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Charles died on an unknown day at an unknown time. Erik didn’t even know where the man was buried.
He kept seeing Charles' lithe form splayed underneath the rubble of a building, rivulets of blood, limp fingers, a destroyed body. He saw clouds of dust as explosions rocked the city and left nothing but a hair of Charles behind.
One moment he was planning on how to thwart the telepath, and the next, he was fighting the X-Men.
“Where’s your illustrious leader? Did one of his wheels break on the highway?” he sneered, and internally winced because no matter how bad or early the morning, that was a low blow and he knew it.
"How dare you deface his memory!" and then Erik knew something was wrong because-
"-what?" he paused, a lamppost still wrapped around Havoc's neck, but the man bit his lips shut, a furious glare on his face.
"What about Charles?!" Erik spat, but still the man glared. The lamppost tightened, but there was enough room for Havoc to tilt his head up defiantly.
"TELL ME!" but Havoc didn't have to tell him because Erik recognized the despair in his eyes; he recognized it from the younger Erik, who realized that his mother was dead because of him.
He vaguely remembered letting the man go, the lamppost unwrapping from an unconscious body. He remembered summoning Mystique, remembered a grand mansion filled with young mutants, remembered his old friend clapping him on the back...
"Charles?" Erik woke in his office, uncomfortably positioned on the couch. The room was empty.
For the first time since he obtained it, he took off his helmet and waited eagerly for Charles to prod his mind, like the Professor had been trying for years. Waited for pleas and begging.
'Maybe it's a ploy,' Erik thought absently. 'Maybe Havoc said those things because Charles knew that I would feel safe without a telepath like him around.'
But no prodding came.
'Charles?' he thought, but there was no response.
'Charles? Charles! CHARLES!'
Emma rushed in.
"Erik?" she murmured. He looked up.
"Tell me if it's true."
"That you have grey hair?" she put on a smile, but lost it when he didn't react.
"That Charles Xavier is dead."
"His power surpasses mine; he has been able to shield his mind from me for a long time," she deflected, but didn't tell him that for the past several days, she felt that mind weaken. That she felt his defenses fall as his body broke down, felt the void in telepathic space as one of the greatest telepaths shuddered and died.
"I want you to try," Erik pushed.
"He's dead; you know this already," she replied softly. Erik didn't question how she knew; he drew a breath and sent her away.
"Tell Mystique,” he instructed as she passed underneath the door frame.
"I believe that it would be best if you told her."
"No. I- I need to think. We will deal with this our own way," he nodded and swept out of the room, finally free hair fluttering. Climbing to the roof of the hotel, he relaxed his tense shoulders and stared at the streets of Paris, bustling and beautiful in the early morning.
Why was it that he couldn't find even a little satisfaction that his enemy was dead? That when he tried to fill his mind with past battles to dampen the pain, he only remembered lit eyes and a kind smile? That he only remembered training new mutants together, exceeding the limits of their power together, becoming friends…
He should have tried harder to convince Charles to join him. He should have shown the man that his method wasn’t working, that registration was nearly upon them, that if Tony Stark couldn’t prevent SHRA, then how could he? That Charles should have joined his side as soon as it became apparent that even Captain America agreed with Magneto…
But Erik gave up, didn’t he? He was so used to, so tired, of asking Charles to join him only to be shot down that when the moment came for him to ask one more time, he didn’t.
‘But Charles was a grown man, he could fight his own battles…’
But how many nights since they parted did Charles stay with Cerebro and scry for him? How many thousands of missed hours of sleep? How often had Erik wanted to take off the helmet for something as simple as a shower but was soon bombarded with Charles’ cries? If for the one moment that Erik took off the helmet, Charles was there, how many moments when the helmet was on was the man still there?
Between classes? Between REM sleep? Forgoing REM?
And Charles persisted because Erik was his friend. And Erik ignored him because Charles was a lost cause, but, still, it was Charles.
This was Charles, whom he loved more than everyone else he ever loved combined. Oh, he loved his dear, beautiful Raven. She was marvelous woman, beautiful in her own right, beautiful because she was a paragon of all things society hated, yet so strong and brave. How unique his Raven was! How gorgeous she looked with the fading moonlight glinting off her sapphire skin! But yet again how beautiful was Charles, the epitome of physical normality, with his sparkling eyes and devilish grin, his wit and his intellect. How very normal he was, but how very beautiful; how very shallow of Erik to love him, then.
These siblings, how they drove him crazy with confusion.
Raven was his anchor, who tied him to reason even as rage consumed and shadowed his dreams. She gave him strength and camaraderie when he felt alone on the battlefield, facing the man the both of them loved. But Charles was his cause; he was the honor that men died for during the Great War, and the faith that started the Crusades. Charles’ smile woke him from enemy prison cells, and his encouragement dragged him from the cold embrace of a fitful sleep many times before; even though they were on opposing sides, it was Charles whom Erik thought of as he fought. That if only he could win, if only he could prove to Charles that he was wrong, but that his misconception was okay because Erik saved them all… then all would be well. That they, the mutants, could have a peaceful life together.
It wasn’t until Charles’ death that Erik realized that Tony Stark must have thought the same thing during the Civil War.
How could he have deserted him?
It was a dreary morning when Erik found out, with Havoc's lasers raining down onto barren ground and Magneto's metallic creatures wrecking havoc. The air was cold and dusty, but the clouds were in cookie-cutter shapes, sprawled lazily across the sky. Closing his eyes, Erik saw the changing colors of the leaves and the piling garbage in the dumpsters, the color of the brick and the texture of the gravel against his face.
What was is like when Charles died? Was he in pain? Was he fighting? Did it happen while he was sleeping?
"Erik!" Raven barreled through the roof door in tears, but Erik paid her no mind, too busy reconciling the beautiful Parisian view with his grim news.
The Eiffel Tower creaked, a hunk of metal held together by nuts and bolts.
Raven wrapped an arm around his bicep.
When the tower crumbled underneath his power, Erik’s only thought was that it was fitting that he had destroyed something beautiful, again.