief.
A passing staff member watched Leslie stumble out of the bedroom, not quite near enough to steady him.
"You all right?" the blonde man asked, eyebrow raised.
Leslie: "Yeah," he breathed. Though feet away from the slumbering telepath, he kept his voice low just the same. "Just got dizzy."
He offered a smile and his hand. "Leslie."
Alex: He took the hand with a crooked smile, shaking it firmly.
"Alex. I've seen you around. Do you need to... sit, or something?"
It was as chivalrous as the mutant got. This was one of the guys who had saved the prof and all of those kids. He'd earned the respect.
Leslie: "I've heard your name." But his grasp wasn't long enough to notice anything other than decent health. Decent, but he couldn't put his finger on why it wasn't perfect.
"Thinking about going for a walk, actually. Don't worry about me. I'll see you around, Alex."
Alex: Well, he'd made the offer. That was as much as he'd do. He lifted a hand in goodbye.
"Sure thing. If you pass out, you didn't see me. Prof'll have my head."
Leslie: "Completely on my own," he smiled, waved, and turned, heading for the old porter's tree to reflect and if he could, extract.
Charles: Charles woke with a gasp. The ache in his head pounded in time with his racing pulse. He sat upright so swiftly his vision swam. He had to get out. Had to find a way past the blocking panels and–
The sharp protesting of his ribs subsided and his eyes refocused. It took a moment longer for his breathing to slow and his heart along with it.
He was at home. Safe. In his own bed, with Mason dead to the world beside him.
Taking solace in the steady rise and fall of his husband’s chest, Charles forced himself to calm. His mind sluggishly caught up with the rest of his body. Vague memories of the past several hours bubbled slowly to the surface.
Big, gentle hands tending to his injuries. Whispered conversation. A soft press of lips he was fairly certain he’d just imagined.
Forcing himself not to look at the bandage over Mason’s heart, Charles reached out to rest a hand against his scorching forehead. They were both fine.
His thoughts turned toward the children.
A mental nudge from Jean had Hank looking up from the young girl he’d been murmuring to. Breakfast had bled into lunch and he was urging the mansion’s newest young charges to eat something. He looked in Leslie’s direction.
“He’s awake.” An eyeroll. “And trying to move.”
He rose from the child’s bedside with a gentle order for her to finish the glass of water she’d been nursing and started for the door.
Leslie/Lawrence: The great tree was unfathomably old. Older than the house. Older than the man to have conceptualized the house, and older than the visionary’s conception. He was certain if he were to count the rings there would simply be too many to attempt. Too tight and too vast. These grounds belonged to the tree, and there was more than enough Quintessence to extract, but he could only take so much before yanking his hands away. Like drinking too much water too quickly, there were limits to his capacity.
Plenty of strength to aid the rescued children. Perhaps another attempt at Charles’ injuries, so long as Mason didn’t object. He could return to the tree again, and avoid the last of the shameful substance he kept in his pocket.
Another in the house stirred minutes before Charles. Mason had rolled to his side, curling over the edge of the bed, spilling out of his body that of his other half, only to return to Charles’ ribs, face pressed to his shoulder. He would only shift again when Charles woke, a rough hand grasping his thigh.
For a time, Lawrence sat slumped in silence on the hardwood floor, staring down at his hands. The deep wound of his calf muscle had partially healed. The bullet to his lung was nothing more than a nuisance scratch. Tired though he was, injured though he was, he couldn’t bear this room any longer. Charles was not his husband, and it had been too long since he had heard Gina’s voice. Days could go by when sharing time with Mason, both ways, but he had an opportunity to himself, and climbed to his feet, ready to find Leslie Issott.
By now, Leslie had made his way back to the children, ready to use his magic for the worst of injuries. To analyze the unseen and undiagnosed.
Leslie/Lawrence: Lawrence was not a new face in this school, but he was certainly a rarity, and even more of a surprise for Leslie when he turned the corner with Hank and bumped into his chest.
“Fucking – Lawrie?”
“I need to use your phone.”
“Uh… I didn’t – you – okay.” A quick glance at his battery life and his phone was given without question. “I’m gonna be – Charles.”
Charles: His good leg, thank goodness. Charles ignored Jean's mental protestations as he gently pried Mason's grip from his thigh. Close, even in sleep.
"I'm all right, love," he murmured, as he kissed that hand and set it carefully aside. "We're all right."
But he had to get out of the bed. He'd managed to get both legs over the edge when Hank barged through the door.
"What the hell, Charles? You couldn't give me five minutes?"
"No, actually. I need the toilet and it won't wait."
A similar conversation with anyone else would have meant a need for tact. Perhaps embarrassment. But this was Hank. When he’d had no one else, he’d always had Hank. He'd seen the telepath in far more shameful positions and had never batted an eye. A thousand lifetimes wouldn't have been enough time to repay him.
The furry blue mutant did not hesitate to cross the room, half-carrying him out of bed as he took all of the weight off his broken leg.
Leslie: Leslie kept his distance while Hank filled the role of nurse. Still flabbergasted by the appearance of a man from Edenton, he occupied his time crossing the room to Mason. What would he feel, touching a demon? Last night in the whirlwind of everything, being carried for mere seconds he hadn't felt a thing. Hadn't tried to.
He reached out, hesitant fingers placed over the demon's wrist, only to shrink back, pressing firmly over his chest.
Which is where he would be found when Charles returned.
"I'm... gonna make lunch. I just wanted to... see what else I can do for you."
Charles: Emptying his bladder was mercifully swift business. Hank was a good enough friend to keep him steady while averting his gaze.
They returned to the main part of the bedroom as gracelessly as they had left it, and Charles blinked to find Leslie there. A quick scan of Hank's mind filled him in on what he'd missed. He was in no position to scold, but that wasn't enough to stop him.
"Leslie, how much sleep did you get?" he began, as he was lowered onto the mattress. He'd manage the rest on his own, thanks.
"You ought to be resting! Did you eat enough? Have you been draining yourself this entire time?"
Leslie: "First of all," he chuckled quietly, "don't yell, he'll wake up and eat me."
Secondly, he was going around the bed to pull Charles' head into a hug.
Charles: Charles wrapped his arms around Leslie in turn, his voice affectionate, if muffled by the witch's shirt.
"I'm not yelling. I'm... scolding. On that note, have you called Tristan? I made him a promise!"
Leslie: "You're really not afraid of the big bad wolf," he laughed into Charles' hair. He didn't care that Hank was present, he was going to be himself.
"Yeah I called. Made breakfast, ate. Borrowed - I'm stealing from the tree, so it's gonna be out of commission for a while. Law - Do you know Lawrence Atlas?"
And then it dawned on him, the surname.
"Is he Mason's brother?"
Charles: "Of course not. You're perfectly safe."
Charles nodded. He didn't love that Leslie wasn't resting as he ought. But the witch appeared to be steady on his feet. And if he'd called Tristan, Charles knew he'd already gotten an earful.
He released his friend with a twinge of ribs and winced.
"I... something like that. He was there, last night. You didn't see him?"
His mind caught up with the suddenness of the question.
"Is he wandering about?" That would offer some explanation as to why Mason was unconscious.
Leslie: Leslie just shook his head. "Asked for my phone. My guess is to call Gina?" Wow, wow, wow. Did she know about all of this? This had to be an example of the phrase no such thing as coincidences.
"Lay back. Lemme finish what I started with your face."
Charles: Too much for him to think about, just now. He only hoped that Lawrence's absence wouldn't slow down Mason's recovery too much.
His face? Charles hadn't so much as glanced in a mirror in more than a day. But the ache he'd been feeling since his fight with Ian had subsided. Leslie's handiwork and not the morphine, then. He obligingly settled back against his pillows without complaint. The sooner he recovered, the sooner he could get back on his feet.
Hank looked between them with some concern, but didn't interject. If Charles wasn't worried, then he wasn't. But he was going to keep an eye on whatever went down, here.
Leslie: Leslie took a breath, smiled, and motioned to Charles' shirt. "Mind if I?" Skin-to-skin was required, and the closer to the wounds the better. His own on his palm had closed up, but nowhere near where it should be. He wasn't concerned with himself, knowing time would do its job.
Charles: "Oh!"
He trusted Mason not to hurt his friend, if he happened to wake. But there was no sense in prodding a sleeping bear if one didn't need to. He worked the buttons of his pajama shirt free himself, peeling it back to reveal bruises along his sides that were as ugly as those on his face had been.
"Looks worse than it is."
Leslie: Leslie rubbed his thumb over his own wound and waited. Charles was right, and the less he touched in Mason's presence the better. He got the feeling Mason knew what was going on despite being unconscious.
"Fuck," the witch whispered, staring in dismay. He had felt the extent of his injuries already, but seeing them hit differently.
All ten fingertips set to work, placed lightly over Charles' ribs, only to hesitate.
"Do you want me to focus on your leg, or this?"
Charles: Charles considered for a moment. The sooner his leg healed, the sooner he could focus on where he was needed. Broken ribs were painful, but at least with them he was still mobile.
He looked up to meet Leslie's gaze.
"How much would healing my leg take out of you, right now? Would it be worse than the ribs?"
Leslie: "Got every intention to drain the tree if I have to, today." No porter would appreciate him doing that, but oh well. "Don't think it'll come to that. No one else is gravely ill."
Charles: "My... magical transporting tree?" He didn't realize such a thing could be drained. Well, he wasn't using it anyway.
"You haven't really answered my question, Les. Is this going to hurt you?"
Leslie: "Did! I did!" he whisper-yelled. "I will be fine. You can button up your shirt. I'll work on your leg."
Charles: He searched his friend's expression for any sign of dishonesty. Leslie was a terrible liar. Satisfied with what he saw, Charles began fastening the buttons of his shirt.
Hank stepped in, placing a hand on Leslie's shoulder.
"Here. Let me."
Whatever healing was about to take place here, Hank was a physician first. He'd met mutants with such abilities, before, but he wouldn't have either of them mussing up his handiwork.
He carefully rolled up the leg of Charles' loose, linen trousers, exposing the neatly wrapped bandages. A single claw slid carefully up the bundle, severing the cloth as cleanly as any scalpel.
The wound beneath had crusted over, and the bone had been set, but the sight was far from pretty.
"You okay, Charles?"
"Fine. I'm fine. Let him work."
Leslie: Leslie took a step back, hands dipping into his back pockets as he waited. He suddenly smiled.
"Your tree?" Something about that amused him. He couldn't recall Charles ever phrasing like that before. For some reason, it made him happy.
Breaks were never a joy to look at, but this was yet another moment in his life he was grateful for being raised by Verbena, rather than Hermetic.
This he could do something about, and with far less strain on his body.
"Trust me?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his hands together.
Charles: "I... yes?" He gave a small shrug. He hadn't even considered the phrasing, but he supposed he could stand by it. His land, his tree.
Charles gave a small dip of his head.
"With my life, Les."
Leslie: "Okay." Deep breath.
And a smile offered to Hank.
"Will you excuse us? This isn't going to be pleasant."
Charles: Two sets of eyes widened, at that, and Hank looked to Charles with no small amount of alarm.
"It's fine. I'll be fine. Go see to the children. They've been alone for a while."
Hank hesitated for a moment longer before nodding. He left the room more slowly than was necessary and closed the door with a soft, hesitant click.
Leslie: "Assuming you have a quieting spell in here?" Leslie whispered, glancing at Mason.
Charles: He snorted softly.
"Yes. What exactly is the plan, Leslie?"
Leslie: "Sexy," he snorted. A little cheer would do Charles some good, before the excruciating pain to follow. Being jovial didn't lessen reality. That is to say, it never made enduring any easier for him.
"You might not want to look, but I promise you'll be right as rain when I'm finished. Just... close your eyes and think happy thoughts."
Charles: Charles managed to crack a smile, at that. It felt like his first in a century.
"I certainly think so."
He gave a tiny shake of his head at Leslie's warning. The professor was much too curious to go averting his gaze. He'd deal with whatever this entailed.
"Go on. I'm ready."
Leslie: One final glance at the demon. He looked around the room and sighed, excused himself to the bathroom, and returned with a hand towel.
"Bite down. Happy thoughts."
What happened next might have been over in a flash, or felt like another century. Those very fingertips that had pressed to his temples hours ago now began seeping into Charles' skin. As unpleasant as knife wounds sans the bleeding. Not a tear in his muscles. He had to delve deeper. Eyes focused solely on his work as more and more of his fingers disappeared underneath Charles' flesh. Only when he felt bone could the real work begin.
Charles: He did as told, folding the towel over to give him a thicker biting surface and shoved it between his teeth.
That first plunge would have him screaming, the sound only barely muffled by the fabric. Curiosity was temporarily forgotten as his head fell back against the mattress and his eyes screwed shut against the pain.
Fuck.
Mason/Leslie: That was the one noise Leslie had feared, fighting with all of his remaining willpower when he felt the demon stir.
Each fractured centimeter of bone Leslie pinched fused good as new. He tried to work quickly, but his nightmare was coming alive in his peripheral, assessing the situation with heavy breaths and soft confused growls.
This witch wasn't that stupid nor was he suicidal, but there was a grasp on his throat just the same. Call it a warning.
"Swear I'm helping," Leslie gasped.
"Mm-hmm."
Charles: 'Don't.'
Because he couldn't speak, but he could feel the moment that his husband's mind sparked to consciousness.
Tears squeezed past his closed lids and he forced his scream to lower to a groan. It was the best he could do, under the circumstances.
A trembling hand extended for Mason to take.
'Please.'
Mason/Leslie: All Leslie saw was Charles' hand, and it was only that quiet gesture that saved his life. The grip around his windpipe softened when Mason laced his fingers with the telepath.
Softened, but lingered. Dark eyes watched, still wrestling with consciousness. A few more seconds passed before he yielded, holding his husband's hand in both of his.
One more inch and this would be over. His fingers would retreat as slowly as they had entered, mending and soothing along the way, mindful to take the same path or risk severely bruising his good work.
Once Charles' leg was his own, Leslie leaned forward, pressed his forehead to his knee, and said a prayer.
Charles: Charles couldn't relax. Not even when he felt that second hand join his. His grip on the first was tight enough to cause a human some damage. He didn't have to worry about Mason.
The relief that washed over him when the healing process had ended left him boneless. He sighed through his nose, grip loosening and eyes cracking open.
He had to free his second hand from its hold on the sheets before he could pull the towel from his mouth.
"Thank you." A breath. 'I'm sorry.'
He flexed his leg carefully, twisting his foot to and fro. As if it had always been whole.
"Thank you," he repeated, forcing himself to sit up. "How are you feeling?"
Mason/Leslie: Leslie's hands were shaking by the time Charles spoke, but most of his adrenaline had to do with the dazed creature by his friend's side. The one with very real Hell in his eyes, blinking like a man too tired for the attempt.
Mason said nothing, still holding firm to Charles' hand as he leaned against the headboard. More beast than man.
No thoughts were given in return. Only instinctual need to protect.
"Think I need a - carbs. Carbs sound great. Gonna see about carbs and lunch for everyone. You okay?"
Charles: "I'm fine," he assured. "Better than, thanks to you. Go and get your carbs. Reach out if you need help."
But Charles needed to soothe his protector, for the time being.
"Be sure to feed yourself first, Leslie. I'll be down... soon."
Leslie/Lawrence: "Take your time," which he knew he wouldn't if given the chance, but one could hope. No matter his unease with the man, he liked to believe Mason had his heart in the right place with Charles.
Lawrence had made his way outside. Beyond the great tree. He limped until silence became his company. A modest grove housing a family of birds lured him in. The journey was short but agonizingly slow.
At last, he slumped against a young tree with just enough age to withstand his weight.
For a time he stared off at nothing. Tried to remember his wife's number. Not a necessity in today's age, but eventually he recalled the pattern, and put the phone to his ear.
Gina: Although Gina was accustomed to being without her husband and worrying about him every second he was apart from her, that didn’t really help her miss him or worry any less. It just meant she knew what to expect.
She didn’t recognize the number calling her didn’t stop her from answering before the first ring had even completed.
“Hello?” she answered anxiously. “Is that you, honey?”
Charles: Charles would wait until the door shut to turn to his husband, studying those sleep-glazed eyes.
"You're going to topple over."
He used his free hand to rearrange the pillows Mason had abandoned and pull down the comforter.
"You need to sleep, love. Lie down properly. It's over. And I'm much better off."
Mason/Lawrence: For his first alarm to be his husband screaming. Awake to the trembling of tremendous pain with a witch, no less, hovering over Charles' injuries, was not an ideal start, and he could not compel himself to apologize. This was his beloved, after all.
But within moments his eyes drooped closed. His grasp remained firm to Charles' hand. He would not have him abandon rest so soon, either, and the rush of what he had witnessed had yet to dissipate.
"Hey, Gin," came a soft, quiet voice. "Gonna be a while longer. Everyone's fine." He would lie if he had to. There was no need to fill her in on what he had endured. Not if the wounds would heal by the time he returned.
Gina: Gina nodded and drew a long, grateful breath. Just hearing Lawrence’s voice was enough to start to calm her nerves; seeing him would get her the rest of the way there.
“I’m glad. What about you? Are you fine, too?”
Charles: Well. It seemed that his hand would not be surrendered anytime soon. He pulled the blankets up and settled back against the headboard.
"All right."
Lawrence: "I'm fine." Quiet and monotone had become his manner over the years. Easier to lie, though there often wasn't a need. Gina knew him almost as well as Mason after all this time.
"I'll explain when I'm home. I have to... get back to him."
Gina: Regardless of whether or not Gina sensed a lie, she knew that this wasn’t the time to push or pry. She’d leave the matter be and accept what he told her. If he wanted to explain later when he was home, he would.
“Okay, honey. Is there anything in particular that you want for dinner? I’ll make whatever you want.”
Lawrence: Lawrence stared off at nothing for a moment. A question hesitated on his lips, only to be swallowed down. It could wait.
"I dunno if I'll be home. Been a while since we merged. We're both, just, tired."
Gina: She nodded again, putting a smile on even if he couldn’t see it. Her feeling sad or disappointed wouldn’t do anything to help him.
“Okay, that’s okay. I can make you whatever you want whenever you come home. You just let me know.”
Lawrence: "Won't be too long, Gennie. Kiss our little fish for me."
Gina: “I will, I promise. We’ll be okay. Just take care of yourself.”
Lawrence: "Love you."
And he would probably never ask his question. A secret Mason knew. Perhaps Charles, but it was easy to push his thoughts away when he was this tired.
Perhaps, he could just... close his eyes for a few minutes. Lay in the grass and let the weeds grow over his body.
The phone was dropped by his side. The outstretched fluffy branches shadowed enough of the sun to prevent it from being a nuisance. He closed his eyes and breathed in perfect rhythm with his other half.
Gina: “I love you, too,” Gina said softly. “So much.”
And I wish to god I could be the one to heal you.
Charles: He couldn't sleep. With the worst of his pain vanished and the drugs flushed out of his system, Charles was left only with his thoughts. Every time he shut his eyes he was surrounded by mint coloured walls and icy air.
He felt pathetic. And with no one to bare his soul to, he couldn't lie staring up at the crown moulding for another second. He made to gently pry his fingers free from his sleeping husband's hold.
"I... I need to go and check on the children. I haven't seen Rory and Cee."
Barely a whisper. If he didn't have to disturb Mason, he wouldn't.
Mason: "Kiss our little fish," said Mason in the twilight of consciousness. Deep REM sleep eluded him, but much like his counterpart outside in the grove, he couldn't keep his eyes open to save his life.
Perhaps he had come to trust Leslie. After all, the witch was still alive.
Alive and busy in the kitchen, helping another staff member make the largest ziti and bolognese the deepest pot could handle.
Charles: "Pardon?"
It seemed that exhaustion had left his husband's mind muddled. Understandable. He needed rest, and Charles' own restlessness was likely no help in achieving that end.
He laid a hand over the bandage where Mason's mark should have been and pressed a kiss to his temple.
"I love you. Sleep. I'll be back to check on you."
But, first, he needed out. If his legs wobbled as he stepped out of bed, it was not from the pain. Agonising as the process had been, Leslie's healing was solid.
He left as steadily as he could, taking a direct route to his son's room. There, he had strength. Strength enough to lift the child into a bear hug, aching ribs utterly ignored.
"I've missed you, my boy."
Rory: Rory would have been utterly oblivious if not for his aura-reading ability. So much disquiet between staff and students that it had begun to rub off on him. His father was squeezed without a concern in the world for injuries he couldn't see. Only when Charles winced would his perceptive son notice something amiss.
"You were a hero again?"
Charles: Charles dropped a kiss onto the top of his head before setting him back down on the bed. He took a spot on the mattress beside him.
"No, actually. Papa was the hero, this time. He saved me. And he saved more than a dozen kids. You'll be able to meet them, soon."
Rory: As interested as he was in the new children, potential friends in his future, there was only one question on his mind.
"Where's Papa?"
Charles: A question he expected. He ran a hand over Rory's hair.
"Sleeping. You can go see him, but you've got to keep quiet, yeah? He's very tired from being so heroic. Let's go and get your sister. We'll pay him a visit."
Rory/Cynthia: "Did he get hurt?" There was something about his daddy's aura he couldn't quite grasp. There was sadness. That was a color he knew well, seen in so many. A color a mortal eye just couldn't grasp. He'd yet to know its name.
Cynthia had made her way to the busy wing, peeking around the corner of the hall to gaze at the newcomers.
Charles: And how to explain that missing mark. Too complex a topic for a child.
"A bit, but he's all right. Mostly just exhausted."
Charles would lead the way, seeking out the familiar timbre of his daughter's mind. He had a bear hug for her as well, his ribs continued to be ignored. His children were a steadying presence. For them, he'd always find strength.
"I've missed you, sweetheart. How are you?"
He'd release her, to give her the freedom to sign.
Cynthia: 'They're just like us?' She didn't feel a need to use her voice; she took it as a good sign that no one was severely injured.
One hand would remain on Charles' shoulder, keeping him close in her excitement.
'Are you looking for their parents?'
Charles: He nodded, smoothing down a flyaway hair. That was enough.
"Yes. Or, I will. I've just woken up. I need a bit to get my bearings. And I want to check in with everyone. Rory wants to check in with Papa. Would you like to join us? He's resting, but we can peek in."
Cynthia: 'We can go.' Dark eyes softly scrutinized, squeezing her father's arm. She didn't have telepathy or aura reading abilities, but she was perceptive enough to know something was askew.
'I'll take Rory.'
Charles: She was growing up much too quickly. Charles was unspeakably proud, but the pang in his chest was still difficult to bear. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"All right, sweetheart. He'll want to see you both, but don't disturb him for too long. He needs to sleep."
Cynthia: The same question her brother asked. 'Is he hurt?' Papa didn't sleep this late. When he was home, he was home. He was with Daddy, roaming the halls, or hiding in Daddy's office. She was aware this wasn't normal, and that concerned her.
Charles: "Small cut." A fucking understatement, but the details weren't her concern.
"But he's mostly just drained. Takes a lot to rescue eighteen children. He'll be fine after he's had a good, long sleep. But I know he'll want to see you both."
Mason/Cynthia/Rory: 'OK.' Small arms wrapped around Charles' neck one last time, giving a gentle squeeze. Charles wasn't the only one made proud today. She kissed his cheek for good measure and shooed Rory in Papa's direction.
Quiet was an understatement. Even Rory turned to signing once they reached the door. Wondering if Papa had eaten. A question Cynthia couldn't answer.
A few steps into the room, and Mason held his arm out, motioned them over. Rory's head was given a ruffle, and Cynthia pulled into little spoon.
"My babies. Being good?" He couldn't see, but he knew the answer.
"Show the new kids what's what. Be good."
Charles: Of course they were good. They were the best. But perhaps Charles was a bit biased. He focused his attention on the mansion's newest residents, speaking in hushed tones with Hank about their needs and progress.
He'd trusted his staff to do right by them in his absence, and they'd more than delivered. But his hands trembled with nerves. He spread his telepathic awareness out over the entire school, reaching out to encompass the grounds as well.
They were safe. Everyone was safe. And, there, he felt Lawrence out on the grass.
'You all right?'
Lawrence: Leslie was fine. Mason was fine. Their children were right as right. The school was safe. Though, Lawrence, lying in the grass, understood exactly what Charles felt.
'Join me,' was all he offered.
Charles: That he could do. Charles left Hank with a promise to return. He'd been running the infirmary more-or-less alone and deserved a break.
He ventured outdoors, welcoming the summer heat. No frigid air, here. He took a leisurely pace to Lawrence's little grove, letting his gaze sweep the grounds. Not a blade of grass out of place. Quite possibly the safest place he could be.
When he spotted Lawrence, he offered no proper greeting, simply claiming a spot beside him on the soft grass. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on the shelf they formed.
Lawrence: There were no thoughts in his head. Whether intentional for Charles' comfort or not, there was nothing. The quiet and tranquility had been enough to shut his brain off for a time. Feeling Charles' approach, his arm fanned out. Offering a little nook between his arm and his chest.
You're not my husband, but you are mine, in a way I can't explain.
There he could sit. He didn't have to lay, but there beside Lawrence it was quiet, and he was protected.
Charles: He hesitated for a good long while. So long it might have seemed that he wouldn't accept the comfort at all.
But he did. He tucked himself into that nook and stared up at the sunlight through the trees. Breathing came easier in the fresh air. His hands were steady as he folded them across his belly.
"You should sleep." And recovery for both of them would go faster if they merged.
Still, he made no move to rise. Just a few minutes of steadiness. Of the ground not threatening to swallow him whole.
Lawrence: "If you carry any more on your shoulders, the ground is gonna cave underneath you."
Did he have to say anything more? Charles would know what he was thinking. He was no telepath, but there were no attempts at walls. He could have everything. The bleakness. The honesty. The concern. Not the same man he had met years ago, trying desperately to push him away. Trying to maintain the lie he had been fed.
This was an extension of his husband. Another version of the man he loved watching him in his peripheral.
And his thoughts said this: I wasn't the one stolen, broken, restrained, and tortured. You have to process this.
Charles: His mind was a blanket over nearly everything he held dear. He felt those thoughts and a lot more, as well. His voice was low. Peace like that shouldn't be broken.
"If I don't keep moving, I'll fall apart. I won't be able to hold onto anything. I can't afford that."
Lawrence: "You've got people to help put you back together if you do." You're not alone. Haven't been for a long time.
His arm came in. Not a hold, but splitting hairs.
Charles: He nodded and it felt like surrender. Time would tell, he supposed. His eyes slipped closed. With the tension at bay, the true weight of how little rest he'd gotten hit him.
He'd enjoy the dappled sun for just a little while.
"Don't let me fall asleep."
Lawrence: He didn't have to answer. Only, the gentle tilt of his head, his nose resting in Charles' hair his answer. He would continue to watch the sky, fighting sleep himself for Charles to have this moment of peace. He would have his own, eventually. Merging with Mason was inevitable, and returning to Gina's embrace was a promise. This wasn't about him, but the man he watched over while Mason tended to their children.
Charles: He fell into a doze. Not deep enough for any true restoration, but it helped to chase memories of the facility away.
A gentle breeze was enough to stir him into opening his eyes. He sat up, feeling a bit more anchored. For now.
"Thanks."
Was that appropriate? He didn't know and wouldn't dwell on it. He'd needed a steadying presence and was grateful for it.
"I think Leslie is done with lunch. I should help serve those in the infirmary."
Let Hank have a break.
Lawrence: Appropriate felt rather gray, and had for some time. He knew what Mason had called his children, and he had just given his husband much-needed comfort. This was complicated; this was their life. They made it work, and it didn't need overthinking.
"You want me back with him."
Charles: "Yes." What was the point of dishonesty, now?
"I'm not... I won't disturb you. You'll both feel better, and sooner, if you do."
And maybe Charles could actually manage to sleep, tonight.
"But the choice is yours."
Lawrence: Do you care? That gray that is sleeping with you when we merge. That Mason sleeps beside my Gina.
As time went on, the fire in Lawrence's chest had become embers. The tears he had shed for his independence and individuality had long dried up. He could, now, only embrace this shared life.
"If you don't get more rest, you know we'll find you."
With that, Lawrence forced himself to his feet, offered his hand.
Charles: He'd long since come to terms with the reality of their situation. The alternative to acceptance didn't bear thinking about. An occasional night spent with his husband in another bed was a sacrifice he'd make for peace.
How he'd manage, now, only time and trial would tell.
Charles took that offered hand and let Lawrence haul him to his feet, not hiding the wince from his jostled ribs.
"I know. You should be out cold, in the meantime."
Lawrence: Both men winced for different injuries. He had been selfish about healing. He'd needed this time in the grove, reliving the destruction he had caused until numbed by it. This had been his process, steeled by the reality of why it had come to pass. Killing not for pleasure, but for vengeance. For love. Familiar, but not.
"You should have seen Leslie's face," he forced a smile. Ah, that's right. His phone. Another wince as he retrieved it.
Charles: Charles held out a hand for the device. He'd happily return it on his trip to the kitchen.
"I did. I'd love to see his face while witnessing an actual merge. Then again, he had his hands inside of my leg about an hour ago. Maybe he'd take it in stride."
What was his life?
Lawrence: Lawrence just blinked. He hadn't gathered that much from Mason, yet. Only that primal need to protect. Must have been the reason right there.
"That explains the walking tall."
Charles: "Mm." He gave the leg in question a pointed shake.
"Good as new."
Lawrence: "Should we all be witches."
He followed in step with Charles until they reached the foyer. The bustling sounds were a comfort. There was life in this school, the way it should be.
He gave Charles' shoulder a squeeze goodbye.
Charles: "Sleep well." Was all he offered, before turning toward the kitchen and the witch within.
He was still grounded from his time in the sun. The hand that offered Leslie his phone was still.
"Thank you. For cooking, I mean. And everything else."
Leslie: "Walking around already?" Came out as a scold. He took his phone back and stared at it, forgetting why it wasn't in his pocket and then remembering.
"Never a boring moment." He smiled. "You're welcome. If you... don't mind, I think I'm gonna take a nap." Not that he wanted to. At this point standing was taking actual effort.
Charles: "Need to make sure everything is working smoothly." It wasn't a lie, if it was a joke. Right?
His small smile faded as his brow furrowed.
"Of course! You've eaten enough, yes? Go rest! Take as long as you need! The room you used before will still be empty."
Leslie: Leslie blinked hard. A terrible feeling when the eyes refused to focus. Truly annoying.
"Mhm." Didn't matter who was present, he was leaning forward and kissing Charles' forehead.
He was fine. He was safe. A feeling shared by so many, with every reminder of his presence.
"Won't be long." Because he wanted to be up and useful for dinner.
Charles: Charles didn't mind the gesture. Leslie had always been affectionate. He gave his cheek a pat in response and shooed him along.
"No rush. Sleep as much as you need."
Charles would keep himself busy in the meantime. The newcomers needed to eat and Hank likely could use a few hours of sleep as well.
"I'm a thought away if you need me."
Charles: -
Busy hands kept the memories at bay. He retreated to the gym for a quick shower and to change into a pair of school sweats and a t-shirt. Not his most polished look, but it was better than pajamas. Or disturbing his husband.
He sent Hank off for a nap with only minor grumbling, and handled the work of serving pasta to the newcomers himself. The opportunity to better get to know his young charges.
The business of getting those children uninjured enough into bedrooms was a burden he took on personally, as well. They'd need toiletry kits and gym wear until they'd had enough time to get them all proper clothing.
By the time he'd finished, it was early evening. That tremble had snuck its way into his hands, again. And the pain in his ribs had gone from background noise too difficult to ignore.
He retreated to the roof, the one place he'd always been able to decompress. There, he'd self-medicate while perusing files. The sooner he connected the children that had them with their families, the better.
Mason: 'Where did your need for control manifest?' Came a familiar voice. The owner of said voice was still beneath him, stripping his way across the bedroom to the already warming shower.
'I'd say join me, but you've beaten me to it.'
He refused to look himself in the mirror. Not to see Lawrence behind his eyes, barely conscious himself. His last memory had been of his children in his arms. Nothing of their merge and nothing of his children leaving.
Right now, Mason's mind was on the roof, catching up with what he had missed.
Charles: Charles blew a lungful of smoke into the cooling air. The evening was still warm enough to be a comfort to him, and he was utterly numb to any pain.
He frowned at the question. Unexpected, after hours of soothing silence.
'I don't know.' In truth, he didn't consider it. 'Is this a psychoanalysis?'
Mason/Leslie: 'Just concern, darlin'.' His voice, even telepathically, was calm and tired.
Another mind was waking up. Across the house, Leslie had rolled onto his stomach, his head hanging off the edge of the bed. Looking at the light coming from the window, the witch startled and rolled off the mattress completely.
"Fuck!" He hadn't meant to sleep this long. His own fault for not setting an alarm.
"This is why I don't nap."
Charles: 'I'm fine. Only keeping my hands busy.'
He flipped a page of the latest file and scanned it, taking absolutely nothing in.
'Have you gotten enough sleep, love? You still sound exhausted.'
The sharp flare of shock from Leslie had him looking up from the page, though he could see nothing but dwindling light shining off of clouds.
'Careful,' he said to the witch. 'Are you hurt?'
Mason/Leslie: 'Just your hands.' He could feel Charles' struggling attention span from the bathroom. The words on the paper might as well have been Dutch. Maybe an understood word here or there, but nothing retained.
'Yeah, well, so are ya.' And deserving of rest.
Leslie's mouth was dry. His eyes strained despite the hours of unintentional sleep. He knew why. A thought he had to quickly bury when feeling that now familiar sensation.
His first most forward thought was dinnertime. What was in the pantry. The fridge. And then finally, 'Fine. You ok?'
Charles: 'I can't.' He took a long drag from the confiscated cigarette and set the file aside. For the time being, it was a lost cause.
'I've tried.'
Holding two conversations at once was nothing unusual for Charles. At present, however, his response time was slower than normal. What was Leslie keeping from him?
'Managing. Are you certain you're all right? You can rest for a bit longer. I'll make sure you don't sleep for too long.'
Mason/Leslie: Mason and Leslie both shared the same concern. Why Charles was even awake after what had happened. Both understood varying coping mechanisms, but this nightmare was less than twenty-four hours old.
Invisible fingers brushed over Charles' jaw. Combed through his hair, visibly shifting silky brown strands. This was Mason's response, for now.
And Leslie's response was an outward concern. Did Charles nap, too? Had he been moving about with those bruised ribs?
"Gotta make dinner. A lotta mouths to feed." Oh. Right. Charles wasn't in front of him. He thought the same sentence.
Charles: Concerns that Charles would hear, and ignore. Leslie had done so much already, and was still on his feet.
The thought of dinner had the telepath wincing. He hadn't eaten a thing since waking. Since lunch the day he'd been taken, actually. Dinner was likely still scattered across that alleyway. The drugs that numbed his pain had also eviscerated his appetite.
Setting the thought aside, he leaned into Mason's invisible touch.
'I can come down, if you'd like. Or you can come up, when you're finished.'
Mason/Leslie: 'Ya come down. We'll eat together.'
While Charles kept quiet about his last meal, Mason was with him, in all things.
Leslie's mind seemed his own again. He would never actively attempt to throw Charles out. Especially not now, but there was a guilt hanging over him like a knife on a thread, and he didn't want his friend to bear witness.
A quick wash of his face and he was back in the kitchen.
Charles: Oh, indeed! It would have been just as long since his husband's last meal. Appetite or no, he'd get something into his system if it meant Mason did.
Charles gathered the files into the box where they'd been stored. He'd see to the rest of his mess, later.
Smelling of smoke, he made his way down from the roof and to their shared bedroom as sneakily as he could.
As soon as his husband was within reach, Charles would latch onto him. He didn't care if Mason was dripping from his shower, or if Lawrence was still with him. He craved the heat and strength that always kept him anchored.
Mason: Mason was indeed dripping. The shower curtain was just pulled aside when Charles made his entrance. Both hands were in his hair, squeezing out the last of the water when he was embraced.
"Mornin'," he greeted, resting his chin on Charles' head. Arms soon dropped, hugging his husband's shoulders to his soaked chest.
Charles: He released a small huff of air that couldn't quite be called a laugh.
"Good evening. Lovely to see you on your feet."
If he were to have his fill of their embrace, they'd be standing there for hours. For practicality's sake, he pulled away, grabbing a towel from the shelf and offering it.
Mason: Mason had every intention of giving him such an embrace in just a few hours' time. Though on his feet, it would not last long. For their children's sake, they needed some semblance of a schedule. Charles would sleep well tonight if warmth and security were what he sought.
"C'mere." His towel was left to drape over his shoulders, Charles held by his jaw as he was kissed between his eyes.
Charles: A smile. Genuine, if small.
"Leslie's making dinner. I don't know what."
But he could always check in to ask, and did just that.
'Only curious.'
Leslie: "Oh, shit," Leslie chuckled. "There he is."
'Chicken, broccoli, and rice casserole. Someone is on salad duty. If I have time, maybe a dirt cake. Saw y'all have gummy worms.' Anything to make the children smile.
Charles: 'Sounds delicious! I really do appreciate all you're doing, Les.'
He passed along the menu to his husband as he retreated to the closet.
It was time for proper clothing, even if he only wore them for a couple of hours.
Xavier: If it weren’t for the deep-seated fatigue, there would be nothing different about Xavier’s day whatsoever.
After leaving the facility, Ramsay had taken him back to the estate to be cared for and enlisted Rohan’s help to do it. None of the maids or even Hamilton had been made aware of their presence in a bid to keep from alarming them.
While one witch healed, another divulged the details of their evening and burned Xavier’s bloody clothes in the fireplace. Then, together, they’d bathed the slumbering demon and changed him into a pair of silk pajamas.
Abel had been informed and by the time the familiar had taken Xavier back to Bangkok and tucked him into bed, it was like nothing had ever happened.
That was exactly the way Xavier proceeded when he finally awoke the next morning.
He had breakfast with Devlin after hugging him a little too tightly and for just a bit too long and listened gladly as his son filled him in on everything he’d missed while he was away. He apologized for missing dinner and promised to take Devlin for ice cream later to make up for it. He answered questions about his whereabouts the previous day as delicately as he could.
As far as anyone would be able to tell, everything was absolutely normal. Everything was fine.
And when it came time for Xavier to get ready and go to the hotel, he pretended he didn’t see the concerned look on Abel’s face in his periphery.
His call to his brother wouldn’t come precisely when it had been requested, but it would come before Xavier’s mid-morning.
“Good morning, Mai.”
Mason: Xavier had been on Mason's mind for some time after fully gaining consciousness. Charles would have felt, of course, but nothing he felt the need to vocalize. There was work to be done, and his phone to locate. Only when dressed in brown and red was the annoying device found underneath his pillow.
Mason looked to his husband with a sigh.
"Afternoon," he returned.
'Want speaker phone?'
Charles: Charles had changed into a pair of dark jeans and a down-soft black sweater that may have belonged to Mason. He'd curled up in the corner armchair when Mason's phone began to ring.
"Evening," he said, again, voice too low for Xavier to hear and tinged with amusement.
At Mason's offer, he shook his head. His feelings about the previous night were still very mixed.
Xavier: Xavier closed his eyes and took a silent deep breath, bracing himself. His tardiness in calling could be excused away but absolutely nothing could save him from the lashing he was almost certainly about to receive.
Some things were simply inevitable.
“Are you and Charles and the children all safe? Has he been healed?”
Mason: "Shit's goin'."
In Xavier's bated breath, Mason had walked the few feet to Charles, cupped his cheek for mutual comfort.
"Guessin' you're put back together?"
Charles: Charles leaned into that gentle touch, reaching up to rest his hand against Mason's. If there was reprimanding to be done, it certainly wouldn't come from him. He had nothing to say.
Xavier: “I am, yes. Rohan finished taking care of my wounds when Ramsay brought me back.” Which had been news to Xavier. He couldn’t really remember having been shot, though that was probably due to the adrenaline keeping him from feeling it.
Mason: "Assumed someone would, or I woulda sent Leslie t'finish what he started."
Mason pressed his forehead to Charles', leaned away enough to sign, 'You need to eat.'
Charles: 'I will,' he signed back, but made no move to rise. He'd eat with Mason and the children when dinner was finished.
Truthfully, he still had no appetite.
'Go on.'
Checking in with his brother was important.
Xavier: “He did more than enough.” Xavier owed him a visit and a thank you. Not just for helping to heal him, but for pouring the last of his energy into doing so.
“…What of Haine? What’s to be done with him?”
Mason: Fine, but he was going to hold Charles' hand while he spoke.
"Alive," after a pause, "he's gonna stay that way. I made a contract. Ya know what happens when they break before they should. Don't. Fuckin'. Touch him." He was already staring at Hell's door. Didn't need his own brother to push him through.
Charles: Charles was happy to oblige him. He brought that hand to his lips in a wordless proclamation. Fathomless love and gratitude, both. No more bloodshed. And he knew how difficult restraint had been for his husband.
Xavier: “He’s being allowed to live? Why—mmm.” Xavier forced himself to take a deep breath so the seething anger he was feeling would stay on his face and not seep too much into his voice.
He hadn’t been chewed out yet but questioning the decision to keep that cowardly swine alive wouldn’t win him any points and given his and apparently Mason’s recent actions, an argument was pointless. It had already been done. Arguing would change nothing.
And besides, he didn’t need a reminder that it wasn’t his place to have an opinion.
“Very well,” he said, just managing to keep from gritting his teeth.
Mason: "Ya know why." He was certain if Xavier thought things through, he would find Charles' point of view. It wasn't easy to swallow, allowing scum like Haine to continue existence. It was agony with purpose.
He understood his brother's irritation; it was his own, and he had no intention to scold. Only to drag his brother with him back to Hell should he sever his agreement.
"We've got shit t'do here. Ya comin' t'help or keepin' away?"
Charles: He gave the hand in his a firm squeeze. They were fine. And Haine would get his, eventually.
Xavier: “Absolutely I do not.” Haine didn’t deserve ten more years. He didn’t deserve ten more minutes. There was nothing to be gained from his being alive that outweighed the punishment he deserved, not in Xavier’s view. And his view was very much the only one he planned to consider since he’d been denied the pleasure of dispatching that swine to the pit.
If Haine had any sense, he should’ve prayed to Charles rather than God because Charles was the only reason he yet drew breath.
“There’s nothing in my skill set that qualifies me to help handle the aftermath of this. Charles’ staff is better suited to the task.”
Mason: "Right." As expected of an Atlas. Hot enough to feel from across the world. Xavier was smarter than this. At least, that was what Mason was going to believe, and his brother just needed a minute to cool.
But heat upon heat was only going to cause an ignition.
"Ya can't entertain children? Clean somethin'? Get supplies? Anything?"
Xavier: Clean? Had Mason forgotten who he was speaking to?
But Xavier wouldn’t comment. He had wisdom enough to avoid anything he knew would light a fuse.
“Am I really the person you want to ask to entertain traumatized children? If you need extra hands, I can offer my staff.”
Mason: "Fuckin' Luci. I'll talk t'ya later." He would always love this infuriating man, but there were better things to do than spell out that he wanted his company. Like hanging up and tugging Charles to his feet. His husband needed a meal.
Charles: Charles would allow this tugging, but only until he was standing. He wrapped arms about his husband's waist before he could be dragged along to the kitchen.
"You ought to tell him how you feel. He's your brother. He loves you, too."
Xavier: “Right then,” Xavier sighed as he listened to the dial tone at the other end of the line. He hadn’t quite gotten what he’d expected but that just meant it was coming at a later point.
How marvelous. Something to look forward to.
Sighing again, he gathered his things and headed into the conference room for a meeting.
Mason: Charles' arms might as well have been steel bands. His intention enough to stop his husband short.
"He's not an idiot." He pulled the telepath in front of him, resting his face in his hair. "I'm sayin' it."
Charles: "No, but you're only just starting to rebuild your relationship. Sometimes subtlety isn't the answer. You may need to be a bit more direct."
But Charles would let the matter lie. He gave that waist a firm squeeze and kissed his husband's shoulder.
"Just consider it. Let's have dinner."
He'd try, anyway.
Mason/Leslie: Mason had nothing to reply. Charles was correct, as was often the case, but it was something he had to consider on his own time. For now, the kitchen needed tending, and their children needed much attention.
The casserole was still in the oven, leaving Leslie's hands open for dessert. Cynthia and Rory were enjoying their job of crushing Oreos into dust. Or in this case, dirt.
Charles: Charles dropped a kiss atop each of his children's heads before claiming a seat at the kitchen island.
"Having fun?" The question was directed toward the kids, but he cast a glance in Leslie's direction as well.
Mason/Leslie: Rory made an attempt to join his father. Just not quite tall enough yet. While Mason might have scolded the behavior, today he said nothing. Finding a bottle of water in the fridge and all but forcing it on his husband.
Leslie met Charles' glance and nodded. All was well; no need to worry.
Charles: It was fine. Charles was happy to have his children close. And he managed to suppress a wince and a grunt as he bent and lifted Rory into the chair beside him.
He took the offered bottle with a small smile of thanks and twisted it open. He drained half in a single drink. Not hungry, no. But apparently extremely thirsty.
"One more?" he asked, before draining the remainder.
Mason/Leslie: 'Your ribs,' as though Charles couldn't feel it. In a way, he was blind to the pain. Stubborn as usual.
All of the power of Hell behind him, and he was forced to pussyfoot around solutions.
Leslie was given a look. The witch needed nothing more.
"After dinner," said through a gummy worm. "I should go home, after."
Charles: 'I'm all right.' But offered the sensation of lips brushing over Mason's cheek. He really was. Only a twinge over the numbing drugs. He'd feel it, when they wore off, but that was a problem for later.
He nodded, brows tugging down in a frown.
"Yes. I can have Kurt take you. You've done so much, already. And we really appreciate it. But I don't want to send you home drained. I don't need Tristan biting my head off. I'll be fine."
Mason/Leslie: "He'd never do that." Or so he believed. "You shouldn't be feeling any pain, after..." A glance was given to the children, and he decided to end his sentence there.
"It's no trouble," was the last he would insist.
Invisible fingers brushed along Charles' ribs, and Cynthia was looking between the two while her little brother stared at their daddy.
Charles: "All right, but make sure you're well fed, beforehand."
He was too exhausted to put up a proper fight. He merely nodded, running a hand over Rory's hair.
"I'm fine, son."
And to prove it, he'd get up to fetch a second bottle of water himself, he supposed.
Mason: "Impatient," Mason frowned, but there was no venom in his words. Guardian of the fridge, handing out bottles of orange juice to a small group of students, one was offered to his husband. "Humans and mutants need vitamins, I'm told."
Charles: Perhaps. But he was thirsty. He accepted the juice with a gentle brush of fingers over Mason's.
"Indeed. Thank you, love."
He'd obediently drain every last drop. Nutrients were nutrients.
He reclaimed the spot beside his son.
"You should have something to drink, yourself."
Mason: A noncommittal noise was all Mason gave, shutting the fridge empty-handed.
'Catch me up. What's the worst injury so far?'
Charles: "Drink, love."
Charles was allowed to worry, too.
'Amputation. But he's already in the process of regrowing the tail. Another girl with regenerating powers has not regrown her kidney, but she's stable and we're monitoring the situation.'
Mason: Mason stared at the floor. Organs versus limbs. The doctor was truly a demon in the making. Crowley would have more interest in using Haine as his lab rat than a prodigy. Only time would tell.
"Want somethin' sweet."
Charles: He didn't. But he was determined to eat, even if was just to put his loved ones at ease. He nodded.
"All right."
Mason: His head shake was subtle.
'I think you're tired, baby.'
Charles: 'I am.'
There was little point in denying it.
'I'll try to sleep after dinner.'
Mason: 'Okay.'
Mason looked for a quick fix in the walk-in pantry. Was it any wonder the witch could make meals up as he went along. Some wrapped breakfast muffins were snatched, a choice between blueberry and cranberry offered to his husband.
Charles: He selected the blueberry, clumsily peeling the wrapper away. He forced himself to take a proper bite, chewing slowly and carefully. No sense in making himself sick.
'Thank you, love.'
Mason/Leslie: It was carbs and it was sugar. If Charles ate nothing else then at least he had that.
Leslie glanced at Charles' choice of muffin and made a mental note. There was every chance he would forget, the ringing oven interrupting his ideas.
"And that's dinner," he sighed.
Charles: "Let me help," he insisted, setting the muffin aside and sliding down from the stool.
"You've been cooking all day. You should sit for a while."
Mason/Leslie: "Just needs to cool before we call people. Don't need em burning the roof of their mouths. I'll never be invited back!" he smiled. Anything to keep conversation light, and any hope of Charles smiling in earnest. His friend dearly needed some levity.
Mason's sigh would go unheard as he looked for any means to be useful, bringing out utensils and announcing dinner.
Charles: "It'll take more than a scalded tongue to bar you from the premises, Les."
And Charles would offer a smile in turn. A small one, that didn't quite brighten his eyes. He crossed to the range and switched off the timer, grabbing a pair of mitts to pull the casserole out of the oven.
The idea of keeping that smile in place all night was exhausting. So, when the food had cooled enough to eat, and plates had been served to the littlest hands, Charles sought out his husband's steadying presence.
'Let's eat upstairs?'
Mason/Leslie: Leslie just smiled. Charles' smile was so subtle compared to what it used to be, but it was completely understandable. Understandable, but sad just the same. Humbling to think about what could have been. Of course they would have found him eventually, but had they been any later...
His desire to hug Charles was perhaps a bit too strong. He worried his friend might have felt his desire like a shove to his chest.
"Sorry," he whispered. Biting his cheek, he made sure to keep his back to the telepath and his emotion-filled face from view.
'Go ahead,' Mason motioned his head, cleared his throat. 'I'll make a tray.'
Charles: Charles clapped a hand on Leslie's shoulder, shaking his head.
"Nothing to apologize for. And I'm all right. I will be, anyway."
But he needed time. Casting a grateful look toward his husband, Charles slipped out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the solitude of their bedroom.
Being alone was worse, but at least he didn't need to wear a pleasant mask. He claimed the armchair and whichever book was on the table beside it. It didn't matter. He couldn't take in a single word.
Mason/Leslie: Leslie reached up to squeeze Charles' fingers before letting him go. He didn't know how much was too much right now. After fleeing the Charlotte coven, Leslie couldn't bear to be touched for weeks, not until his guardian angel Myrtle.
He assumed when Charles was ready, he would know.
A tray was set with an overstocked plate, salt, pepper, dessert, another bottle of water and napkins. Leslie agreed to watch the children and Mason excused himself.
Most of this would go uneaten, he assumed, but it was something, and if he made the attempt, perhaps Charles would make an effort.
He entered the room with a gentle warning, bringing the tray to the foot of the bed.
Charles: A gentle warning. Such a small gesture, after everything else Mason had done, but it moved Charles nearly to tears. He ignored the food briefly, opting for a lingering embrace.
But a few bites of muffin did not a meal make, and he was determined not to worry his husband any more than necessary.
"Thank you," he murmured as he released him, settling down cross-legged on the mattress before the tray. He grabbed a fork and scooped up a small bite of the casserole. He knew Leslie well enough to be certain the food was delicious, but Charles could think only of vital nutrients as he ate in slow, mechanical silence.
Mason: No sooner had the tray been placed down was Charles in his arms. He could hold his demon for as long as he required and then some.
He was joined in silence, sharing the plate for several minutes before he managed a smile, pulling one of the gummy worms out of the strange dessert.
"Gelatin was all the rage in my time. There's ya n'old sentence."
Charles: He looked up from his umpteenth tiny bite, eyes cutting to his husband and the gummy piece of candy he held. That dimple was enough to coax a smile out of Charles, as well.
"Such an old man. You know, I've seen recipes from that time. Makes me rather glad I was born when I was. Some of those dishes were abominations. Not everything should be encased in gelatin. Full stop."
Mason: "Had some, before... I liked. Mint and cucumber. Should try it."
Mason leaned back, let the colorful worm fall into his open mouth. "Then again, ya don't even like hot chocolate," he teased.
Charles: He lifted a shoulder. That wasn't so ridiculous a flavour profile.
"I've had water with cucumber and mint. Quite refreshing on a hot day."
With a soft chuckle that surprised him, Charles gently poked Mason's ribs.
"I love hot chocolate. As long as you don't go ruining a good thing with unnecessary spice. Whipped cream. Perhaps marshmallows, if you're feeling adventurous. More than enough."
Mason: "A little cinnamon and chili never hurt chocolate."
There was that laugh, and that modest smile. He reached out for Charles' hand, grateful for the privilege.
You're still in there. You didn't go anywhere.
"Ya know the first cold day, our son's gonna want some. Peppermint, probably. And cinnamon rolls."
Charles: He threaded their fingers together in quiet confirmation. Of course. Mason had saved him. And was saving him, still.
He grabbed a worm of his own and popped it into his mouth.
"Of course he is. And I'll forgive him for sharing your terrible taste. We..."
It was difficult to think so far into the future. Though, fall was only a few months away. He'd take each day as its own challenge.
"We'll make a day of it. Hot drinks and baked goods. As long as I don't have to bake them."
Mason: Charles' hand was squeezed between his pause. It was a lot to think about. Mason had no intention to pretend it hadn't happened, but offer an attempt at normalcy, just for a little while.
"At this rate, I don't think we're gettin' rid of your witch friend. I think we got ourselves a private chef."
Charles: "We were never getting rid of Leslie."
But he smiled at Mason's effort and pressed in close to his side. There was unspeakable comfort in his presence.
"I'd have to start actually paying him," he chuckled.
"Or we could always visit an actual bakery."
Mason: "So I've gathered." His chin came to rest on Charles' head, closing his eyes.
"Actual bakery? With humans and how-you-doin's? Be sociable?"
Charles: He hummed in confirmation. "Yes. I'm afraid so. But it can wait a couple of months."
It would, if Charles had to make the trip. He couldn't think about leaving the small bubble of safety created in Mason's presence. Not yet.
He stroked a thumb over his husband's, his grip on that hand still firm.
"I don't believe I've asked, since you woke up. I'm so sorry. How are you, love? Yesterday was difficult for you, too."
Mason: He would not have his husband wait so long for something so little, but he understood his reluctance. It had not yet been 24 hours since the ordeal.
"Don't apologize." He hadn't even considered himself. Not once. His thoughts revolved around only one, picking up others incidentally. Of course he loved his brother, but it had been Charles strapped down and silently screaming.
"I'm fine, baby."
Charles: Doubtful. But he could understand how Mason might be distracted from his own emotions, at the moment. Despite every effort to mask it, Charles was a mess. He could admit that to himself, if no one else.
Still, his husband's wellbeing was a priority.
"It's all right, if you aren't. Between your mark and... I don't know what I would have done, seeing you that way. It couldn't have been easy."
Mason: The mark. That tenderness on his chest, already on its way to healing. He felt at the area through his clothes.
"Had t'be somethin' I'd miss..." He'd already said as much, but he felt the need to explain once more. To remind his action had not been a mindless whim.
"It'll never happen." Not that he was superior to Charles, and never in dire straits, he just didn't want Charles to ever put himself in danger on his behalf. Not after this.
"I'm... sorry."
Charles: "I know."
As if anyone in the world could stop him, if the need arose. The night before had been horrifying. But fear didn't exist, where the safety of his family was concerned.
"Don't you apologise, either. You made a sacrifice to save me. How could I ever blame you for that? I'm grateful."
Mason: "Still hurts." Tender physically, but what he meant was, in his belief, more significant.
"I want it back." His mouth had tightened, face stern in an effort to prevent raw emotion. He didn't feel he had the right, sitting next to Charles after his ordeal.
Charles: "I know," he repeated, pushing the tray aside so he could properly situate himself in Mason's lap. He didn't need to bury what he was feeling. Not here. Not now.
"As soon as you're healed. Whenever you like, Mason. We can go to the cottage, just us."
Mason: Mason would never deny his husband the right to his lap. His hands came to rest on Charles' thighs, staring at his chest with a faraway look. He simply nodded. Greed was his circle of Hell; he had much to debate, much to restrain.
"Soon as you're healed."
Charles: "Yes. Yes, of course. Leslie has seen to most of that, already. I'm all right."
Charles took Mason's face in both of his hands, tilting it up to meet his eyes.
"Where are you?"
Mason: "Not what I mean." He began toying with Charles' fingers.
"Takes just... one decision t'be like them. Thinkin' of ya locked someplace safe. Just... thoughts. Just thoughts." Just a part of him, the demonic part of him, the persuasive, demonic logic.
Charles: Just thoughts. And thoughts were allowed. They didn't stop Charles from brushing his thumbs along his husband's cheeks, gentle as a whisper.
"Mm. That'd create more problems than it would solve, but I understand the impulse."
Understanding was different than agreeing, but Mason surely knew that.
Mason: Impulse. That was one way to phrase it. There was truth to the word. Charles was going to have his own hurdles going forward. Fears and irrationalities he would have to face. He didn't need the same from his husband.
"N'where would it stop? You? the children?" No, it was easier to kill everything else. Every last Haine on the planet.
Charles: Those thumbs continued to stroke along warm skin. This was better than burying everything. Draining, rather than leaving the thoughts to fester. He wasn't going anywhere.
"Again, we'd have more problems than solutions. There'd never be an end to it. I'm home. I'm safe. We'll recover."
Mason: Charles' hand was taken, flattened to his cheek. Those hands were so cold. He felt at the summons ring and frowned.
"Mm-hmm."
Mason peeled away long enough to move the tray entirely. Returning to the bed to lie back, offering his chest if Charles wanted another moment of peace.
Charles: He did, naturally. Even at the best of times, he enjoyed using his husband as a living pillow. His head came to rest over the pounding rhythm of Mason's heart, arms winding tight about his waist.
Charles didn't know how long they had, but he'd take full advantage of the quiet.
