Chapter Text
Every time they had reason to go to Boston, Raven checked the post office box she rented there: box 2822, nondescript and always, always empty.
And then one day it wasn’t.
A lone postcard was perched inside, somewhat worse for its journey with creased corners and a coffee stain across the New York skyline on the front, bleeding through to the postmark. On the back there were three words written in cramped, precise script:
Charles needs you.
+++
“Raven!” The exclamation was mostly just a gasp; Sean’s arms were around her immediately, as if no time at all had passed. As if they were friends, planning to meet here, and she hadn’t been stalking him for hours waiting on a chance to catch him in a public place like this. “It’s been… it’s been years!” Indeed the people milling about in this grocery store took no more note of them than they would have any other old friends reuniting. Never considering that mutants were in their midst. Humans.
“You look great,” she said. He did, too. He’d grown into his gangly limbs, learned to tame his wild hair.
“Speak for yourself!” he replied immediately, and then blanched when he realized that she was wearing her human skin and would probably be offended. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, no.” She shook her head. “Thank you. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed everyone.” The “everyone” was a bit pointed; she hoped he would catch it.
“Oh. So I take it you heard about the professor?” Good, he caught it. “How?”
She brandished the postcard, now even more care-worn than when she’d received it; she had spent many hours just staring at it, hoping that it would somehow contain some hidden message. And then when Erik had seen it… well, Erik was not a calm man. Not when Charles was involved, at least. “I’m guessing it’s from Hank. It looks like his handwriting, but I haven’t seen it in a while.”
Sean nodded. “Yeah, it does. Well. He didn’t lie, at least. About Xavier I mean. But based on that postmark, he sent it almost six months ago. Things have gotten worse since then…”
“Can you take us to him, Sean?”
“Well, I can tr— wait. ‘Us’? ‘Us’ who?” Sean cast around, suddenly as skittish as a rabbit.
“Us.” Erik stepped out from the nearby aisles. He regarded the younger man for a moment with steely eyes. “Sean.” Slight incline of the head.
“Um. Magneto.” Sean made as if to shake Erik’s hand but then thought better of it, wiped his palm awkwardly on his thigh. “No, uh…” He motioned around his head.
“No helmet. Why? Can you read minds now?”
“No, but if you wanted to see the professor…”
“We’re here on a goodwill mission,” Raven cut in, trying to ease the tension. “If Charles needs help, we want to help him.”
Sean nodded, eyes flicking from Erik’s face to Raven’s and back. “Well, if Hank thinks it would help… I don’t know, personally. You might just make it worse.”
Erik’s teeth gritted audibly and Sean swallowed.
“Okay, okay, but don’t say that I didn’t try to warn you.”
+++
The mansion, at least, was more or less the same; though it now bore a crest on the gate (”Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters”, and damned if she didn’t smile a little at that) and the sounds of young people laughing filled the warm spring air with a jovial feeling. A ball whizzed by as they passed into the yards, chased down by a boy who appeared to be creating ice under his feet to slide on. A white-haired girl made a great sweeping motion and sent a gust of wind to knock the wolf-boy over, sending the ball flying out of his arms.
It seemed that Charles had amassed quite a collection.
A few of them stopped to watch Sean and his guests curiously, but none of them seemed particularly concerned. How lovely it must be, Raven thought, to live within these walls and not have any fears. And then like being doused with ice water the memory of her own time living here returned: how Charles had protected her. That was just his way. Next to her Erik’s hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, his face completely unreadable.
Unreadable to anyone but Charles.
Where was he, anyway? Surely he was already aware of them being here, had been since before they’d ever set foot on the property. Why hadn’t he come out to greet them?
Sean led them into the mansion proper, past a few rooms where it seemed classes were taking place, and into the wing where Charles’ rooms had always been. The nostalgia of it all twisted at her guts; how she missed these long hallways where she and Charles had played and fought as children, had planned their futures down to the last detail. How terribly different things had actually turned out. She stole a glance at Erik and saw that his own face was awash with some emotion, eyes lost to memories. They would probably have made her blush, those memories: they were drawing close to Charles’ bedroom, where he and Erik had spent many a (noisy) night together while they’d all been playing at having a happy family.
They could hear a voice once outside the door of Charles’ study: Hank. He sounded agitated, louder than necessary. Sean shot Raven an apologetic look. “Well, here you are.” He turned the knob on the door and let it fall open.
The first thing that hit them was the stench: the smell of an unwashed person: sweat and oil. The reek of alcohol. The heat of the room was next, oppressive, making the smell worse. Raven worked hard to not cover her nose, but couldn’t help the grimace.
Hank— Beast, now— turned as the door opened. His blue-furred face raced through a series of emotions (shock, joy, relief) before he stepped toward them; and in doing so, cleared the view to Charles. His form was slight, frail. Just a husk of a man, really, curled in on itself against the armrest of the wheelchair. Eyes unseeing. Hair lank and greasy, face unshaven. His clothes were stained with sweat and perhaps food or drink, it was impossible to tell. He seemed to take no notice of them entering the room; in fact Raven would have been worried that he was asleep— or worse, God forbid— if she hadn’t seen his fingers clenching and releasing rhythmically.
“Raven, you finally came,” Hank was saying, moving toward her, putting a great heavy arm around her shoulders. She barely heard. Next to her Erik was growling lowly in his throat, at what she did not know; but he pushed past her, past Beast, and marched directly to Charles.
“Charles,” he said, reaching a hand out to his old friend. No reaction at all. Raven, glancing sadly at Beast, moved to Erik’s side, and they looked together down at this man they had once known so well. Her brother.
Her eyes traced over the room, cataloging: books were disheveled, strewn about the floor. Empty bottles littered every cranny. An empty syringe on the table whispered of something far worse. “Charles, it’s— it’s Raven…” she said, then berated herself: of course it was Raven. He wasn’t blind. She reached out to touch his cheek and he flinched away. “Charles…”
“Charles.” Erik closed his hand over the smaller man’s arm, long fingers engulfing it easily. “What’s wrong with you? What have you done?” He turned and glared at Hank and Sean, cowering in the doorway. “What did he do?”
“He’s just… self-medicating,” Beast supplied, not making eye contact. “He’s been doing it for a while now.”
“What did he take?”
“Other than the alcohol, I have no idea. He tinkers around with chemicals a lot these days.”
Raven saw the muscle in Erik’s jaw twitch at that. He was silent for a long moment, hand still gripping Charles’ arm, eyes fixed on Charles’ downcast face. “This is beneath you, Charles,” he said finally, voice rough and sad. “Come on.” With that he leaned forward and scooped Charles up, easily— too easily— and the other man simply dangled there like a doll. “I’m at least going to clean him up,” Erik said to the room at large, though he threw an admonishing look at Beast, as if to say which you should have been doing.
He carried Charles into the adjoining bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind them. Left Raven standing, stricken, next to Charles’ empty chair, with Beast and Sean looking at their feet, at the walls, anywhere but her.
“What happened to him?” she finally asked. Her voice was barely a whisper.
“You happened to him,” Beast answered. “The two of you.” His voice, as well, was barely a whisper.