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draconicseraphim) wrote2013-03-16 09:28 pm
draconicseraphim) wrote2013-03-16 09:28 pm
Entry tags:
All That's Left
Title: All That's Left
Canon: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Hank mostly but everyone really
Word Count: 641
Summary: In which they realize there aren't even pieces left to pick up.
It will take weeks for Charles to recover. If you can really call it a recovery. Hank should be there, he knows the most about his condition, knows how to make the best of what they have here because Charles can’t stay in a public hospital. Hank should be the one taking care of his friend.
The instruments are too delicate, syringes break in his hands, pill bottles crushed as he tries to open them and gloves are impossible. He can’t even change the dressing on Charles’ wound because the first time he tries, not only is it impossible to sterilize it without his fur getting caught up in everything but he accidentally scratches Charles’ arm before he surrenders the task to Moira.
They don’t see him for days after that.
Alex is probably the last person he wants to see but it’s the blond, on his way to the bunker no doubt, that sticks his head into the lab first. “The light was on…” He says by way of explanation as to why he’s interrupting Hank while he’s working on something. Not working on anything. Nothing left to work on. But the “Good to have you back, Beast,” and the cocky smile (not cocky enough, not anymore, he’s scared, just like Hank, just like all of them) are enough to have Hank’s temper rising. The sound of paper tearing has him scowling down at the book held so carefully, so delicately in his hands and Hank roars at Alex. The book hits the door and the blond is smart enough to make himself scarce as the sound echoes up through the house.
He’d finally gotten the lab mostly reassembled. It’s destroyed again in minutes.
No one says anything, even Alex, Hank thinks maybe no one cares. Days turn to weeks, Charles joins them at lunch one day, sore and sad and achingly weary but with a somber determination. Watching Moira wheel Charles out onto the grounds gives him purpose again. It takes him days to work out the prototype, not because it requires days but because, now more than ever, his body cannot keep up with his mind. He goes too fast and he fumbles, things fall apart. He does not destroy the lab again. He can’t now. It’s too important.
Alex needs a new suit, needs to be able to fight back if they come to take him back to prison. He won’t go back.
Sean needs better wings, flame retardant, more durable, safer. He can’t let him fall again.
They need the jet, there’s nothing left, it doesn’t matter. They’re left and that’s all they need to move on. Charles is left, and he won’t let the fight die.
He says nothing, simply leaves the chair in Charles’ room in the wee hours of the morning. All plastic, not a single metal part in the entire thing. 100% synthetic. It isn’t much but it’s the best protection he can give his friend now. Protection… against a man whom they’d considered a friend, a leader. Physical protection, perhaps, but if Charles ever needs that edge nothing any of them can do will protect him from the pain of that.
Thank you. We miss you, my friend. Words in his mind that draw a growl from him. Another book torn. He almost lets himself swear… almost. Instead he buries himself in his work again, feeling for all the world like the Beast, straight from a fairy tale. Alex didn't realize how apt that was. He had perfection come to his door and show him beauty… he turned it away and now he traps himself inside a castle, hating everything he is, distancing himself from the people that want to help him. The only difference is that he let Belle walk away and there is no way of breaking this curse.
Canon: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Hank mostly but everyone really
Word Count: 641
Summary: In which they realize there aren't even pieces left to pick up.
It will take weeks for Charles to recover. If you can really call it a recovery. Hank should be there, he knows the most about his condition, knows how to make the best of what they have here because Charles can’t stay in a public hospital. Hank should be the one taking care of his friend.
The instruments are too delicate, syringes break in his hands, pill bottles crushed as he tries to open them and gloves are impossible. He can’t even change the dressing on Charles’ wound because the first time he tries, not only is it impossible to sterilize it without his fur getting caught up in everything but he accidentally scratches Charles’ arm before he surrenders the task to Moira.
They don’t see him for days after that.
Alex is probably the last person he wants to see but it’s the blond, on his way to the bunker no doubt, that sticks his head into the lab first. “The light was on…” He says by way of explanation as to why he’s interrupting Hank while he’s working on something. Not working on anything. Nothing left to work on. But the “Good to have you back, Beast,” and the cocky smile (not cocky enough, not anymore, he’s scared, just like Hank, just like all of them) are enough to have Hank’s temper rising. The sound of paper tearing has him scowling down at the book held so carefully, so delicately in his hands and Hank roars at Alex. The book hits the door and the blond is smart enough to make himself scarce as the sound echoes up through the house.
He’d finally gotten the lab mostly reassembled. It’s destroyed again in minutes.
No one says anything, even Alex, Hank thinks maybe no one cares. Days turn to weeks, Charles joins them at lunch one day, sore and sad and achingly weary but with a somber determination. Watching Moira wheel Charles out onto the grounds gives him purpose again. It takes him days to work out the prototype, not because it requires days but because, now more than ever, his body cannot keep up with his mind. He goes too fast and he fumbles, things fall apart. He does not destroy the lab again. He can’t now. It’s too important.
Alex needs a new suit, needs to be able to fight back if they come to take him back to prison. He won’t go back.
Sean needs better wings, flame retardant, more durable, safer. He can’t let him fall again.
They need the jet, there’s nothing left, it doesn’t matter. They’re left and that’s all they need to move on. Charles is left, and he won’t let the fight die.
He says nothing, simply leaves the chair in Charles’ room in the wee hours of the morning. All plastic, not a single metal part in the entire thing. 100% synthetic. It isn’t much but it’s the best protection he can give his friend now. Protection… against a man whom they’d considered a friend, a leader. Physical protection, perhaps, but if Charles ever needs that edge nothing any of them can do will protect him from the pain of that.
Thank you. We miss you, my friend. Words in his mind that draw a growl from him. Another book torn. He almost lets himself swear… almost. Instead he buries himself in his work again, feeling for all the world like the Beast, straight from a fairy tale. Alex didn't realize how apt that was. He had perfection come to his door and show him beauty… he turned it away and now he traps himself inside a castle, hating everything he is, distancing himself from the people that want to help him. The only difference is that he let Belle walk away and there is no way of breaking this curse.