#tristanseger

[wildroseofarran]

"Meg is right around the corner. If it were a two-week vacation I'd say Hazel and Clive." He'd yet to let go of Tristan's hand. He was suddenly biting his lip. Mischievous look in his eyes.

“Meg it is. I’ll give her a call later and set it up.” Knowing his mother, she’d be thrilled to have the girls to herself for a few days.

That look had Tristan squinting while a slow smile began to play at his lips. “What?”

[thehangeddemon]

The Road to Hell, Cont. || Charleson, Xavier, Ramsay, Lawrence, & Captain Issott || July 11th, 2023

Mason/Leslie: Mason had been prepared to explain until their little puppet abruptly halted. Leslie had been an inch away from crashing into their captive when his body came alive with awareness. Running off was not an option, was it? To cause more alarm than the supposed heart attack they had left at the front door.

But the crossroad demon did nothing to stop him. Following the tracker faithfully, his mind tunneled in the direction of his husband and the only barrier between them.

Tackling and subduing would only cause a stir in surveillance, but there was no turning back now.

“Just one threat,” Mason whispered. His hand hovered over the double doors. Locked, most likely. Xavier’s mention of teleportation had him turning to speak, but it was Leslie who stepped forward, hand out to give pause.

Wait, he mouthed, and reached out with his left hand, contorting his fingers tightly, soft cracks breaking the dead silence, wrist twisting. The door had indeed been locked, and with one more finger overlapping the other, the locking mechanism was broken entirely.

The room began to dim as the doors swung wide. Knowing where every person was in position to Charles meant knowing exactly where the guard stood, flinging every ounce of his telekinetic will in throwing Ian against the ceiling and his gun out of reach, falling between Ramsay and Leslie’s feet.

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier understood his brother’s meaning, but the way he saw it, every single person who worked in this facility was a threat.

Leslie’s magical lock picking saved them the trouble of teleportation but it was just as well. The now cognizant lab tech would likely be sounding the alarm at any moment, evading detection was no longer an option.

Especially given the chaos that erupted the moment those doors opened.

With the main threat pinned to the ceiling, Xavier scanned the rest of the room for any potential others.

Ramsay was quick to react and pick up the gun. He planted himself in the doorway and aimed toward the hallway in case more guards came running. The second gun, the one he’d taken from the guard in the parking garage, was held at the ready at his side.

Charles/Haine: "What the fuck?" Haine swore, unknowingly echoing his guard's earlier sentiment. The room's other inhabitants shouted their own shock as the doors banged open. A technician took refuge behind the nearest machine while the nurse ducked where she stood, hands moving to protect the back of her neck.

The doctor could see nothing beyond the havoc that had broken loose almost as soon as they'd powered on the amplifier. His thorough research had not mentioned the professor being telekinetic... was he?

All semblance of kindness gone, he grabbed the nearest tech by the back of his neck and all but flung him toward the machine. "Shut it down!"

Charles stared blankly up at the ceiling, mouth open in a silent scream. Far from the intoxicating rush of Cerebro, this was agony. Invisible claws scraped at every drop of his power, pushing it out farther than he could ever reach on his own.

Mason: The guard was pulled from the ceiling, dangled mid-air, and thrown across the room onto the loudmouth American. As much as he wanted to split their bodies in two, the horror of Charles' condition stayed his hand, rushing to his husband's side to remove any and every device attached.

It couldn't be like this. He needed Charles to see him. To do more than feel his presence. He was not alone, and this would never happen again.

The spell was broken as the silk and gold braid was yanked from his wrist.

Xavier/Ramsay: With Mason focused on Charles and the guard now freed from the ceiling, Xavier’s black-eyed laser focus shifted to him and the man Mason had thrown him onto.

If they thought to move or to reach for anything, they’d both find themselves pinned.

Ah, but first.

“John, shoot the machine,” Xavier said almost pleasantly, no longer bothering to whisper.

“Yep.” Wasn’t really any point in staying hidden anymore, was there?

Ramsay used his teeth to tear the silk off his wrist and aimed three consecutive shots at the machine.

Haine: Not quite an off switch, but it was certainly effective. The thrum of the internal gears whined to a stop, the unit smoking from the holes blasted into its facade.

Even with the needles being pulled free from his skin, it took a several moments for Charles to return to himself. Mason's face was the first thing his eyes latched onto and he released a soft sob. The hand that reached out to touch him was stopped short by his restraints.

Haine recovered from the blow as well as could be expected. It took some effort to push Ian's limp form off of him, but he managed. Not bad intel, then. A rescue. Well, he wasn't going to stick around for the aftermath. He made to get to his feet and bolt, only to find himself rooted to one spot.

Not similarly restrained, the nurse made a scramble for the doors on hands and knees.

Mason/Leslie: “It’s okay. I’m here, baby.” He leaned into that outreached hand, letting Charles cup his jaw while unfastening his restraints. Adrenaline argued with compassion, being gentle took willpower. There was no one else, nothing else in the room except his husband.

Until turning his attention to Charles’ ankles, expecting a strap and finding his angel, his beloved broken, swelling, and bleeding. It was impossible for his eyes to turn black, but impossible to tell the difference in the dim lighting.

There was already so much anguish, so much rage. What was one more drop of acid in the Stygian pit?

Leslie had no idea what Mason was seeing, having dropped to a knee to catch the nurse mid-crawl, covering her mouth and nose the same as the guard, pulling her to lie safely against the wall.

“Which –“ Mason didn’t need to ask. He would see for himself. Caress his mind against Charles’ memories, and find himself facing the lump on the floor beside the doctor.

There was no sense in beating a dead guard, which just left Haine.

“You motherfucker.”

Xavier: Although Xavier had merely kept the man who appeared to be in charge rooted in place, Mason’s sudden shift in demeanor and the venom in his voice told Xavier that a different approach was required.

Jaw twitching, the demon would flick his hand, intending to telekinetically toss the man against his ruined machine and pin him to it so his brother could do with him as he pleased.

As for the others in the room, they weren’t spared a thought. He’d leave them to Ramsay and Leslie.

Charles/Haine: His world had narrowed down to that steady presence. Whatever went on around them was secondary to the face in his hand. Mason was here, and they had time to sort out the rest.

He braced himself for his husband's reaction to the worst of his injuries. The rage was expected, but it stole his demon away too soon. With a wince and a groan, he forced himself into a seated position. "Mason."

Haine's pulse was practically visible, hammering through him as he desperately sought a way out. He yelped as he was moved, eyes wild with terror. Urine dampened the front of his slacks. Those eyes. These were no mutants. What could he say to stave off the attack? Nothing came to mind. "I..."

Mason: Mason offered his hand to the sound of his name and gently squeezed.

"Right here, baby." But he knew what his name meant. Knew Charles wanted this man alive. For some fucking reason.

"He can live with a broken fuckin' leg." It would be a mercy, wouldn't it? Charles loved his mercies.

His free hand outstretched, eyes directed at the doctor's leg as he squeezed his fingers into a fist, taking his right femur and breaking it in two with a crack of his knuckles.

Charles: Charles took the offered hand and held it firmly. He wouldn't deny Mason this small release and he forced himself not to look away. He suppressed a flinch at the sickening crack of bone.

He waited for the doctor's screams to die down to whimpers before speaking. He did not let go of Mason's hand.

"His psionic blocker, my love." He needed it out of the way. "The tech raised the alarm. There are guards on the way. You're going to call them off. And make sure no one leaves this building."

Xavier: "Please, allow me," said Xavier, taking a very twisted pleasure in approaching this mess of a monster with only his voice and the smell of sulfur to signal his presence.

Haine would feel the ghostly touch of unseen hands removing that ridiculous device from his head before watching what, to him, would look like the air crushing it in its grasp.

Mason/Leslie: It wasn't death, but it remained to be seen whether he would live to see the sunrise.

Leslie occupied his time under invisibility to cover the faces of those remaining conscious, pulling them into the corner with the nurse. As much as he wanted to make himself visible to Charles, remaining unseen had its advantages.

He brushed past Ramsay, fingers patting his shoulder as he muttered, "Behind." A chef's habit.

He needed to stand in the hallway. He couldn't look at Charles like that. He could fix him. Down to his bones he knew he could fix him, but he also knew this wasn't yet over.

As Charles said, there were guards on the way. The only evidence of his existence was the shadow he had forgotten he created.

"I'm gonna pick ya up," Mason said, softly. "Put your arm 'round me."

Charles: At this point, the horror was mild in comparison to his preternaturally snapped femur. He sniveled as the one defense he had against that bastard telepath was taken from him by a phantom, but said nothing. What was there to say?

Charles nodded. Deep breaths would only add to his discomfort, so he took shallow sips of air to brace for the pain of moving. His cracked ribs twinged as he slid an arm behind his husband's neck. For Mason's sake, he suppressed a flinch.

"Will you set him on his feet for me, Xavier?" As much as he didn't deserve Charles' kindness, he needed Haine clear-headed to stave off the coming attack. Already, boots could be heard slamming against tile. He muted the throbbing in his leg partially with a touch to his pain receptors.

"Pull yourself together, Haine. We don't have time for this."

Xavier/Ramsay: “As you wish.” Xavier moved Haine away from the machine and put him on his feet, standing him straight as a soldier. Moving, if attempted, would be impossible. He was still firmly within Xavier’s telekinetic grasp.

The soft, eerily calm tone of Xavier’s voice did not sit well with Ramsay at all. But what could he do? There was still a threat to deal with and they didn’t have the luxury of taking a moment to check in.

“Leslie, get behind me,” said Ramsay, moving out of sight of the door. “Can you use a gun?”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie already had his back to the wall on the other side of the hallway. By now, those footsteps were just out of sight. Too late to say anything. He was better off remaining still, out of sight, he assumed. If anyone was getting caught when shit hit the fan it would be everyone without a shroud.

Slowly, the witch rubbed his hands together, ready to charge up an inertia spell.

Charles had become a careful bridal-style bundle in Mason’s arms. “There’s others? More children?”

Charles: He wanted to so desperately to nuzzle into the crook of Mason's neck and purge all of the emotion he was bottling. He settled on holding him more tightly than was strictly necessary. A scowl settled onto his features at Mason's question. "Yes. Young adults, as well. We'll need to find some way to transport them to the school, but I'm getting ahead of myself."

He reluctantly turned away from his husband to look at where Haine "stood."

"Xavier, position him in the hall, please. If they plan to shoot first and ask questions later, I won't put anyone else at risk."

Xavier: “With pleasure.” Another small flick of Xavier’s hand and his little toy soldier was placed in the hall as requested.

Smiling, he came up behind Haine and whispered, “Although I must confess, I’d really rather they didn’t shoot first and ask questions later. You and I need to have a little chat, Mr. Haine. Your behavior has left much to be desired.”

Haine: If Haine could have bolted, he would have. He trembled with pain that had only dulled enough to be bearable. Or, perhaps, from the chill that ran down his spine at those hushed words. Either way, he was rooted to the spot. A human shield for Charles and his pet monsters.

Booted feet grew louder as half a dozen guards rounded the corner at a jog. Their assault rifles were raised against any apparent threat. But it was their boss that stood before them, pale and shaky but seemingly alone. If they noticed the stench of sulfur in the air, they had nothing to tie it to.

"Where's Ian?" the guard in front asked, peering around Haine to try and get a peek at the chaos inside the room.

The doctor very seriously considered telling the truth, but he could feel the telepath in his mind. As well as the heat radiating from the invisible threat behind him.

"I-inside. Everything is fine, here. The... the amplifier malfunctioned. Secure the exit and make sure that everyone on staff is present and accounted for."

Unconvinced, the first guard shifted his forefinger to the trigger of his weapon, prepared to move past Haine and into the room behind him.

Xavier: Six guards, all armed. Mason had his hands full with Charles. Ramsay was armed but visible. Leslie was unarmed but invisible and with magic at his disposal.

Xavier raised Haine's arm to stay the guard and leaned in close to his toy solider again.

"Put more authority into your voice and I'll have you healed and let you walk away from this with your life. Do not let those men into that room," he added, very slowly. Xavier was doing his damnedest to do this the way Charles wanted but this monster wasn't making it easy.

"Call. Them. Off."

Mason/Leslie: Leslie didn't know which caused the tremble in his hand, his blood sugar or terror in his veins. Only Xavier would see the rise and fall of his chest. Hands at the ready to cause chaos, the likes of which no sleeper could fathom. He had the upper hand, but his eyes told a different story.

Mason's stance shifted, Charles held steady as dusty colored wings slowly broke free from hiding.

They couldn't just leave. Their work wasn't finished here. What energy they had, had to remain in reserves.

Which was why two massive wings overlapped Charles' view, prepared to shield his husband from the potential threat outside.

Charles/Haine: He'd been reduced to little more than an oversized marionette. Fear was too weak a description for what Haine felt. He was chilled to his very core, beyond anything he'd experienced in his fifty-eight years. The hand that rose without his prompting trembled with it.

In Mason's arms, Charles rolled his eyes. The doctor was past threats, now, frozen by his terror. He seized control of Haine's mind, imbuing the coward's voice with his own steely resolve.

"That's enough, Tom. And the rest of you. I said to secure the exit and check on the staff. Now."

It was an air of command that might have stayed his hand, had the guard not seen past his employer and into the room beyond. Ian's corpse. A friend, and a damned good one. He'd been disarmed, and a winged...something stood in view. The entire area radiated malice.

He opened fire.

Xavier: Not even with his life on the line could Haine steel his resolve. And this was the man who had pretended he could pull off something of this magnitude?

Please.

Xavier left Haine exactly where he was while the head guard opened fire, hoping he'd at least have use as a shield for the moment or two it took him to get out of the line of fire and come to Leslie's side. Only then would he let Haine drop like a limp doll and turn his focus toward that gun.

The demon would flick his hand again, intending to snatch the weapon from the guard's hands and throw it as far away as possible. He trusted that Mason could safeguard Charles and that Ramsay could protect himself, and take a shot if he had it.

"Leslie, we need to remove the guards," he whispered urgently.

Mason/Leslie: Moments like this required trust Mason couldn’t have given even in recent years. Trust in his brother and trust in those his loved ones cared for. To open his wings for counterattack would be certain death for the fragile life in his arms.

Again, Lawrence begged for release, and again he was denied. It was only their combined strength keeping Mason’s legs strong as he pushed forward to keep the guards contained in the hallway.

His wings would hold. It wasn’t his Grace, but it was Grace enough to withstand human means.

Leslie’s intended spell was charged, whispering a Nordic spell under his breath as he stepped forward. There was no time to explain. Mere seconds as the remaining security raised their weapons to the doorway.

"Ef ég sé örvum varpað harðlega að hjörðinni minni; þó ég sé fljót á flugi, þá handtek ég þær í loftinu."

The tattoo in his palm warmed and glowed with vulgar magick. His arms spread wide, sending a wave of heat in a 10-meter dome. A ward to rob the motive force of missile weapons, so long as he harbored the energy to maintain it.

Charles/Haine: The lead guard had lost his weapon. The remaining five were quick to press forward to defend him. They sent out sprays of bullets that suspended in midair, inches from their target.

Haine's mind had snuffed out like a candle light, the pain of landing on his snapped leg too much to bear. Charles cursed at the lost connection. Once again, he'd been rendered blind. This time, by the protective barrier of his beloved's wings.

The sound of gunfire drove his heart into a frenzied pace.

Mason.

He was acting as living shield. And no amount of knowledge on demonic strength could chase away the instinctive panic. There would be no convincing Mason to look after himself when Charles was at risk. He clung more fiercely to his husband.

'Their helmets!' he projected into Xavier's and Leslie's minds. 'Try to remove their helmets!'

On the cold tile, Haine stirred. The pain in his thigh was nearly blinding, but the entire hallway had erupted into action. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to take advantage of the chaos. He set off at a slow, desperate crawl.

Xavier: Leslie’s spell may not have stopped the guards in their tracks, but it bought them precious time.

Time for Xavier to fling his arm and fling their weapons away in the process. Time for Xavier to register Charles’ voice in his head and begin to plan the best course of action.

The helmets had straps so they couldn’t merely be flicked off. Not without decapitating them all, which…wasn’t the worst solution…

‘I can’t do it without taking their heads as well,’ he thought to Charles and Mason.

Mason/Leslie: It was the heat of the moment. Hearing Charles in his head so clearly as though beside him. Just as he so often did when hearing the professor's voice, telepathy didn't stop him from speaking aloud what he thought.

"Can't move," but he considered breaking the spell after Xavier took action. There was every possibility someone had backup. A handgun out of his line of sight.

He was scared to let go, but only just realized the doctor was making a feeble attempt at escape. He had to choose one or the other.

Mason was staring upwards was at nothing, forcing his mind outwards to peer through Xavier's eyes in a flash. Only then did he shift his wings back behind his shoulders.

Charles: "No!" Charles' shout rang out both physically and mentally. He'd feel shame for it, later. But six headless corpses was more than he could bear, under the circumstances. He shut his eyes against the visual. This did nothing to chase it away.

He had to focus, find another solution. His telepathy unspooled in search of more unshielded minds.

Assault weapons rendered useless, and then flung down the hall, the guards were forced to think on their feet. Indeed, four of them did carry handguns in their belts. The remaining two pulled out blades. Anything to defend against a threat they could not see. The lead guard could at least take a shot at the one he could.

Xavier: Charles could not possibly know the weight his ‘no’ held in that moment. It would’ve been so simple, so easy to neutralize the threat then and there and not have to worry about elegant solutions.

But Charles said no, so the guards would be thrown back with an impatient wave of Xavier’s arm instead.

Time and cover were what they needed. Time and cover.

“Come,” the demon said to Leslie. “We don’t have but a moment. We need to get back into that room, I’ll keep the doors closed behind us.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie's hands trembled. Fear in his alert and glossy eyes. At last he remembered to breathe, afraid still of dropping his spell when Xavier snapped him out of it.

"The doctor," he gasped, lowering his arms. Nausea swept over his entire being as the bullets raced forward by another foot, dropping off like metal rain on the tile.

Mason backed up, giving passage as he glanced down the hallway, allowing Charles to do the same.

"Who d'ya feel?" he asked, retreating back inside.

Charles: He shuddered his relief at carnage avoided, still too shaken to be properly grateful for Xavier's restraint. He looked, when presented the opportunity, but his mind was elsewhere.

"Frightened kids, mostly. Still locked in, but they can tell something is amiss. It's the middle of the night, so they aren't fully staffed. I can feel... three, without blockers. There are more, but I can't reach them. Some might make a run for it."

Outside, the guards were getting to their feet.

Charles shifted his focus to only the minds within the room. "Is everyone inside? Is anyone hurt?"

Xavier/Ramsay: “I’ll deal with him later,” said Xavier, the thought of that feckless coward making his blood boil. He wouldn’t get far on that leg and wouldn’t be hard to find.

“We’re fine, prof,” said Ramsay. “Don’t worry about us, you’re the one who needs lookin’ aft—“

“Mai, you have to take Charles out of here.” Xavier spoke calmly, and although Leslie was the only one who’d be able to tell, his eyes were still pitch black. “The same goes for the two of you,” he added to their pair of mages. “It’s no bother if Mason or I take a hit, they’re not equipped to kill us. The same cannot be said for the rest of you. Charles is already injured.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie leaned himself against the wall near Ramsay, watching each person before remembering his invisibility. After some hesitation the silk was unknotted and pocketed.

"You shouldn't be here alone. Charles said something about children. We need to get them out."

Mason pressed his forehead to Charles' and sighed.

"We'll get them." He looked between the witches. "Y'all aren't leavin' Charles' side. Hear me? While I'm gone, same fuckin' room."

Leslie nodded without a second thought.

"Of course."

Charles: "Absolutely not. You are sorely mistaken if you think I'm leaving this facility for even a minute wi--" He cut himself off as Leslie appeared. Good to see that the witch was still standing. He nodded his agreement.

"They're terrified. We can help release them, once the guards are dealt with."

His eyes shut at that gentle contact, and he stroked a thumb over Mason's cheek.

"I'll be fine. We'll barricade ourselves in the room, if we have to. But you be careful. Neither of you has unlimited energy."

Xavier/Ramsay: “I fuckin’ agree,” said Ramsay, crossing his arms. “I told you I’m not letting you go into the heart of bloody darkness by yourself.”

Their concern fell on deaf ears. “How would you have us deal with them, Charles?” asked Xavier. In his view there was only one way, and Charles had already made his aversion to it quite clear.

As he had said, Xavier and Mason didn’t have unlimited energy. Whatever route they chose to take, it needed to be swift and effective and that which was swift and effective was very rarely palatable.

He sighed. “Why deal with them at all? If we know where the others are, we can go in and get them before the guards have a chance to rally. Ramsay could transport them once we gather them all.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie managed a smile, but it was obvious something was pulling at his features. Exhaustion between physical and mental. The voices outside and the clatter of human bodies, body armor, and retrieving of weapons. A trembling hand reached for a chocolate bar. Not at all hungry, but he had to do something about his blood sugar before he started slurring words. No need to call attention to himself if he could help it.

"How much energy do you have left?" Leslie asked Ramsay. Fuck it, a small bar of chocolate was offered.

"I can't carry ya n'carry a child. Ya need t'be someplace safe," Mason whispered. I cannot lose you again, was a chant he didn't mean to give.

Charles: "I'd have them incapacitated! A broken leg is quite an effective obstacle. Obviously."

He shook his head.

"How? Teleport from room to room? They aren't being kept in a collective cell. This is a hospital. Or a farce of one, anyway. You'd both collapse before you collected half of them. Which is to say nothing of keeping them safe from attack."

His lips brushed the corner of his husband's mouth, heedless of their audience. He dropped his own voice to a murmur.

"You won't have to. I'll be safe here. They're keeping mutants here, love. They used... they tried to use me as a bloody weapon. I can't leave until it's shut down."

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay shook his head at the offer. “You eat it. You need it a hell of a lot more than I do.”

As to Leslie’s question? Ramsay rubbed his ring and sighed. The metal was getting cold.

“Not as much as I’d like. I could probably make one more big leap. Two at a push.”

A broken leg…

“I’ll be back in a moment.”

Under the cover of his remaining invisibility, Xavier popped out of the room. His telekinesis would hold the doors firmly shut while he assessed the situation outside and went in search of what he was looking for.

If he had to push the guards back again, he would, but his main objective wasn’t them. And it wasn’t far. It was terribly hard to make significant progress on a broken leg.

“Where do you think you’re going, little toy soldier?” He froze the coward Haine in place and crouched down beside him.

“I’m not done playing with you yet.”

Mason: Ramsay was studied across the room. Fingertips lightly brushing along his husband’s arm. Charles wasn’t willing to leave, and right this moment, Mason was willing to accommodate. The look on his husband’s face when that machine was running… he never wanted to see that again, and yet it was all he could see with every blink.

“Ya need t’sit with Charles. If this goes tit’s up, ya leave with him.” Barking orders was as easy as breathing. A different time. A rank on his shoulder. A gun in his arms. Only to dissolve into the Pit snapping orders between experiments. Ramsay’s loyalty lay with Xavier, not Charles, but he would have this no other way.

Charles was returned to the bed, positioned to sit over the edge.

“Ramsay, you’ll do that?” Only with a downward inflection in his tone. “Say yes so I can find my brother.”

Charles/Haine: Charles didn't want anyone burdened with him, but he knew to pick his battles. He gave Mason a final squeeze as he was set down.

'Thank you.'

Haine could have wept when he heard that sinister voice at his ear, again. Did just that, in fact.

"Please," he begged, almost grateful that he couldn't put a form to that voice. "I'm trying to save people."

Xavier/Ramsay: It was precisely because Ramsay’s loyalty laid with Xavier that it laid with Charles.

The witch nodded. There was so much he wanted to say but it simply wasn’t the time.

“I will but you don’t have to look for him. He’ll be back in a bit.”

Xavier tsked. “My dear Mr. Haine.” Mocking sympathy dripped from his voice as he grabbed Haine’s arm. “You can’t even save yourself. How can you possibly think you could’ve saved anyone else?”

Without warning, Xavier’s return to the room would be heralded by the sudden reappearance of Haine, followed by Xavier’s voice saying, “But fear not. You may yet be of use tonight.”

Mason/Leslie: Mason was already turning his attention to Leslie by the time Ramsay spoke. He needn't say a word. The fact that he looked to the Verbena at all made him feel a certain way, but Leslie had no intention to open his mouth. Only cross the room and wrap his arm around Charles' shoulders.

"Where all are you -" Leslie's eyes drifted as he answered his own question with skin-to-skin contact.

"He said that," but Ramsay harbored as much concern as Mason felt.

No sooner did Haine appear did Mason outstretch his hand. Telekinesis not for the doctor but for his brother. Forcing his arm into his grasp, he felt for the delicate thread on his wrist. In the heat of the moment, he couldn't say whether or not this spell altered behavior, but he wasn't taking a chance on literal blind trust.

Charles/Haine: Charles looked up at his friend with a weak smile. He hadn't had a chance to give the witch his due consideration, yet. "Hello, Les. How are you feeling? You're looking a bit pale. You didn't come here on an empty stomach, did you?"

Before he could glean an answer, Haine reappeared. His smile darkened to a scowl in an instant.

Between the pain and the teleportation, Haine heaved from his place on the ground. He forced himself to swallow the bile. "How?"

Xavier: Haine’s question would go unanswered for the moment, as Xavier almost immediately got the unpleasant surprise of being yanked to Mason’s side.

“Oi!” There was no need to ask what his brother was doing; Xavier could surmise it for himself and would very much be resisting.

“Don’t you dare,” he said with more annoyance than venom. “Do you think I have an infinite supply of this silk? Doing what we need to do is going to be a thousand times harder if we’re visible. I have exactly one other cloaking method on me and we need it for Charles and the others.”

Mason/Leslie: Judging the distance of Xavier's voice, Mason made a grab for his jaw; a conscious decision, rather than his throat.

"There's gonna be children hearin' a voice without a body. I ain't gotta tell ya they're already scared shitless. Guards already know we're in this room if ya can't fuckin' tell. Let me look at ya."

Let, he said, with one hand on his jaw, the other on his wrist. His baby brother could argue all he wanted against that strength. This was not the first time holding Xavier down.

Leslie was making an effort to ignore them.

"Came here with a granola bar and chocolate," he forced a smile. "I can try and heal some of this now, or I can take the pain away..."

Charles: Charles could not do the same. This was his family. This was his fault. He looked to his husband with a grimace, and then back to Leslie.

"Is making this leg useable going to put you on your back, Les? Be honest. I won't have you passing out on my behalf." But he wanted to be useful.

Xavier: Xavier couldn’t dodge in time. His attention was on his arm and not on Mason, which had given his brother the opening he needed.

Suddenly the silk on his wrist was the last thing on his mind. He wasn’t fighting its removal and if it was he wouldn’t try to stop it; he was struggling against the hold itself.

“Mai, let me go.” There was the slightest note of panic in his voice that he couldn’t quite mask but that would be visible on his face for a split second the moment that he became visible.

With the veil of shadow gone, the last shield he had was the pitch black of his eyes.

Mason/Leslie: The silk fell to the floor without a single regard. Now that he could see his brother, his grip loosened. Both hands gentle on his face. For a moment, despite the screaming of guards, gunfire, kicks at the door, and his beloved just behind him, they needed a moment.

"You're okay, Zav," Mason whispered.

Leslie glanced over his shoulder. This felt intrusive, which forced his attention back on Charles. If he could make Charles his whole world in that moment he would.

"Useable, yeah. I can do it." A lie with a straight face, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "That's what you want?"

Charles: Indeed. The moment was one of familial intimacy that even Charles would not interrupt. Instead, he studied Leslie's face. He knew his friend's smile possibly better than his own. This was not it.

He gave a small shake of the head, patting Leslie's back.

"I'm all right. It's not all that bad." Charles could lie, too. "We'll figure something out. This is a medical facility, of a sort."

Xavier/Ramsay: It was intrusive. Xavier's moments of vulnerability were not something everyone was privy to or that he wanted everyone to be privy to. Of all the people in that room, only Ramsay understood what Xavier was feeling but because they weren't alone, Ramsay couldn't do a damn thing about it.

And because they weren't alone, Xavier couldn't fully accept his brother's comfort.

"I'm fine." A kneejerk response and a lie anyone could see through. "There are larger issues at hand. We can't stay here. You."

Xavier turned his attention back to Haine and moved to put some distance between him and Mason. He felt too exposed to let himself have a moment and the situation gave him the benefit of distracting urgency.

The only upside to being visible was that Haine finally got to see his phantom: a tall, well-dressed man with cold, fathomless black pits for eyes.

"Here's what you're going to do. You're going to show me where your office is. You're going to show me where the security room is. You're going to tell me exactly how many other people you're holding in this facility. And you're going to tell me the truth because if you don't, I will make you wish that I'd just killed you."

Mason/Leslie: Fair enough. He'd follow Charles down that avenue until it was exhausted. The longer he rested the better.

"Maybe there's morphine or something in here," Leslie muttered. "Ramsay, help me look?" Something to do to ignore the commotion outside.

The moral high ground was oftentimes set on the harder path. Right now, all Mason wanted was murder. That was easy, and that was not what Charles wanted.

So he occupied his time allowing his telepathy to expand, feeling at untrapped minds, counting each conscious child. Unconscious minds took more effort; he just needed an estimate while his brother attempted an alternative strategy. Searching for children with excruciating pain or any other nurse in the facility.

Charles/Haine: He'd find eighteen captives, in total. Most were relatively healthy, if resigned to their fates. A handful with particularly destructive powers were kept bound and behind reinforced doors. Each had experienced taking of samples, but only three had full amputations. One was in the process of regenerating his stolen tail.

Haine nodded. They could take what they wanted, burn it all down, as long as he left with his life. He could always rebuild. Find new staff. Find a less protected telepath. But he kept those thoughts as far from the surface as he could.

"Y-yes. Whatever you need. I swear."

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay nodded and began rifling through any drawers or cabinets he could find.

Xavier’s smile was predatory. There was no depth within Haine’s mind that he could not reach but Haine didn’t need to know that.

“There’s a good little soldier. Now then, I need you to tell me how many others and picture your office. What sort of protective measures does it have? Is anyone going to come looking in there?”

Xavier’s intention was to move them all there, away from the guards.

Mason/Leslie: Another lost tail. A reminder of Dothan and the rescue of their children. The memory warmed his skin and darkened his eyes. It would be a lie to say Xavier was rubbing off on him, but it would have been the perfect excuse.

"I'm not seeing anything," Leslie sighed. He hated the realization that no intention had been made for Charles' comfort. Nothing after his leg, nothing now. He could relate to the frustration in the room, but his focus had to narrow or he would drive himself mad.

Mason had the strength to take Charles back, take multiple trips for the children. He would fall unconscious, but he could do it. But leaving meant leaving Xavier, and with every passing second the notion became beyond possibility.

Impatience was his worst enemy.

"Let me take the pain away, Charles," pleaded Leslie, returning to Charles' side.

Charles/Haine: Picture his office? Was Charles going to involve himself in this? Or did this creature also possess telepathic ability. What the fuck? He constructed the mental shields he'd been practicing, wishing desperately for his blocker.

"Eighteen. It has a reinforced door, with a bolt."

Not overly large, but it was bigger and more comfortable than any other office space in the facility. It had a small couch for long nights.

"No one will look for you there, if they don't see you enter."

Charles shook his head, but his smile was reassuring. "I'm fine. Truly. I won't have you hurting yourself on my behalf."

Xavier: Whatever defenses Haine hoping to erect were precious little against a demon. Still, Xavier made a conscious effort to simply brush the man’s mind to glean the information he needed.

The less Haine believed he could do, the better.

“Such a good answer, little soldier. Well done.”

Xavier straightened and turned to his brother and the others. “We can’t stay here. It’s safer for us all to move to Haine’s office, just until we gather the children. With any luck we can be done and out while the guards are still chasing their tails.”

He used his telekinesis to haul Haine to his feet grabbed his arm with one hand, holding the other out to Ramsay.

“All together now, we know how this works.”

Mason/Leslie: "I can't feel a thing right now," Leslie managed an earnest smile, moved his forearm out of view. Couldn't let Charles see what he had done to himself to achieve that.

"My blood sugar's fine. I'll help with the pain when we move." From the sound of things, they were in for another relocation. Mason took hold of his husband's hand and dropped his fist on his brother's shoulder.

Charles: Moved like a ragdoll, but at least he was still alive. He wasn't looking forward to more teleportation.

Charles threaded his fingers through Mason's, bracing himself for the jump. He extended his opposite hand to Leslie. "We'll see."

Xavier: The moment given to brace was purely for the benefit of Leslie and Charles. Were it not for them, he would’ve happily transported Haine without warning or mercy.

Guiding himself with the image in Haine’s head, Xavier took them all to his office and left the guards and the gunfire behind.

“Right.” Xavier released Haine’s arm but he didn’t let him down just yet.

“You said there are eighteen in total. Are they being guarded? Are their rooms locked and monitored?”

Mason/Leslie: Ragdoll wasn't Mason's intention, as they reappeared, Charles was back in his arms, rather than risk his falling on the floor. He wasn't about to have Charles standing on one foot with everything that had happened to him. He was placed upright on the couch, and this time Leslie took to the floor in front of him, carefully draping Charles' leg over his raised knee.

"Just trust me," said Leslie. At least now he could better concentrate, with gunfire only a whisper in his ear. He rubbed both hands together, and whispered a prayer between his fingers. There would be no carving into Charles' skin; that spell was too harsh and for many, too frightening. This wouldn't last nearly as long, but it was something.

Charles/Haine: Haine shook his head, breathing through the queasiness and mind-numbing pain. No tender care had been taken for his broken leg. But he spoke, regardless. Too afraid to dally despite his anguish.

"No guards at the rooms. The nurses monitor the patients in shifts, but less often, right now. It's late." He wasn't a monster.

Charles sank into the sofa at the instant relief. Despite his insistence to the contrary, the pain had driven him to distraction. The glassiness in his eyes cleared somewhat. "Stubborn," he admonished, but there was no heat in it. "Thank you, Les. How are you feeling? Do you need to eat something?"

Xavier: "Are they all in the same ward? Is the ward closed?"

If it was, he and Mason could lock themselves in it while they gathered the children. If it wasn't, Xavier had one more cloaking spell that would give them some cover. Transporting them was another matter but that was the next bridge to cross. One thing at a time.

He shared these thoughts with his brother.

"Picture the security room, Haine. I won't have us spotted on any cameras."

Mason/Leslie: "Mhm." Leslie was inclined to agree, but there would be no walking back from his blessing. His forehead pressed lightly to Charles' knee as he offered the spell, cupped hands over the nasty wound on his leg. Little more than a heavy dose of Tylenol, but it was something, leaving energy wherever else needed in the meantime.

He simply shook his head to the food question. There was a bite left of his chocolate, and he was offering it to Charles.

Mason's fingers lingered on Charles' shoulder as he rose to his feet.

"I'm goin' t'security." He wanted this shit over with. It seemed much of their hesitation was because of this one room and his patience had finally reached its peak.

Charles/Haine: "They're all over. In rooms based on... classification." There was no gentler way to put that. Haine winced at how it might sound to these people.

"Psionics, regenerative abilities, destructive abilities, et cetera." Different powers required different restraint methods. Not that he was going to say that shit out loud.

He nodded and pictured the security room. Cramped and lined with display monitors. Usually only one guard, at this time of night.

Charles shook his head. "Thank you, no. I'm not at all hungry." Which was actually the truth. Despite his missed dinner being the catalyst of this entire disaster, he hadn't so much as thought about food since being taken. The very idea of eating anything, at the moment, made him actively queasy.

"Eat. And let me know if you need more, later."

He gave Mason's hand a careful squeeze and nodded. The sooner this night ended, the better.

'Be careful. I love you.'

Xavier/Ramsay: At this point, nothing Haine said had any chance of not sounding completely deplorable. His only saving grace was the knowledge he possessed of this facility, and that grace was very, very tenuous.

“Naturally,” Xavier said through gritted teeth, brushing Haine’s mind again for the mental image. When he had it, he turned to Ramsay.

“John, gun.”

Ramsay tossed one of the guns to him.

“Thank you. I’m going to leave him here. If he moves, shoot him in the leg.”

The witch smirked at Haine. “With pleasure.”

“Behave now, little soldier,” Xavier said before clasping his brother’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie could understand, and had they taken longer to reach him, would have insisted for the sake of Charles' own blood sugar, but with refusal, he finished off what remained and crumpled the wrapper. Had half a mind to flick it at the doctor, but instead tossed it in the nearby wastebin. Just didn't have it in him.

Being transported by a fellow demon didn't feel like anything, and no sooner did the reappear did Mason's fist connect with the nearest breakable jaw. Just like the last fucking facility. More children for the school, yet more to bleed for.

"I wanna see this place burn."

Xavier: "It will," Xavier said matter-of-factly, leaving the guard for his brother to incapacitate and turning his attention to the monitors. "I only ask that you leave Haine to me."

There were a few guards in the parking garage where they'd entered but the rest seemed to be concentrated outside the machine room Xavier was still holding closed with his telekinesis. It was a drain on his power but he had no choice. The diversion it offered would shelter them while they grabbed the children, and they needed it.

Gathering eighteen children from several different areas was no small task.

"Only nurses to worry about, like the bastard said. They're likely all human, they won't put up a fight when they see a gun. How are we doing this?"

Mason: "S'not my choice." Or Haine would have already been in pieces. "Charles is the one broken in the other room. He's gettin' final say."

Kill them was the knee jerk response. Employed of their own free will, they had no right to their lives after what they had done to these children. They were witnesses. They were liabilities.

"Lock em all in one of the rooms. Gonna take the children in batches t'the nurses' station." Leaving the potentially volatile for last.

Xavier: Xavier didn’t argue the point. They had more pressing matters at hand and besides, he intended to make a damn good case for eliminating that wretch.

He nodded. “Very well.” He looked around at all the different controls and then down at the guard. The likelihood of him recovering from the blow Mason had given him and sounding some sort of alarm was slim, but it wasn’t zero.

The demon reached down to disarm him and grabbed him by the collar. Best stow him in a broom closet, just in case.

“Right then, I’m off to dispose of this and gather the nurses.”

Mason: Mason watched the screens, playing out both scenarios, knowing what Charles would want didn't make it easier to swallow, but he would, for as long as he could choke it.

And then he looked in one of those rooms, reminded of the hours he had spent in secret with his daughter until rescue.

"I'm off t'the children."

Xavier: Xavier nodded again. “I’m a thought away if something happens.”

With the guards otherwise occupied, he was able to drag the guard out of the security room and down the hall to the nearest utility closet with ease. It was slightly larger than expected, and as good a place as any to keep the nurses once he rounded them all up.

Xavier left the door open just a crack and got to hunting.

The first nurse he came upon would be met with a black stare and a gun pointed directly at their head.

“Make a single sound or a single move and you’re dead,” he said, offering a chillingly pleasant smile.

Mason: There had to be a modicum of caution when taking to the hallway. Security wasn't going to just stand in front of the blocked door, staring blankly until something new happened. More than likely they would begin spreading out, looking elsewhere, regardless of the alarm. They had made it as far as they had with little fanfare; trusting their system was all but nonexistent.

There was going to be that one nurse, Mason ventured to guess, that would scream before his brother had a chance to speak. Until then, he was down the hallway and to the left, towards the minds of the eldest captives.

Charles: The only nurse brave enough to venture out of hiding after the tech had raised the alarm froze in her tracks. She obeyed. A deer in headlights.

The facility's eldest resident (aside from Charles) was a mere twenty-two years old. Like Cynthia had been, the young woman was strapped securely into a straight jacket. Her room was painted the same cheerful mint that Charles' had been, but there was no furniture beyond the cot she laid on.

Xavier: The nurse was definitely human. Only humans believed that the scariest thing they could possibly encounter was a person with a loaded weapon. They had no idea of the danger that lurked right beneath their noses, often hunting them and picking them off and manipulating them at will.

Well. This one did now. And for her bad luck, the danger had a loaded weapon, too.

Xavier quickly closed the gap between them and moved to stand behind the nurse, pressing the gun's muzzle right against the back of her head and using it to get that ridiculous blocker off. Such a nuisance.

"There's a utility closet near the security room. Walk."

Getting her there under her own power was quicker and would save him energy, and it also gave him the opportunity to search her mind for the number and location of the other nurses.

Mason: Mason peered through the door. Debated on breaking the door entirely or spending energy to teleport. To lean on the former, it was imperative not to frighten her.

He realized only years too late the toll of lessening contracts had taken on his stamina. Add to the irritating reality that being split into two had successfully tethered weights to his feet. He would sooner blame these factors than any whisper of blame on his husband. A benevolent soul determined to keep bloodshed to a meager drip. That was fine. He would walk around the obstacles for as wide as he was able.

“Hey!” Could she even hear? Was she tranquilized? His mind reached out to hers, light as a feather. Remembering Leslie and what retaliation felt like, he had no desire for a repeat. Knowing her vague age wasn’t the same as opening the door to her mind; he had only seen through a window.

“My name is,” she would know eventually, given the circumstances, “Mason. I’m here to get you out.”

Charles: The nurse was trembling, grey curls bouncing as she hurried to obey the command. Her blocker clanged against the tile, and she prayed that the rest of the staff still had theirs firmly in place. They were huddled together in the lab, waiting for the guards to give the all-clear.

The young woman sat up in her bed with some degree of difficulty. That was promising, but she wasn't going to go leaping for joy, just yet. Following the same line of thought as Mason, she was willing to give a little.

"Evelyn. You the dude who was in my head, earlier?"

She didn't think so. He'd been kinda... soothing. Maybe they were working together.

Xavier: Three nurses. Three lab techs. One doctor. One guard. All hiding in the lab, waiting for safety that would never come.

Like fish in a barrel.

“Pathetic,” the demon said with disgust, knocking the nurse in the back of the head with the butt of the gun and letting her join the security guard among the brooms and mops.

Xavier closed the door behind himself and made for the lab, having used his time in the nurse’s head to familiarize himself with the layout of this part of the facility. He couldn’t afford a single unnecessary teleportation.

His energy was better spent using his telekinesis to undo the lock on the door to the lab and freezing everyone inside in place as he entered with his weapon drawn.

Mason: Of course, Charles had already swept the area. At least she was receptive. Had the children been tranquilized this would have gone a lot slower but possibly smoother. Still more children to gather, but an auspicious start to his endeavor.

He shared his findings with Xavier, taking what was offered in his brother’s mind, only to give in turn to his husband. No telepath was going to be left in the dark.

“That was my partner. There are five of us.” Lawrence remained uncounted so long as they remained whole. “I need you to face the corner. I’m gonna break the door.”

To break, a combination of raw strength and telekinesis as he backed away and kicked just beneath the doorknob.

Charles: The room's inhabitants didn't have time to properly jump at being startled, before they were locked into place by an unseen force. The guard, at least, had the presence of mind to call out to his fellows despite his terror. He had no clue whether they were within earshot.

"The main lab has been breached! The intruder is alone, but armed!"

"Bet." Evelyn nodded, assuming he meant mission partner. They sounded like some sort of paramilitary group, like those X-dudes. She slid clumsily from the bed and moved to stand in the corner, facing the wall. She could not wait to get out of that fucking straight jacket.

From his place on the couch, Charles shared the information with Leslie and Ramsay.

"Mason's reached the first kid. He's getting her out, now."

Xavier: “Just like the nurse,” Xavier sighed, telekinetically locking the door again and setting the gun aside. “You humans see a weapon and immediately assume it to be the most viable threat.”

Xavier smiled as he approached the guard, fixing him with that empty black stare. “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio,” he said in an intimate whisper, undoing the clasp keeping the guard’s helmet on so he could remove it and toss it aside. He’d be taking the guard’s weapon as well.

“Warning them won’t help. You don’t even know what you’re warning them against. If you did, you’d know that none of you are making it out of this room.”

Mason: 'Zav,' Mason's voice came sharply. That wasn't their decision to make, and his warning doubled as a reminder of their reason for being here across the facility. Any moment Charles could be listening in, and that was the last thing he needed to hear.

But his expression had to remain neutral as the door squealed back on its hinges, slapping into the wall as it broke.

"So, what can ya do?" Just to get Evelyn talking as he stood center of the room, hands open to unfasten her straight jacket. Cynthia hadn't been a violent girl. Couldn't even speak. Doctors in these organizations seemed to accept any excuse to restrain the strange and unusual.

"I'm goin' t'the next room. Gonna gather everyone up in here so no one gets lost. Ya gonna stay put?"

Charles: Terrifying. But the guard was made of sterner stuff than Haine. He met that fathomless black gaze with a set jaw. If he was gonna die, he wasn't gonna blubber about it. The same could not be said for the rest of the room's inhabitants at the promise in the man's words.

"Thank you."

Evelyn could do a lot, but figured she'd keep it short and sweet.

"I can stop a man's heart."

And planned to do a lot of that, now that her hands were free. She rolled stiff shoulders and flexed numb fingers. She'd lost track of how many days she'd been trapped in this hellhole, but she would make them pay for every one of them.

"What?"

This man was her savior, technically. She owed him a debt. But she'd been caged for long enough, thanks.

"No. No, I can't. I appreciate you letting me out, and everything, but they-- they have my kid sister. I'm going to get her and we're getting the fuck out of here."

Xavier: Although Xavier’s jaw twitched, the predatory smile never left his face. For a moment he’d forgotten that he wasn’t entirely alone but no matter. This guard didn’t know that there was a hand staying his elsewhere in this godforsaken building.

“Such a good little soldier,” he mocked before giving this man the same gift his brother had given the guard in the security room: a knockout punch and a broken jaw to go with it.

Only then did his focus shift to the rest of the room, and it was immediately obvious that this was not simply a lab. It was something far, far worse.

He stalked past the morgue shelves to the nearest nurse and had to fight to merely take the blocker off and not throw them against the wall.

Mason Great. That was just what this situation needed. His tone had been intentionally confident and full voice, but was quickly deepening into something non-negotiable.

“I picked ya first for a reason.” Let’s go with that. “There are younger people here and they’re gonna need ya t’keep em calm. Runnin’ around drawin’ attention t’yourself is a sure way t’fuck this up for everyone. Y'all are gonna be taken t’a school t’be looked after."

Maybe a compromise, because he didn't have time for this shit, and locking her back up was a surefire way to lose her trust forever.

"If ya come with me, ya actually have t'stick with me. Ya gonna do that or play Miss Independent?"

Charles: That particular nurse was the youngest of the lot, silently crying as he was approached. Like the guard, he held his tongue, bracing to be punched as well. It had looked like it hurt like Hell.

Evelyn sniffed. She could fight him. Slow his heart long enough to put him on his ass and make a run for it.  But it seemed a pretty fucked up way to show gratitude. And who knew if that telepath of his would stop her. Or anyone else on his little squad, for that matter. Cooperation was the cleanest way to get to her sister. She nodded.

"Fine."

Xavier: The punch wouldn’t come. After removing the blocker, Xavier simply moved on to the other two nurses and took theirs as well.

The doctor would be last but as Xavier moved about the lab and took in his surroundings, a sickening feeling of curiosity churned his gut. A feeling that had begun at the morgue shelves but wouldn’t stop there, that wouldn’t let him be until he saw for himself just what these people had been doing with those eighteen souls his brother was in the process of rescuing.

His eyes flicked back to piercing, icy blue as he walked past the still-frozen staff and deeper into the lab.

Mason/Leslie: Mason crackled his neck, but it was not in Evelyn’s regard. Chalk it up to exhaustion, but it was a single image from Xavier that had caused it. His brother wasn’t the only one hanging on by a thread.

“Great. Wonderful.” He gestured to the door. One finger on the figurative trigger to snatch her should she run. Trust in a stranger could only go so far. The next immediate door was peered through. The same brush of mind. The same greeting, same warning, same kick. This one told to stay put as well. Maybe they could gather in this room, or he was going to have an annoyance on his hands.

"How are you feeling?" Leslie asked. By now the witch was pacing. Not sensible for his energy, but never one to remain still unless meditating.

Charles: Evelyn followed behind as agreed, peering into the next room to see if it housed her sister. Not finding her, she was ready to move on. Not cruelty. Tunnel vision. Her family first, always. At least this young man was willing to stay behind and help any children sent his way. And if the opportunity arose to pierce a nurse or guard with his wicked spines, he'd take it.

Charles offered a small smile. He felt like boiled shit. He could barely see out of his left eye and he was certain that it has begun to darken to an ugly violet hue.

"Just fine. Do either of you have a mobile? They took mine and did goodness knows what with it. I doubt anyone at home is ready for a sudden influx of kids."

In this way, at least, he could be useful.

Xavier: Xavier had only taken a couple of steps before he paused.

Of the eighteen people that needed to be saved, Mason had only gathered two and would soon secure a third. That left fifteen left to gather and there was no telling how long and how complex it would be to free them. It was vital work, and a distraction would spell disaster for his brother. Xavier couldn’t have that.

He closed the door to their connection and continued walking.

Within minutes, he would walk into the cold storage room and wish he hadn’t. Within minutes, he would realize that this had been Hell long, long before two demons walked through the front door.

Xavier Atlas stood in the middle of a sea of bodies, a sea of children, breath steaming in the artificial cold and clouding his vision as his eyes fixed on a cadaver that was so, so small, too small to be here. They were all too small to be here, to be in a freezer, to be in pieces.

A thread snapped.

He would return to the main room in a flurry of black-eyed demonic rage and threw the doctor against the morgue shelves with all his might.

Without the blocker, it was pathetically easy to see into the doctor’s mind, to see what he’d done. What they’d all done.

Keeping the doctor pinned, Xavier closed his hand into a fist and used his telekinesis to tear him apart from the inside out.

Mason/Leslie/Lawrence: Mason held his hand up to Evelyn as he spoke to the young man. This was exactly what he had hoped from the first door. At least it hadn’t taken long to find a caregiver. She could look, of course, but she was watched from his peripheral.

Once the boy understood what was required of him, he moved on to the next door. Now it was about funneling everyone back to the boy’s room.

And wondering why the fuck Xavier had severed the connection. That was only going to push his brother back in. Not only out of spite but out of consideration of the demon’s sanity. Something had been off since the moment he had carved into his chest.

Fucking Hell, Charles didn’t know about that.

“Zav.” A thought said aloud, his steps slowing as he climbed back into that mind, only to cease all movement.

His neck popped again. Eyes reddening. This time, there would be no argument as a third hand appeared from Mason’s wrist, tearing upwards out of his chest, pressed hard on his stomach as the other half of his soul pulled forth, disconnecting from his very core. Lighter hair, soft hazel eyes, gray jeans and darker gray shirt. A sight for any child to behold as these two men stumbled against separate walls.

The new addition was quicker to recover. Rolling his shoulders as he started off towards the morgue.

“I’m gonna play.”

And there was nothing Mason could do to stop him. It was better this way. He couldn’t be blamed for Lawrence’s actions.

He forced his attention back to the children, still gulping in air as he kicked in the next door. The younger the children, the gentler his voice.

Lawrence rounded the corner, pushed through the door, past Xavier, and past the writhing doctor. Straight to the crying nurse. Those tears still flowing, he cupped his face in both hands.

“Why are you doing that?”

By then, Leslie had already tossed Charles his phone. Plenty of battery left for whatever he intended.

Charles: Evelyn and the boy had not had any contact, up to this moment. But the identical, wide-eyed looks they exchanged would have been comical in any other context. A person had come out of Mason's chest. A man-sized Chestburster had just waltzed down the hall like he did this every day. The boy was too stunned to speak, but Evelyn recovered more quickly. She jogged to catch up to Mason, still sticking to him like a shadow.

"Who the fuck was that? And how did he get... inside you?"

Charles had quickly thanked Leslie and punched in the relevant number before he realized. The phone had plenty of battery life, yes, but no service. Damnit. They were underground. He offered the phone back to his friend and turned to Haine's still-sniveling form with a scowl.

"You didn't think to let us know that our mobile phones don't work, here?"

"You never asked. None of the residents here have phones, anyway. The landlines work."

The telepath rolled his eyes in irritation, but looked between Ramsay and Leslie.

"Would one of you mind--"

The spike of fear had him straightening, despite the pain. He inhaled softly as he sought the source. A second doctor, pinned to the wall and panicking like a trapped rabbit. He had no time to react before the life was snatched painfully away.

Charles gasped as he lived it second-hand, ribs screaming in protest. He'd only been in the mind of a dying man once before.

At least it was quick, this time. If no less painful.

Charles reached out to Mason in alarm only to find Lawrence out and on the hunt, as well. He swiftly severed the connection, face flushed and pulse racing.

Absolutely not.

Whatever destruction the two of them thought they would unleash, they'd be disappointed. It was the work of an instant for Charles to reach into the minds of the unblocked staff and send them all into a deep sleep. Including the young, weeping nurse.

If they died, they'd do so unaware.

"Xavier's killed one of the staff. I need that phone. Quickly."

Xavier/Ramsay: "Fuck me," Ramsay hissed, grabbing the landline off of Haine's desk and handing it to Charles. He should be with Xavier, dammit, not in here.

His presence wouldn't have done a damn thing to stop the demon from killing whoever the fuck he'd killed--and Ramsay couldn't say he would've tried to--but at least Xavier wouldn't be fucking alone.

Xavier only became aware of Lawrence's presence after the doctor's mangled bloody form collapsed to the floor. He turned to do the same to the lab techs, only to have his catharsis snatched away by an invisible force that knocked them and all the nurses out in the same moment.

He didn't have to guess what had caused it or why; he already knew, and drove his fist into the wall in frustration.

It would be short-lived, however, as he remembered their most present and numerous threat.

Turning to Lawrence, Xavier reached into his pocket and held up the braid of enchanted silk. Of the seven initial strands, three remained. More than enough.

"Guards," he said, pulling a strand from the braid and holding his hand out for Lawrence's wrist in invitation.

Mason/Leslie/Lawrence: It was a lot to explain in a setting such as this, and perhaps tomorrow he would find their reactions entertaining. Right now, Mason could only manage to shake his head.

“He’s my -“ The word tasted like metal in his mouth, “-brother. Ya can hear ‘bout it later.”

Another child was ushered to the boy; he’d already forgotten his name. He would memorize them all tomorrow, along with anything else important, before or after keeping his word.

“Charles?” Leslie tucked his phone away and took to the professor’s side. Concern etched his features as he watched the horror unfold in his eyes.

Oh. Between the two demons, he thought that Mason would have been the cold-blooded killer. He was still processing when Ramsay handed over the landline.

“Why did he… ?”

Lawrence watched as his little toy slumped in his hands. Not nearly as fun to play with something this quiet. This pretty face wouldn’t contort into anything interesting.

The body was allowed to crumple naturally as he got back to his feet. He wasn’t finished with him. He couldn’t sleep forever. The fucking audacity to cry wouldn’t remain unpunished.

The delicate strands were given a cursory glance.

“Don’t waste a good spell. Put it back.”

Xavier was given a strong pat on his back and gently pulled towards the door. Time was wasted and there were guards to dispose of.

“I never get to have fun.”

Hearing the commotion of disturbed, distracted, and disconcerted guards, Lawrence began rolling his wrist. The more he rolled, the larger the sulfuric blue flame grew. Intent on throwing the fireball the moment they turned the corner.

Charles: She wanted to hear about it now, but Mason was right. Her sister and the rest of the kids were more pressing. She followed dutifully behind.

"Sure. I'm holding you to it."

Charles was shaking with a nauseating combination of pain, anger, and exhaustion. His partially-numbed leg helped to clear some of the fog, at least. He'd spared the staff, for the moment, but the guards were beyond his reach.

Xavier and Lawrence weren't.

The telepath very seriously considered putting them both down as well. He'd save ruining family bonds as a last resort.

He looked up at Ramsay as he dialed the memorized number.

"Listen, if you need to go to him, go. You'd be better served talking him back to himself than defending me from bloody office furniture."

When the demon in question was well away from the lab, a nurse would awaken and slip into the hall. She'd scurry, glassy-eyed, to the nearest supply room.

His attention turned to Haine as the line began to ring.

"You are going to show me every scrap of information you have on this place and any others."

The guards were indeed still struggling to enter an empty room. If Lawrence's fireball struck true, the remaining five guards would turn their reclaimed weapons on the pair without hesitation.

Xavier/Ramsay: There was no talking Xavier back into himself. Ramsay knew this. It was a miracle Xavier had held out this long and now that he'd started, he wouldn't stop unless he was good and ready or ran out of people to kill, whichever came first.

"I'm not going anywhere." Not wanting to take his frustration out on Charles, Ramsay opted to stomp on one of Haine's ankles instead.

"He asked me to stay put and keep a gun on this shitbag and your bloody husband asked me to stay with you."

Xavier nodded once and put the silk back in his pocket, letting himself be pulled along as docilely as anything despite the murder in his eyes and the fresh blood on his suit.

"You will tonight," he said softly, breathing deeply and centering his focus on himself for just a moment. He didn't put it past his brother to try to stop him and if he did, Mason would be met with a brick wall of resistance.

As would the guards.

The second Lawrence released his spell, the demon would be moving to plant himself in front of him in case any of the guards who remained standing were quick enough on the trigger to take a shot. They could take them, but regardless of whether they hit their mark, the demon wouldn't stop coming toward them.

Even the quickest one would only have a breath's worth of time before Xavier let the doors burst open and divested them once again of their weapons. This time he wouldn't push them back. He wouldn't let them fall back of their own accord, either.

He did not intend to let go of his catharsis. Whichever one was nearest would be pinned and given the same treatment the doctor had been given.

Mason/Leslie/Lawrence: Leslie turned to the door, tempted to make use of himself in some way. Ramsay was willing to stay, and if Charles allowed him to heal, he would be more inclined, but the commotion from those halls could be heard from their little sanctuary. There had to be something he could do.

The very moment Mason considered calling Xavier back was the same moment that tiny, lifeless body flashed in his vision. He could picture any of his children on that cold steel table. From Lucy to Rory to any of the children gathering in the room down the hall. To the iridescent sniffling child now in his arms. Charles must have seen. Their connection was all too quiet.

He just needed to focus on what was in front of him. Now that Charles was safe, this was the priority.

How much his life had changed.

Lawrence’s daughter was blessedly free of supernatural influence, but it was her little face he had seen, and it was all he could see. Lifeless children were all the motivation needed to stand behind Xavier’s frame. Waiting for the clack of guns he knew would follow the demon’s wake. Emerging with a second flight of fire flowing like waves toward the screams.

"Tell me where you want me," Leslie begged. "Charles? Do you want me out there?"

Charles: His mind was working overtime, rifling through the doctor's thoughts while he urged the nurse to move faster. The line was ringing and Haine was screaming and he felt his careful control waver. His temper flashed white hot for an instant.

"You are not helping!" he snapped at Ramsay before inhaling deeply. His cracked ribs wailed and he very nearly flung the receiver across the room. But Charles could not afford to let himself slip. It was not a luxury that his position allowed. Instead, he took quick, shallow breaths and addressed Ramsay calmly.

"You will leave this office if you can't keep a leash on your anger. It isn't useful to anyone present. I need him alert, not blinded by pain, thank you."

He looked to Leslie, deliberately blocking out the chaos nearby.

"I'd rather you didn't. However, if you think that you'd be more useful out there, I'm not going to stop you. But I implore you to be careful. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you, because of me."

Jean's worried voice on the line was a balm to his nerves and just the boost of strength he needed to push forward. He ran through an abridged version of the night's events in a tone that left no room for interruption.

"Let the children sleep, but wake the team. Have Hank prepare the infirmary, and I need you to prep as many rooms as you can. You can reach me at this number when everyone is ready, but I can't be tied to the phone, just now. Of course... I'm fine... Thank you... I'll be in touch."

Xavier/Ramsay: The witch said nothing, merely set his jaw and stared at the wall. Haine would be blinded by a lot more than pain if Ramsay had his way. Motherfucker deserved it.

Whatever Xavier had planned for him, Ramsay wouldn’t lift a finger to stop it. And the demon would have something planned, reliable as sunrise.

Two of the shots had found their target but Xavier couldn’t feel them. Rage and adrenaline numbed him, deafened him, but unfortunately didn’t blind him.

He watched the guard’s face contort in pain but all he could see was the child in the freezer. He thought of that child and all he could see was a newborn Devlin laying on snowy white furs in a willow branch basket. Just a baby. His baby.

He could scarcely see the flames licking at the guards but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if they were already burning and dying and screaming in pain.

Xavier would grab another guard, then another, and he would use his power to twist their insides, to break their bones, to tear at their skin until they were nothing but sacks of flaming pulp.

Mason/Leslie/Lawrence: Leslie flinched at Charles’ sharp comments. He felt the most useless in this building. A feeling he would not agree with come tomorrow, but this was now, and his eyes were to the floor.

“Have me gather whatever you need. Help Mason. Help you. Just… something.” Being a bodyguard would feel more rewarding had anyone been aware of the change of rooms. He didn’t pine for battle, but he pined for value.

At last, with their initial burden dispatched Lawrence headed back to the security room. Determined to find where the last of the monsters had fled. Those nurses, techs, what remained of the guards, and the few left hidden in the storage room. This building was in desperate need of cleansing. The bodies in the morgue deserved to be with their families, if their families cared at all. They deserved to be recognized and buried with fresh, beautiful flowers. They deserved better than this Hell. They deserved the retribution.

The two youngest mutants remained. This would have been a far more arduous task had Mason been human. The little iridescent child refused to leave his arms, and there she would remain.

'Almost finished here,' Mason offered, allowing Charles to see the gathering of children being tended to by those eldest in the group.

Charles: He reached out to take his friend's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. It was the only comfort he could offer, at the moment.

"You can help me gather the files. Nothing is backed up digitally, so there's going to be quite a lot."

If Lawrence was looking for movement, he wouldn't find much. The handful of guards still in the garage had not entered the building. The staff continued their forced slumber.

And the sole remaining nurse had already reached Haine's office door.

"Do not shoot," Charles commanded, just before her knock sounded.

"Leslie, be a dear and let her in."

When allowed, the glassy-eyed nurse would enter pushing a wheelchair loaded with medical supplies. The only person willing and able to help him at the moment, Charles loved much too deeply. He wouldn't have Leslie passing out on his behalf. He'd tend to himself.

In unnatural silence, the nurse handed Charles a small cardboard box and knelt to tend to his leg.

He pulled a rubber tourniquet from the box and tied it to his left arm with practiced ease. Equally as swift was his ability to fill a syringe from a vile of clear liquid and find his median cubital vein on the first try. It took only a few moments for the glassiness in his own eyes to clear completely.

He wordlessly acknowledged Mason's update and looked to Leslie.

"When she's finished with the splint, we can go."

He still waited on a call, but it was sure to come before he was done.

Xavier: He wouldn’t stop. Not until the last guard fell to the floor and joined his fellows and until those who had been left in the barricaded room were splashed like so much red paint across their precious machine.

Guards remained in the garage, nurses and techs in the lab, but Xavier didn’t care about them.

As he crossed the lake of blood he’d created in the hallway, his only thought was the little toy soldier cowering in his office.

“HAINE!” Xavier shouted as he started toward the office at a determined clip. There was no one to hear him and no one to stop him.

“HAINE!” The major threat was dead. Only the person who had commanded it remained to be dealt with.

“HAINE!”

The door to the office would practically blast open a mere moment before Xavier entered the room. In his right hand, a bloody knife. In his left, all the strength he had left to pick Haine up and pin him to the wall by his throat.

“How many?! HOW MANY?!”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie squeezed the offered hand. Would have kissed his knuckles had this been any other day, any other circumstance. Certainly not with Mason in striking distance.

Charles’ command wrinkled his brow, and still the witch jumped at the sudden knock. Half a mind to throw a spell at the door when asked to open it. What walked through only served to confound.

“Why won’t you let me take care of you?” was only a half-bitten question. Too tired to argue this late in the night. This stubborn sweetheart of a man refused to be a burden to such an extreme level. It was a wonder he allowed Leslie to touch him at all.

With an RN in his grasp, he didn’t think to question why Charles was so skilled with a tourniquet. Such wandering thoughts never crossed his mind. He and possibly Ramsay were the only drug abusers in this facility, as far as he was aware. As far as he was willing to believe.

“There’s a few ugly beasts.” Back where they started. Lawrence’s pretty little nurse would have to wait. Something to savor like the last square of chocolate after a meal.

The security room was abandoned. He ignored the clatter deep in the facility, heading toward the exit.

“Where are we go –“

The sudden explosion of broken wood, hinges, and metal slamming hard against the wall bordered on deafening. The witch ducked to a runaway chunk of rubber, and before he realized what he was doing, made a grab for the demon’s forearm.

“Nonono! Please just wait!”

Mason made a head count, tried to offer the child in his arms to the young male leader of the group.

"I'll be right back. Okay, love? I have to gather everyone else and we're leavin'. I promise."

She almost didn't take no for an answer. Luckily one of the preteens was making a show of her power as a means of distraction for some of the unsettled lot.

To return to Charles or to chase Lawrence...

Charles: "Absolutely any other time, Les. Do you truly believe I want to spend the next three months in a cast?"

Longer, if he hadn't misjudged the severity of the break.

"After you've had a decent meal, and at least eight hours of sleep, I will be more than happy to let you patch me up. You have my word."

Charles raised his arms instinctively at the explosion, temporarily losing his hold on the nurse. For her part, she did not run, cowering where she knelt, instead.

It took only a moment for Charles to recover, reaching out with more force than was probably necessary for Xavier's mind and dragging him down. He'd collapse into a sleep just as deep as the medical staff.

Haine fell with him, blacking out as his shattered leg made impact with the ground.

"Fuck!" Charles' shout was muffled by the hands he dragged down his face. "Fuck me."

Xavier/Ramsay: After the sudden appearance of the nurse he should’ve expected something else would hit the fan, but he didn’t. The sudden and explosive opening of the door caught Ramsay just as off guard as it did Leslie and Charles, and just like Leslie and Charles, he had to duck to protect himself from getting hit by any shrapnel.

He registered Xavier’s appearance but had no time for shock before he was scrambling to help Leslie attempt to stay the demon’s hand.

“X! Don’t!”

Xavier couldn’t feel Leslie or Ramsay any more than he could feel the holes in his torso. His entire field of vision was red and at its center, the detestable face of the man that in this moment, Xavier despised above all else.

“How many more babies are in those drawers, Haine?! How many of them begged you for mercy the way you DARED to beg me?! HOW—?!”

The demon was in no fit state to fight Charles or his entry into his mind. Quite apart from the fact that he’d stretched his powers to their absolute limit, he was injured, and the blood loss that had occurred as a result had weakened him too much to be able to resist even a small push.

Charles had given something much larger, and absent any resistance, Xavier went limp.

Ramsay managed to catch him before he hit the floor. His friend looked an unholy mess, but it wasn’t until Ramsay had him in his arms that he realized that as well as being covered in blood, Xavier was bleeding.

“X? X!”

Ramsay laid the demon down carefully and tore open his suit jacket, vest, and shirt to reveal two bullet wounds in his torso.

“Get that bloody fucking nurse over here!”

Mason/Leslie: ‘Baby, ya alright?’ Because that was all that mattered. Not the scent of blood or sulfur. Only the sound of his husband’s voice in his head, and the suffering at his back.

Mason made it to the end of the hall, waiting for Charles’ response, waiting for acknowledgment before turning in Lawrence’s direction. This had to be his choice because he knew himself. Knew what Lawrence would do because it was what he would do, and Lawrence would have no trouble looking his wife in the eyes despite the blood soaking his hands. His life was a replayed record.

“Make a promise like that,” Leslie panted, staring down at Xavier’s wounded body, “I’m holding you do it. But, uh, let’s make it two days.” Because he was getting on his knees, holding his hands over the wounds and closing his eyes. Could a demon die this way? He didn’t have a clue. Wouldn’t have believed a bullet would cause such injury had he not seen the dark blood with his own two eyes.

This was living tissue; he could work with this. Felt each heartbeat as his own as he whispered his prayers in hurried Irish Gaelic. His liver had been nicked. A through-and-through inches from his heart. It was a wonder he had lasted this long, or the strength to lift his arm, much less Haine off the floor.

“Glaonna fola chun fola," he whispered. “Glaoim amach agus glaoim isteach.” His pocketknife was opened, stabbing once into his palm, allowing the blood to drip into Xavier’s wound. A thick lavender scent filled the room as the first wound closed.

Charles: 'Fine. I'm fine.'

He briefly debated beckoning Mason to his brother's aid. Guilt warred with his anger and hurt. But it appeared that the decision would be made for him.

Despite Charles' every attempt to protect him, Leslie would spend himself to close Xavier's wounds. Good, that he'd left the reserves until now.

Charles shared a concise version of what had gone down with the demon's brother and urged him on to his task. Things were under control, here. More-or-less.

Ramsay: Ramsay bit back the urge to stop Leslie. Even though the man still looked like he was about to keel over, he was helping Xavier, and Ramsay hadn't been raised to throw a blessing back in someone's face when it had been offered. He'd been taught to shut up and be grateful so that was precisely what he did.

"Thanks, mate," he said with a nod, patting Leslie on the shoulder once he'd finished with the first bullet wound. "I'll pay back the favor. I'm buyin' you and everyone you know a steak dinner with all the bells and whistles when we get the fuck out of here."

Ramsay shifted positions so Xavier was cradled between his legs with his back to Ramsay's chest and held him while Leslie did his work. It was a move that gave away the intimacy and closeness between them more than words ever could.

Mason/Lawrence: As much as Mason desired to wall his mind, he would not. The desperate need to keep his husband close in any measure outweighed what he was about to witness. Charles did not have to look. A kind of fence around his point of view, perhaps, would prevent Charles from seeing the worst of his human self.

Lawrence had done exactly as expected. Less carnage than Xavier would have enjoyed, but Mason knew the sound of mayhem like an unforgotten melody.

He had managed to get in close to the enemy. Scrambling into the entryway sobbing for help, hands raised and on his knees. Someone must have taken pity, believing those tearful panicked eyes. Not a tactic Mason had ever used, but Lawrence was not an exact copy. According to a djinn, he was meant to be an improvement. A clean slate. Popplewell’s proud design. All it had taken was one chest-aching scream powered by every ounce of rage to break the small crowd. Lawrence had no control over his telekinesis but he knew its triggers.

A knife had been lodged into his calf muscle. The explosion of power had sent one of the guards straight up, now concussed and teetering on unconscious at his feet. One had tried for the door, third-degree burns on his arms and hands, clothes charred and unconscious. The others remained unseen as Mason approached. There, slumped against the closed door, was Lawrence, body trembling with adrenaline and a gun in his lap.

Mason/Leslie/Lawrence: Had he the strength, he would have made his way back to the nurse. He was not the only one offended by such selfish tears, but this was where his vengeance ended.

Mason removed the knife without a word. A kind of softness had overtaken him as he stared at his reincarnation. Where was this hatred a lifetime ago when Carl murdered his family? He had sighed, lifeless and defeated, and did nothing. Could do nothing. Years and years of Carl had taken its toll. But Lawrence, he wondered, might have done something different. Would have removed Carl from the equation sooner. This quiet depressed man had such potential. He hated him, and pulled him into his arms because he had to. For a moment, one might mistake his absorption for a hug.

Mason offered Charles a clear path to the young awaiting mutants.

‘Won’t be long.’ Those left alive in Lawrence’s wake were gathered and restrained.

“Uh-huh,” Leslie breathed. Watched as his blood dripped onto the remaining wound. This was not a complete unblemished heal. Just enough magic to prevent a meaningless death. This was a spell in reverse. A spell meant to expel a victim’s blood, and by reversing Leslie could barely manage to keep his eyes open.

“You know, sleepin’ next t’me makes you heal faster. Told you that… forever ago.” His words were now slurred, but his body managed to stay upright. His Verbena blood fighting the good fight with everything it had left.

“Saying you should sleep with me.” His laugh was exhausted, falling back on his ass, his back to Haine’s desk.

Charles: Under different circumstances, Charles would have been the first to fall into one of their shared laughing fits. A pity that the moment was wasted on him, now. He'd been drained of even the slightest hint of frivolity.

The awaited call had come at the tail end of the spell. Charles' leg was as secure as it could be, under the circumstances. And despite Lawrence's actions leaving the taste of bile in his mouth, he could admit that it put an end to any pressing danger.

All that remained was a mess for Charles to clean.

He looked to Leslie, mouth tight with worry at his condition, and nodded. Carrying on two conversations at once had never been a problem for the telepath.

'Mason, hold that thought. I need you here, please.'

"Les, let me borrow your mobile, again."

He let his gaze shift to Ramsay.

"Do you have enough energy to get him home?"

Ramsay: Ramsay nodded. “I have enough juice to get Leslie back to Edenton and from there I can call X’s familiar to help me get him back to Bangkok. No need to worry about them, prof. I’ve got it.” He owed Leslie and Xavier that much, if not more.

Subconsciously, he held the demon a little tighter.

“And if you ah….need help with…” Ramsay gestured vaguely at the space around them. “I can be of use. Wouldn’t be my first time dealin’ with the remains of something like this. You won’t find better hands, except your own.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie offered his phone without questioning, but he was shaking his head.

"Not home. I gotta stay with you. Gotta heal you." Not to mention anyone else in need. His work was far from complete.

'Comin',' Mason's voice, even in their connection, was gentle.

Charles: He'd just been about to clarify his question to Ramsay when Leslie protested.

"I know that. It's why I'm going to call Tristan."

He pulled up the fisherman's contact and began punching into the landline.

"I only meant Xavier, Ramsay. But, thank you. And we'll take care of cleanup, as well."

Ramsay/Tristan: Ramsay nodded. Even if he didn’t agree and thought that Leslie would be better off resting at home, who was he to argue? Charles knew what he was about, Leslie was a grown man, and the decision was ultimately theirs.

Sometime during their stint underground, it had stopped being late night and was slowly turning to early morning. The majority of Edenton remained sleeping, oblivious of this change, but not Tristan Seger.

He was up, showered, and getting ready to head to the docks to start his workday when his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number but that in itself was nothing unusual. Nor was the earliness of the call; fishing kept odd hours.

It was probably a vendor or some other business acquaintance.

“Hello?” he greeted, putting his phone on speaker while he put his boots on. “This is Tristan.”

Mason/Leslie: "Oh." Wait a minute. Oh.

"Nononono - " Leslie sniffed as he turned to Charles, placing his hand on Charles' good knee. The phone was already ringing.

Mason was walking through the broken entryway when the witch thumped his head against the desk.

"Hey, Tristie."

Charles: Charles brought the phone to his ear, ignoring Leslie's protests and only looking up at Mason in greeting.

"Hello, Tristan. It's Charles." Were they on such familiar terms?

"Er... Charles Xavier."

Ramsay/Tristan: What a scene for Mason to walk into, was all Ramsay could think. An obliterated door, Haine passed out, his blood-stained brother sleeping in the arms of a witch, a second witch slumped and borderline delirious on the floor, and his injured husband trying to keep everything together.

Tristan’s brow furrowed. “Charles? Where are you calling me from? Was that Leslie’s voice, why’s he with you? What’s wrong?”

The more Tristan spoke, the more the confusion in his voice was replaced with concern.

Mason/Leslie: A scene that had Mason remaining in the doorway, looking from his brother to his husband and back. No one was sobbing within an inch of his life. He could see the gentle rise and fall of Xavier's chest. Anger had to be kept in reserves.

"Children are waitin'." They didn't need to be here any longer than necessary. "Ya takin' him home?"

Leslie put his finger to his lips but didn't even know what he was shushing at this point.

"I'm fine. It's all... gonna be... fine."

Charles: He loved his husband. Was grateful to him. That was the only reason the tenuous hold he had on his patience had not yet slipped. He was enduring for those children. It seemed nothing about this night could be simple. He made no acknowledgment, only pressed forward with Tristan.

"I'm calling you from California. Apart from low blood sugar, Leslie is fine. We've had a very long night, the details of which I will share when we've had a chance to rest. That's why I'm calling, actually. He needs food and sleep, and I was going to let him stay at the school. I didn't want you worry when he didn't come home."

Ramsay/Tristan: Ramsay didn’t know if Mason’s lack of a negative reaction was due to the fact that Xavier was sleeping or because there were bigger fish to fry, but either way he was glad for it.

He would’ve had some shit to say otherwise.

The witch nodded. “Just for a bit. Once he’s cleaned up I’ll ask Abel to take him back to Bangkok. He’ll be looked after.”

Absolutely nothing Charles said after ‘Leslie is fine’ was interpreted through any other lens but that of worry and quiet panic. If Leslie was actually fine, there wouldn’t be a need to tell him Leslie was fine. If it had to be stated at all then that meant something bad had happened.

But something in Charles’ tone told Tristan he wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation. Yet.

Tristan took a deep breath. “Okay. Swear to me he’s all right.”

Mason/Leslie: Mason didn't care enough to comment. If Charles thought calling family was a reasonable course of action then so be it. Something marginally less stressful than the eighteen voices in the next room.

In the meantime, he took a knee by his brother.

Ramsay could think of a hundred things to say and it would have been oil over water. Tonight was one of those nights he didn't give a single fuck. This was a bloody mess and he would be here to clean it, not his brother. This catharsis would stick to his brother like gum on his shoe.

"Have him call when he wakes." He nodded to the door. A quiet, polite get out.

Leslie could just barely hear his merman on the other line.

"I'm alllll right. I swear. He swears."

Charles: Another statement from Leslie he would have chuckled at, any other time.

"You have my word. He needs food and sleep, nothing more. He'll call as soon as he wakes."

If Leslie forgot, Charles would remind him, but he doubted it would be necessary.

With as firm a goodbye as was needed, he'd end the call.

He looked up at Mason, again. His face was pale and drained, but the set to his jaw was determined.

"I need to speak to the kids. Will you take Leslie to the school? The team is awake. Everyone knows where they're needed. Kurt will transport them and the children. He's well-rested and hasn't been popping from place to place all night. But he's never been here, before. Can you bring him? Just to room where the kids are waiting. He... doesn't need to see this place."

Ramsay/Tristan: Tristan nodded and said, “Okay. Thank you.”

No firm goodbye would be needed. He could feel the somber air about Charles through the phone and ended the call with no further questions or dallying.

He had to trust that whatever was or had happened would be explained to him eventually. Until then, he’d be going about his day feeling like a rock was lodged in his chest.

The door. As if Ramsay actually needed it.

“Roger that,” he sighed, adjusting his hold on Xavier so he could access his ring.

It had just enough left to give for one more leap and thankfully, one was all he’d need.

He completed his ritual and disappeared with Xavier without another word.

Mason/Leslie: "I will!" He didn't mean to sound ridiculous. This was his being sincere while battling low blood sugar. Without granolas and chocolate, he was going to start going through Haine's desk. Anything. Gum, for fuck's sake.

Leslie was largely ignored by the crossroad demon, now standing directly in front of the telepath.

"Of course."

The witch was busy unwrapping what looked like a Jolly Rancher when he was suddenly lifted in Mason's arms. Long legs and arms flailing and then clinging.

'Love ya, baby.' Across the United States in a blink. The witch was tossed on their bed.

"Ya know the house. Don't fuckin' die." He had more things to worry about than Leslie's health. Out the door and across the great house, following Kurt's mind. The night was not yet over. There were still unconscious bodies and carnage to wipe away.

"Don't stray from where I drop ya off n'ya can say I owe ya a favor."

Charles: Treatment that would require discussion, if and when Charles heard of it. If Leslie was able to drag himself out of bed, he'd be given food and a place to rest. They were expecting him.

Charles left Haine and the nurse in the office. The doctor was out, but he'd be shoved deeper. The nurse would follow him down.

He levered himself into the waiting wheelchair without allowing himself to think too much about it. Onward.

Passing the smouldering carnage in the hall was almost his undoing. But he bottled it up like everything else as he wheeled to where the children were being held.

Kurt nodded, taking this responsibility very seriously. He needed no favor, but he wasn't going to tell his uncle that.

"Got it."

Mason/Leslie: Leslie gave himself a five minute power nap, but the longer he delayed going to the kitchen the worse he was making this for himself. He would drag himself away, and reluctantly find someone to help with insulin.

In the meantime, Mason and Kurt appeared just outside of the mutant boy's room. An interesting and arguably handsome boy. An instant distraction.

"This is Kurt."

Invisible fingers brushed over Charles the moment his mind was felt. His angel. He assumed he would want to introduce himself.

There would be no public displays of affection in this moment, not when they had so much to do.

"Gonna clean house."

Charles: Charles was barely hanging on to his composure, but he leaned into that mental touch. Somehow, he managed to summon a smile for the children. His tone was gentle as he explained who he was and what they could expect over the next handful of days.

Mason was given a nod. Charles didn't know precisely what he was going to do, but he trusted his husband.

Kurt was rested enough to take the children in two groups, starting with the youngest. When he returned for the second group, it was with Logan, Piotr, and Ororo in tow.

Mason: At this point, Mason was running on fumes. The last of his strength would be utilized to spare Charles' team fresh nightmares and the assumption that he had caused death and destruction in Charles' name.

He would not point fingers. If they wanted someone to blame he would take their judgment, but there was still time. The last of the breathing bodies were placed in the storage room. Those no longer of this world, what could be carried, were dragged to the hallway of the massacre.

Mason flicked his hand, fingers outward, and frowned.

"Lawrence." The other half of his soul had slipped into a trance-like state, tucked away as his soul healed.

After a minute his hand ignited in blue flame, and so too did the blood and guts. A hole was forced into the ceiling. Concrete, wires, and dirt fell into the hallway, pushed aside by telekinesis. An explanation was given to Charles. Just a blip of information so as not to frighten those that remained with the noise.

Much of his strength was forced upon that telekinesis, keeping the flames contained and the smoke where he desired. Lastly, he would follow the blood trails. It had been years since he had caused blood to float. That familiar watery glide, darkened the more he gathered. Another decade under his belt, he could do more than ignite, but open his mouth and swallow it whole. A little blood magic to revitalize his energy, but not much. By now the blood was old and curdled. The taste of rust like an old friend. At least now he could return to the fire, strengthen its heat until all that remained was ash.

Charles: Nearly everyone present flinched, including the telepath himself. But he passed along Mason's reassurance.

"Cleanup."

The last of the children were taken to the school, where Jean and Hank were waiting to see to their varied needs. Charles would conduct his own examinations once they'd finished here.

 But clearing the facility was priority. When they were done, no one would step foot in this godforsaken building again.

The last of the team had arrived, and Kurt was firmly sent home to await a call. If he could spare someone trauma today, he would.

His main goal was the gathering of evidence. Every scrap of paperwork would be gathered and sorted through. No living member of staff would escape conviction. Knowledge of the facility and its horrors would be publicly exposed...

An arduous process that the team set to with grim determination.

Charles, however, was responsible for the staff themselves. After directing his people to file storage, he made his solitary way to the lab. The nurses and techs still slumbered deeply where they'd dropped. He wheeled further into the space, back toward the open door seeping cold into the main room. And there the horror gripped him.

Mason: 'Charles,' came gently. Not that cold room, not those small disfigured bodies. Lips pale and eyes forever shut.

His demon came around the corner. Fingers swept over Charles' shoulder, slow and mindful so as not to startle. He couldn't have his beloved in this room alone. At the end of his demonic magic, he had ran across the facility to stand by his side.

Charles: "I..." His voice was raw and thick with sorrow. The fiery rage that had driven Xavier was something buried deep in the professor. An unrelenting grief was all he could feel. And he trembled with it despite the dryness of his eyes.

He swallowed it all as best as he could, reaching back to take Mason's hand.

"We--" He sounded broken. Breathed. Forced himself to start again.

"We have to identify them. Find their information. Notify their families, if they have them. If they... if they were alone, I'll bury them in my family's plot."

A small, insufficient gesture, after all they'd suffered.

Mason: "We had the same idea." He saw no need to elaborate. Charles was well aware of Lawrence's presence.

"Haine wouldn't have destroyed their files. Doesn't seem the type. I'll look around here if ya look in his office."

Mason came around to face him, lowering to eye level to cup his face. Their first moment alone and still not truly to themselves.

"I... am so, so sorry, baby."

Charles: Mason would have stopped it. Had stopped those eighteen children from meeting a similar fate. Had stopped Charles from finding more, against his will.

He had no reason to apologise.

Charles was going to say just that when his eyes finally fell on the open collar of his husband's shirt. Just a hint of dried blood peeked above it. Inconsequential, really. Could have been gory residue from any number of moments during their ordeal.

But his dread was mounting. He raised a trembling hand to that shirt and tugged another button free.

He inhaled raggedly. Where the private symbol of their love and devotion had once rested, only a crusted wound remained. His breath stilled in his chest. Blue eyes snapped to meet brown.

"Why?"

Mason: The moment Charles' eyes lowered he knew what had been discovered. No attempt was made to stop his hand, but he fought against every instinct to look away. There was no shame in finding his husband, only in the pain of losing something Charles dearly loved.

Fingertips hovered over his wrist, afraid to touch and be pushed away.

"A spell I never have to -" At last his gaze lowered, presenting his hand and the jade ring. "A trackin' spell. Ya were unconscious. We couldn't find ya. I had t'sacrifice somethin'... somethin' I'd hate losin'. I'll never lose ya again."

Charles: A single grain of sand to tip the scale.

It was too much.

Sitting amongst the bodies of tortured children, bruised and broken, with hours left to push through, the single remaining strand of his control snapped.

Far from pushing Mason away, Charles gripped his husband's arms with bruising strength. Ugly, wracking sobs tore through him. Emotion he'd been bottling for hours finally spilling unimpeded down his face.

There could be no shame, here. Only his hold on Mason kept him from sliding to the cold, sterile floor.

Mason: "I'm sorry." This wasn't why he had initially apologized, but it was now. Sorry for losing him, to begin with. Sorry for the pain he had endured, the fear in his heart. He was sorry for the children at his back and the carnage he had witnessed. Of Haine's very existence.

And he was sorry for destroying something precious.

He leaned forward in his grip, pressed his forehead to his husband's, and breathed out every ounce of remaining tension. Just mindful enough to avoid his leg as he sank his weight into Charles' arms.

"I-" I haven't felt this kind of fear in years. You didn't summon me. I couldn't reach you. I thought I lost you.

"I love you."

Charles: Mason was an island in a sea of sorrow. Charles clung to him as he wept. There was no way to stem the flow, even with everything that still needed to be done. He sobbed until he was wrung dry, and the ache had begun to creep into his ribs, again. He'd need a second dose of morphine, soon.

He didn't move, even when he'd quieted to soft, rhythmic breathing.

"I love you."

Because he hadn't missed that. Hadn't missed that unnecessary apology even through his purge.

"Let's... let's get back to it. I want to go home. And I want this place burned to cinders before we do."

Mason: The demon held on for dear life. Gripped with his remaining strength. If he could curl his entire body into Charles' embrace he would. They had time to hold one another; time almost stolen from them.

Mason counted the seconds between the telepath's breath, hands cupping his jaw. The warmth in his own eyes was ignored. Tears wiped away with his shoulder.

How could he not apologize for adding to Charles' pain?

Two additional fingers emerged from the demon's hand, softly brushed over Charles' cheek and disappeared beneath Mason's skin.

"I can take ya now, baby. Ya need t'be looked at." Until he devised a suitable contract or the witch had the strength to mend. One or the other had to happen.

Charles: Mason should have already guessed what his response would be. They'd been through too much not to see the entire, nasty beast brought down. And Charles would never return once he'd gone. No. Staying until the end was the only thing for it.

He gave a gentle shake of his head, grabbing Mason's hand to offer a squeeze to him and Lawrence, both.

"I can't. Not yet. I'm as stable as I can be, at the moment. Besides, the team needs me. Without Jean here, who is going to keep hold of Haine and the others?"

He sighed.

"I'm staying. I need to search his mind, anyway."

Mason: "I know." He knew Charles would say that, but he had to offer; this was his way of saying what he wanted, though, he was at war with himself. Never wanting to leave Charles' side again, and wanting what was best.

But perhaps this was best.

"Then go back to the office." He didn't want Charles to see this much death if he could help it. "Please. I'll comb through here."

Charles: He held onto his husband for a few more moments, reluctant to be apart. But there was work to do. Too much time had passed, already.

He nodded, before he could lose his resolve.

"Alright. And I'm sorry, my love. For what you were forced to sacrifice. It wasn't fair. If I'd been there, it never would have happened. Forgive me."

Mason: "Don't do that. Don't ask... " He choked on his own words, staring down at Charles' lap to hold himself together.

He placed his hand over the tender wound.

"We'll make it again."

Charles: A nod.

"Yes."

They couldn't afford to lose any more time.

"I'll go. Let me know if you find anything. I'll get everything I can out of Haine."

Mason: Charles was putting himself back together. It was with his strength he could do the same.

"Make it as unpleasant as possible," he sighed.

But one last thing. He held Charles' face and offered a quick kiss. God, he needed that. Needed everything to turn and face those children, and then look past them to find their files.

Charles: It was almost enough to make him smile. Almost.

"I will."

He wanted the kiss to linger. Wanted to lie in bed, wrapped in Mason's arms for the next week. It would have to wait.

Charles forced himself to leave the room, resisting the urge to lash out at the sleeping staff as he made his way to Haine's office.

As promised, he dragged the doctor from sleep without the gentle consideration he'd offer anyone else. No fanfare or explanations. He merely sank into the man's mind in search of useful information.

Mason: The image, sound, and scent of Charles' sobs would live with him for the rest of his eternal life. But so would his gentle affirmation of love, his apologies, and his strength. An incomplete blend of the horrors and the blessings.

What he would have to push aside as he started with the nearest drawer. All physical copies, Charles had said to someone; he couldn't recall who anymore.

Their connection strengthened as time went on. More than a window. His presence was unmistakable as Charles dealt with his kidnapper. He would never be alone with that beast ever again.

"T'think ya might end up one of mine," Mason muttered, flipping through one of the folders he had found.

Charles/Haine: He sifted through information at lightning speed. None of the concern he typically showed was present. Not outright cruelty. Charles couldn't be anyone other than himself. But he wasn't gentle.

Indeed, there was yet another "hospital" tucked away in Idaho. He committed the location to memory, already planning to send the team out on a mission. Put an end to all of it.

He noted the location of all remaining files. And, oh! There was storage for personal items that had not yet been incinerated. Perhaps his rings were there. Or something he could pass along to those poor kids. A piece of their lives returned to them.

When he scraped away all that he needed, he ventured into the past. That old hospital, long turned to ash. This man was no telepath. His memories of that place were a blur of indistinct faces and disembodied parts. Charles pulled free from his rancid mind with a sound of disgust.

"You don't even remember them do, you? Those children? My children?"

"What?"

The experience had been dizzying. The bastard was disoriented. Charles pressed on.

"They were means to an end for you. To be tinkered with and disposed of for your 'noble goal.'"

He needed out of that room. He pushed the doctor carelessly into sleep once more and wheeled into the hall to breathe.

Mason: Mason hated this room. The sterile and unwelcoming atmosphere washed in an eyesore of fluorescent. The cold surfaces served only one purpose. But it was the stench of disinfectants and formaldehyde that threatened to distract him. Reminders of his purpose. Of those bodies just feet away, tucked safely in their drawers.

His distance was kept as Charles roamed Haine’s mind, not wanting to interrupt as he explored and foraged information. What he could use, he took, and gathered the necessary files into a forgotten paper box in one of the cabinets.

‘Think we could use him in Idaho?’

Charles: Charles shook his head. It was an unnecessary gesture, as no one was around to see it. He took off toward that storage space, putting as much distance as possible between himself and Haine.

'No. I have what we need. If I never see him again it'll be too soon.'

Mason: 'Your will be done.' He would do whatever Charles desired to the doctor, even if that included nothing at all. A portion of his catharsis had been released on Ian. The only death he could claim for himself.

True catharsis came just minutes ago in Charles' arms, but several thoughts had followed. Ones he would keep to himself until sorted.

'I'll move these children when the time comes.' He would not allow Kurt anywhere near this room, nor Ramsay or Xavier or anyone else.

Charles: 'Where? And how? Love, you're running on fumes as it is.'

Not that Charles was in a position to scold. He could sleep for forty-eight hours straight. Probably would, when they were safely in bed. The thought urged him onward.

Mason: 'When we can take em straight to a funeral home. If we can't make that work, then I'll think of somethin' else.'

There was no room in Xavier's school for these bodies, but Charles also wanted Haine exposed. That meant these children. There was a very real possibility they would have to stay here and be left to authorities. Everything was based on Charles' decisions.

'Don't worry about me. Had some blood magic like a cup of tea.'

Charles: 'No.' Perhaps more an emotional decision, than logical. But for once, perhaps that was acceptable. Those children didn't need to spend a moment longer in this place than necessary.

'Move them to a funeral home. I'll deal with the investigators. We have enough evidence. Documents, photographs... It'll have to be enough. I meant what I said, before."

Mason: 'Ya mean everything ya say, baby.'

So then, he needed to find a funeral home. There would be no rest yet.

The sun was finally rising over the quiet hills. The world, this side of the world, was finally waking up.

There was a contract here. He just need needed to close his eyes and try to iron out the details.

Charles: He made it to the storage room, hauling himself onto his good leg to reach a pristine box labeled with his name. There was an unspeakable comfort in pulling his own cardigan over the hospital clothes he wore. It was summer weight, and did nothing against the persistent chill. But it warmed him from the inside.

A small baggie tucked in beside the rest of his clothing held his rings. He shared the image of them with Mason, tinged with warmth. A small mercy that they hadn't been disposed of, yet.

Mason: A feeling Mason shared. Small mercies. Things he couldn't call miracles no matter the temptation.

'I should have made a contract for ya. But anything beyond a certain size... it attracts him. I was seconds away... Leslie stayed my hand.' He owed the witch proper gratitude.

The mark on his chest was felt.

'Either ya manipulate the mind of a funeral director or I do, but we have other legalities on our path. If I set everything in motion myself, he'll find me.'

Charles: Charles wasn't at all surprised by Leslie's usefulness, only that Mason had gone to him for help. Anything for his husband. It was a deeply moving gesture.

'I'll do it. There are officers and staff that I'll need to tweak, anyway. And information about guards that I'll have to erase entirely.'

A long night, indeed.

Mason: What would he even ask for in exchange? A soul wouldn't be noticed, but there was no soul to take. Certainly not his husband. Haine was already out the door to Perdition. He would offer to no one of Charles' staff. He would never be forgiven.

He took a breath.

'Do you want Haine to die, or rot in prison?'

Charles: He opened the baggie and slid his wedding band back where it belonged. He hadn't realized how wrong he'd felt without it.

The summoning ring was next, a perfect distraction from a difficult question.

'Don't ask me that. I'm at war with myself.'

Haine had hurt so many people. Children. But Charles didn't know if he could stomach sentencing even a monster to death.

Mason: 'I... have a contract in mind. I think it won't light any flares.'

Mason smiled to himself. 'Better?' he felt at his own ring.

Charles: 'Yes.' He rubbed at the metal, warming it up to his body temperature. No one would ever take it again, if it was in his power to stop them.

He reached out to Ororo to assist him with the rest of the boxes, grunting as he hoisted himself to his good leg, again.

'What terms? I won't risk him coming after you.'

Mason: Charles had taken such concern over a demon he had never met. Over an incident he had not witnessed. Such a little thing. Of course he would! Bronwyn would probably say, but it meant so much.

'Having Haine set everything in motion for us at the cost of years of his life.'

Charles: Charles pulled down the smallest boxes as he considered.

'Do you think he'll agree? He surely knows he'll spend the rest of his life in prison, at best.'

Mason: 'If the alternative is death, he'll shave as many years as he needs.'

Charles: Ah. Well, that was one way to go about it.

'As long as you're safe, I can live with that. What will he be exchanging?'

Mason: 'T'walk away with his life and whatever limitation ya want on his memories, I'll thread in anything ya want t'happen t'the children here, the people, legalities. It's a lot of manipulation of a lot of people.'

Charles: 'Sounds fairly heavy, love. Are you certain it won't draw attention? I can stay to alter memories. I'll manage.'

Mason: 'I don't want your stories and mine to overlap. Ya tell me exactly what ya want too have, every detail, n'I'll divvy a portion to the contract. We can make this work.'

Charles: He nodded uselessly, piling boxes onto his lap.

'My main concern is the dead guards. I'd rather they be forgotten.'

Or the mess would be even more complicated to clean. He would do what he could for their families, on his own time. They were not responsible for the guards' crimes.

'And I don't want the police looking too closely into what went on here, once we arrived. We can manage finding the children's families, if they have them. And they can stay at the school for as long as necessary.'

Mason: 'The children alive and dead are the evidence the police need to keep Haine behind bars. Either this entire place is our secret or it belongs to the public record. Even I can't bend human law that far, darlin'. The children they killed can seal his fate. If it's just photographs on paper... d'ya trust humans not to let him go?'

Charles: 'I only meant that we'd be responsible for their care, and beyond. And that the police don't need to know that Lawrence and Xavier were here.'

Never mind what they'd done here.

'They aren't going to let him go, Mason.'

He didn't believe so little of them. And, frankly, he wouldn't allow it, if they tried.

Mason: He hated that this was a conversation they were having while Charles was so injured. He hated the mess this had become and the unfortunate lack of discretion they could have. Moments like this the modern age suffocated his mind quite utterly.

For Haine to escape with his life pressed dangerously against contractual loopholes. To know he would not be killed either way rendered the arrangement ineffectual.

To deepen the contract with memory alteration of not only Haine but several dozen mortals, not to mention Charles' health.

But the witch could mend his injuries.

Keeping the plausible loophole behind his back, Mason offered the second draft of the contract for Charles to consider.

'Are you saying you want the police to allow the school to foster these children? That you volunteer the school to bury the bodies of those lost? They will still want to conduct their own autopsies.'

Charles: 'Yes and... yes.'

Which was to say, he'd personally handle the funeral arrangements, as necessary. He couldn't imagine that every person that had been held here was utterly without family. He'd do what he could, for them. And see to those who'd been alone in the world, himself.

'I can live with that. Better for them to have some concrete evidence on hand. Better than having to tinker with them on everything.'

Mason: Mason returned to his husband's side, without warning or permission, pulled him into a kiss. There was no tingle, no warmth of magic. This was not a contract. This was simply a need. A lot was about to happen, and more likely than not Logan would be carrying him for a second time. Lawrence's presence could only mend so much with his own injuries to account for.

"I need Haine awake. Ya don't have t'be in the room, but once it's done, things are gonna shift. Papers are gonna copy n'go back where they were. Last thing I need t'know, is how ya want the police aware."

Charles: Too soon. Charles practically flinched out of his skin at the sudden presence before recognizing his husband. It still took several long moments for his pulse to slow to normal, but he didn't pull away from the kiss.

He nodded, pulling his jumper more tightly around his body.

"All right. As soon as you're inside of his office, I'll wake him. And I'll phone the police. If we're wanting to be semi-legitimate, it'll be good to have a call on record."

Mason: "Thy will be done."

Mason swallowed thickly, combed his fingers through Charles' hair. A faraway look had taken his eyes as he planned, only to shake it off.

The less of his strength used the better. One last decision to be made.

"Have Kurt move everyone out. I won't be long. That includes you. Make your call when you get home."

Charles: "And how are you getting home, Mason? Will you have the energy to make it back? I'll have to phone from here, in order to reach emergency services in this area. But, I'll have Kurt take me straight after."

However grudgingly. In truth, only the children were keeping him moving. He was exhausted, and he hadn't taken that second dose of morphine.

Mason: "Ya don't think they'll find that suspicious? You've been seen in San Francisco." But he wouldn't argue beyond this. If Charles was adamant then so be it.

Charles: "They have my information, here. My belongings. My blood is splattered in one of the rooms. They'll know I was here, and they'll definitely want to question me. I never intended to hide my presence."

Only Mason and the others.

"They also know I'm a mutant. And will know how to contact me and the rest of the captives, when the time comes. Whatever influencing I'll have to do to smooth things over, I'll do. It was more important to get them someplace safe, than spend however many hours being questioned immediately."

Mason: "Baby, they won't know unless ya want em to know. That's what's about to happen." He didn't realize that was what Charles wanted. His staying and revealing himself as a victim in all this hadn't crossed Mason's mind once. There would be no sense in Charles' leaving if that were the case. And who caused his injury? Haine?

Mason rubbed his face in both hands. Draft three, then.

Charles: "You said it yourself, people know I was in San Francisco. I'm supposed to be giving a lecture in a couple of hours and I can barely stand. I haven't seen myself, but I imagine it isn't pretty. Did you and Xavier wipe the footage from the hotel's security cameras of me being taken? We haven't even checked out! All of our belongings... how do I explain it away? It's too much for you to put into a single contract."

Mason: "Then ya wanna stay here strapped to a bed? I can - I can make it work." He didn't care about himself. This wasn't about him, it was about Charles, and having Charles here, having to explain in detail what had happened to him, the very thought made his wings itch.

Charles: "No. It's much too late for bed-strapping. The children are already at the school. We can't unring that bell and, frankly, I wouldn't want to. What we need is for them not to dig too deeply into how we escaped. I'm assuming the contract can cover that, at least. If not, I'll turn their thoughts away from the idea."

Mason: Mason took to squatting in front of Charles' wheelchair. He didn't want to think about the reason his husband was in one. One step at a time. They had to cross this hurdle first. He closed his eyes. His mind and his mouth weren't in sync. Articulating his thoughts was becoming a struggle. Their ideas had to be perfectly aligned for this to succeed.

Charles would take the children. That was the least of his concerns. What mattered was Haine and shutting this place down. The dead children, unfortunately, had to remain, as well as original-passing copies of their files. The living children were never here. That would simplify one aspect of this operation.

Charles could play off his injuries as a horrible accident. A hit and run, given the location of his injury. Maybe. This would prevent him from having to testify. Having to face anyone but those he absolutely trusted.

The remaining staff would be the simplest spell. Memory alterations.

All of this relied on Haine begging for his life. This was the price for his life.

This Mason offered telepathically.

Charles: Charles considered the offered plan. He was prepared to be questioned. He was prepared to testify. He was prepared to help the captured children through the same. It was their suffering he thought of, not his own. And the strain that his own pain would put on Mason.

Finally, he nodded. It would work.

"I can live with that outcome. I'll have to return to San Francisco. Clean up the mess there, before it gets out of hand."

Mason: "I'll make this work with Haine." He gestured to the floor. "This is mine. San Francisco is yours. If Kurt has ya, my last trip'll be t'the school." This, knowing it would be his last transportation for some time. Knowing he and Lawrence would be out of commission entirely.

Charles: "I'll meet you there." He took Mason's face in both of his hands.

"I'll gather everyone and reach out to Kurt. I can have one of the staff call the police. We'll call it a growth of conscience. Is there anything else you need from me? Aside from waking Haine, of course. I'll make sure everyone else stays asleep until the police arrive."

Mason: His demon leaned into his hand, breathed him in for the last time.

"I need ya t'go home. I need ya t'be someplace safe n'fuckin' stay there. Okay?"

Charles: He nodded. "When I'm finished in San Francisco. I'll work quickly."

His thumb stroked over one bearded cheek.

"I love you. I'll see you at home. Soon."

A promise.

Mason: "Always." Said with as much conviction as he could muster. His vision would blur if he stayed in Charles' presence for much longer. He kissed between his eyes and forced himself away. Back to Haine, steeling his expression by the time he reached the door.

Charles/Haine: Charles took a moment to breathe once Mason departed. It was nearly over. They'd be home safe and warm in bed within the hour, hopefully.

Reinvigorated by that thought, he filled the team in on the plan. They'd join him in the storage room as swiftly as possible.

Already on her way, Ororo arrived first. She was helping to gather boxes when Mason reached Haine's office.

Charles dragged him roughly out of sleep and severed the connection.

Haine winced at the fresh wave of pain that greeted him. But it was the figure in the doorway that caused his face to pale. He curled in on himself tightly and said nothing. Charles wasn't around to spare his life, this time. He hoped his death was quick, but he doubted it would be.

Mason: The figure in the doorway didn't move. The only signs of life the rise and fall of his chest, and the subtle movement of pupils swimming in mahogany.

Haine didn't have to say a word. Didn't have to move if he didn't want to. His only hope crossed the room and knelt by his side.

"What's your first name, Haine?" Now that they had a moment to themselves, they could pretend to have some civility.

Haine: He shrank back against the wall at the creature's approach. He couldn't flee, even if there had been an opening. His leg throbbed at the memory of the break. He'd done it without even touching him.

He swallowed thickly. "Christopher."

Mason: "Christopher. That's a good name."

Rough fingertips brushed along the doctor's hairline. Nails gently scraped over his five o'clock shadow. Every second wasted was a second to recharge, to let every word sink in.

"Ya have a choice, Christopher. One that's entirely yours. So I want ya to think really hard."

A breath of silence allowed Haine to hang onto his every word.

"Do ya want to live to see tomorrow?"

Haine: It was a touch far too tender for the situation. He shuddered, and tried to pull away from it. But with the wall at his back, there was nowhere to go.

"Yes," he breathed, grasping at the unexpected offer. "Yes, of course."

Mason: "Survival instincts, good. Death would mean seein' my face every day for eternity. What I did to your leg is nothin' compared to what I'll do to you in Hell. What ya think I am, I am. Now tell me this, do ya wanna remember my face?"

Haine: He shook his head. Not a refusal. Confusion. "I-I don't know what you mean. I couldn't forget your face if I tried."

These beings would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Mason: "I can take it all away. My face, your pain. I can put it all back."

Two fingers pinched at Haine's chin, held him firmly.

"I'd rather skin ya while ya breathe, but it's what Charles wants, because he's better than me. Ya have two options, mine, or his."

Haine: He didn't even try to pull his chin free. That little comment on the professor left a sour taste in his mouth. A better man would have had vision. Would have seen Haine's work for the noble undertaking it was and joined him willingly. That the plan had crumbled was his fucking fault. But Haine wasn't foolish enough to say so.

"His." He tried not to spit the word.

Mason: Had this been a written contract with every clause put to ink Haine might have refused. Death was certainly Mason's preference, but Charles had refused his death no matter. For now, Mason set aside the unsavory detail of his arrangement, pulling Haine to his feet via his collar.

"Seal it with a kiss, monster."

Haine: He groaned in pain at the shift in position. The command made no sense to the doctor. All of this was entirely outside of his understanding of the world. But the words were straightforward enough.

He leaned in as much as he dared and brushed the lightest of kisses against that mouth. A shudder followed.

Mason: Upon opening his eyes Christopher Haine would find himself alone. Not a broken hinge nor a broken bone. The halls were unnaturally quiet. Not a soul in movement, like a wound toy readying to dance, standing in their positions. Where guards should have stood there was liminal space.

There was not a single child in those mint green and white cells. Not yet. Plans for more children, certainly. Those to replace their losses. Those unfortunate souls on cold slabs await their final rest.

But not for much longer.

Mason appeared in the only safe place he could think, falling on his knees in their bedroom, crumbing as his contract came to life.

Charles/Haine: Haine blinked. Something was incredibly wrong here, but he could not pinpoint how. He brushed the feeling aside as being overtired and decided on a nap as soon as the plans were finalized. The sensation would be forgotten entirely by the time the sirens sounded.

Charles had done as promised. Kurt came for the staff and boxes first, then returned shortly thereafter for the professor. Between them, they made quick work of packing up the hotel room.

His call to the conference's lead organizer had been brief, and apologetic. Mason's suggested excuse was a perfect one: a hit-and-run accident. The authorities had already been informed and the professor would be fine after rest and recovery. He was so very sorry for the inconvenience. He hoped another lecturer would be able to fill in for him. And, yes, he'd happily attend the following year.

Here, there were no armed guards or psionic blockers. It was laughably easy for Charles to nudge the concierge into handing over the security footage and forgetting the entire interaction. As far as she could recall, the nice couple had checked out that morning, without incident.

Before the hour was through, he was back in the safety of his home. He'd had no time to so much as ask after the mansion's newest residents before he was being shooed off to bed. Hank would see to his injuries, soon.

Charles called for Logan as soon as he found Mason collapsed on the ground. His demon was out cold and not aware of his husband's gentle fussing. The burly mutant hauled both of them onto the mattress, in turn, and left with only mild grumbling.

There was plenty of work left to be done. But Charles trusted his team to manage, until tomorrow. For now, he would rest.

[wildroseofarran]

"Starting to sound romantic." It had from the beginning, but the pearl was the cherry on the cake.

He took Tristan's hand between his own and squeezed. Back on his feet. Maybe for five minutes, he could feel something other than restless.

Tristan laughed. "Then I guess we should be calling it R&R&R. Romance, rest, and relaxation." He knew the odds of actually making good on that pearl promise were slim but it wasn't really about that. This little getaway was about breaking their routine and helping Leslie.

"So what do you think? Meg's or Hazel and Clive's for the girls?"

[wildroseofarran]

There. Tristan had earned a laugh. "All of that and more. We'll bring wine, and whiskey. Fish the old-fashioned way." A pause. "Go for a midnight swim."

“All of that and more,” Tristan echoed, going in for a proper kiss. “We’ll bring stuff to make a giant charcuterie platter too.”

As for the midnight swim…

The suggestion wasn’t unwelcome. It didn’t dim Tristan’s eyes or dull his smile. He’d made his peace with what he was in his own tentative way after they’d paid Boone a visit.

He nodded. “We will. I’ll dive down and get you a pearl.”

[wildroseofarran]

Leslie closed his eyes to the kiss. Seemed to be Tristan's favorite place for affection. He sighed, and tried to push every negative, self-pitying thought to the back burner.

"Next week, then."

Tristan wouldn’t deny that. He loved the shape of Leslie’s mouth. It was one of the most attractive things about his witch’s face.

“It’s a date. We’ll practice magic, get in a little R&R, make love under the moonlight. It’ll be great.”

[wildroseofarran]

His smile faltered a moment. "I'm booked for the next three months. We'd have three days at most. Is that enough?"

Tristan nodded. “Three days is longer than you think and besides, your merman is a fast sailor and a magical prodigy.”

He kissed the corner of Leslie’s mouth. “It’s plenty of time.”

[wildroseofarran]

That was the most appealing suggestion he'd heard in some time. His body straightened, eyes widening.

"What about the girls? Your mother?"

“We’ll set the girls up with Meg or your parents. They’ll have a ball.”

Tristan smiled and caressed Leslie’s cheek with his thumb. “You deserve to take some time to do something for yourself. We both do.”

[wildroseofarran]

Tristan was given apologetic eyes. "You really want to learn more spells? It's been a while. Been... caught up with everything else in our lives. Feels like we're falling into a routine."

He nodded and smiled. “I really do.” If Leslie wasn’t letting him be sorry then Tristan wasn’t going to let Leslie be sorry either.

“Then let’s break it. Let’s take a sail somewhere and practice magic. Just you and me.”

[thehangeddemon]

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.

[wildroseofarran]

"Don't be. You didn't do anything. Sorry is for mistakes."

Both hands concealed his face as he breathed. A moment later he rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Enough of this.

"I've said it, and I'm working on it. It's out there now," he sighed. "So... I just move forward. I'll do more spells. Teach more. Something. I promise, I'm not using."

“I believe you, Les.” Tristan made a point not to soften his voice when he spoke this time. He wasn’t saying what he was saying merely to comfort; he was stating fact. “I trust you.”

He rubbed Leslie’s arm. “If teaching me another few things will help you, I’m happy to learn.”

[wildroseofarran]

Leslie stiffened the longer Tristan went on. He hadn't misheard him before. He had said he understood. Had already said his parents didn't approve. His porter didn't approve. Maybe it was just emphasis on what Tristan wanted to say. He didn't know why he was lingering on it.

Or why his skin crawled with prickling irritation. Nothing he wanted to admit out loud, much less to himself.

"She's not wrong." A rare nick of defiance in his tone. "We've cast the same spells and hers are better. She didn't make it up to hurt me."

Even if Belmira had been right and hadn't made up a thing, the fact remained that she had hurt Leslie and that was the crux of Tristan's dislike. He didn't blame or condemn Leslie for doing whatever he had to do to find Charles but he still loathed that woman for putting that particular double-sided blade in Leslie's arsenal.

But his loathing, like his wishes, didn't change a damn thing. Time didn't move backwards, what was done was done, and him letting his emotions get the best of him wasn't going to help his partner.

Tristan nodded, and kissed Leslie's hair again in apology. "I know," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

[wildroseofarran]

He could only shrug. Maybe. Hearing it out loud sounded like perfect logic from Tristan. He wondered if it was permission he sought, and what on earth for he still didn't know. The confession had been made and still his shoulders ached.

"I don't know, baby. I just... don't know." But, at last, he leaned his weight against his shoulder.

Tristan wrapped his arm around Leslie and pressed his lips to his witch's head. He didn't know either. All he could offer were suggestions and a different point of view and that just seemed far too little to be of use.

"I want you to know something, Les," he said softly. "I doubt I'm the first person to say it to you, but you don't need it. The strength and skill and force of will that you have is more than enough. You don't have to compensate for anything or rely on anything. What you are and what you have are more fucking valuable than that and the fact that someone made you believe otherwise?"

His voice trailed off but they both knew he didn't need to say the quiet part out loud.

[wildroseofarran]

A question that would be obvious to anyone else. Leslie shook his head. It hadn't been a consideration for the very reason Tristan had nearly disregarded it.

"It's out of my system. I - I know it's out of my system. You know? I'm... me. It's been months. Maybe I'm just... I dunno. I think I... just want something to fight."

“Do you think there’s a chance that maybe that’s what you’re actually craving? Not that but something to do that lets you fully exercise your magic?” Not that there was anything Tristan could suggest that would even remotely fulfill that need for Leslie.

Complicated situations weren’t something anyone went looking for, they just fell in your lap at the worst possible moment.

[wildroseofarran]

He kept his eyes on their hands as he listened, feeling a world of shame that wasn't Tristan's fault. He shouldn't have said anything, but that wasn't how he was raised. It was a trait passed on to him like an infectious disease. He would like to believe it was the only part of Belmira's personality he had kept, but the fact that he'd stashed the last of what Q had given him for so long proved how much she had influenced him.

He needed it, she said, and he believed her. More than himself.

"What am I supposed to do?" He wanted venom in his voice. There was none. "I've got a purpose. I don't have... a place to put..." He stared at his palms.

Tristan heaved another sigh. The only answer he could come up with sounded so…human and mundane that he almost wasn’t sure if it would help at all. It felt inadequate, and made him feel useless because of it.

“When you got clean the first time,” he began quietly, joining his witch in staring at their hands. “Did you ever go to N.A. ? I know your situation wasn’t typical but…”

[wildroseofarran]

"I thought it would go away. Like last time. You know. Working at the Pearl Pond, she kept me busy. I've been keeping busy, but nothing's different. I just... just thought it would go away."

Tristan gently shook his head. "Doesn't always work that way. Ignoring things and pushing them aside to focus on something else only gets you so far. Back then, Myrtle knew what you were going through and she gave you a purpose to help you. That's why it worked."

He sighed and rubbed Leslie's arm. "You don't have to carry shit alone, Les. You know that right? If you don't wanna tell me the whole story about what happened with Charles--because I know there's more to it, I see it on your face--that's fine. I won't make you. But I do want you to rely on me, to lean on me.

"I love you with my whole life. I want to be there for you the way you have been for me. Don't keep me at arm's length."

[wildroseofarran]

That was just it. "I feel guilty that I don't feel guilty. Does that make sense? Hazel and Clive tell me I don't have to. Fucking Tyson tells me but I know I'm stronger with it. The things I did -"

He cut himself off, shook his head. He told himself he wouldn't elaborate. Tristan didn't need to shoulder that burden, knowing how close to danger he had truly been. It was a wonder Charles hadn't said. Maybe assuming Leslie had said everything. His chest ached at the thought.

"There's nothing, um, more. I'm out. So you don't - it's not in the house." Anymore.

Tristan nodded. “Yeah, it does. You got to Charles. You helped him.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to feel guilty about something that helped save someone you care about, even if it was something less than ideal.”

And there was no arguing that it was less than ideal. Tristan wished to god that using didn’t help Leslie’s magic and that it had never even been presented to him as an option but wishing didn’t change anything. Made him really fucking hate the person who’d presented that option—even more—but it didn’t change anything.

He kissed Leslie’s hand. He didn’t love that it had been in the house to begin with but again…

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having a rough time sooner? The thing with Charles was months ago, Les.”