Showing posts tagged with “Charles/Wes”

It’s Wednesday! That means Wesley/Charles!

So, you know the drill. Like, reblog or comment on this and you get a Wesley/Charles fic. Brilliant isn’t it?

Charles/Wes fic of some kind

Just a small fic that involved Charles/Wes that I ran out of steam with. Thakyou PJ for betaing, any mistakes found are mine and mine alone :)

Warning: Character death, dark twisted Charles.

Wesley stares, and stares some more. It might be rude, but hey, cut a guy some slack. He was staring at his fucking doppelgänger. It was sort of freaky, not that it should be, considering he has seen some pretty fucked-up shit. 

Yet here he was, staring at his not-twin. It was just odd. It was a tiny bit unnerving that his identical stranger was staring back at him and not blinking. Seriously, he hasn’t seen the guy blink once since he started staring, not even a flutter. Wesley - doesn’t get it. Who on this green and godforsaken earth didn’t fucking blink? Maybe the guy was some type of weird-ass mutant that just didn’t fucking blink. 

That gets him a smirk out of his double. He frowns back, because what else was a guy supposed to do? Smile? Ha. 

"He’s a telepath."

Wesley breaks away from his staring contest and raises an eyebrow at one Miss Jean Grey.

"What the actual — are you kidding me? He’s been reading my thoughts the entire time, hasn’t he?" Wesley kicks at the concrete, what else was he supposed to do? "Better question. Why haven’t you stopped him yet?" He changes the look for a glare, because fuck, she was supposed to stop shit like that from happening. Fucking hell.

She returns glare for glare. “I can’t.”

His double is just smiling away and Wes just wants to punch something, or someone. He ain’t fucking picky. “What the hell do you mean you can’t? You’re a fucking telepath too!”

Grey just looks at him like he’s an idiot. “He’s blocking me.”

Well fuck. Wesley glares at his double, and the mother fucker just smiles. God damn it.

'Your mind is interesting'

Wesley nearly jumps three feet in the air. Holy crap. His not-twin is still smiling, but now, now Wesley sees the intelligence sneaking through.


Wesley frowns. What the fuck?

He hears a sigh in his head. It sounds bemused. 

'My name, you silly boy'

Fucking ass. Grey is looking at him, the corners of her eyes pinched with worry. He’s tempted to give her the finger. He didn’t need her fucking concern.

'I like you Wesley'

He does give Charles the finger, mentally and physically. It gets him a laugh out of Charles. Makes everyone jump. It only takes him a second to realise that the others weren’t in the conversation. Probably all thought Charles was a fucking loony. Wes certainly does.

'Aren't you charming?'

He doesn’t do charming. Screw charming. The feeling of amusement fills his head and he really wants to shoot the little bastard.

"Look. Just tell us if there is anyone else around, and we’ll be on our merry fucking way."

Wesley has had enough of this and just wants get out of here and away from his double. 

'Everyone's dead?'

Charles sounds so fucking hopeful, Wesley wonders what went down here. Wonders how fucked up Charles truly is. He doesn’t question though, just nods. Charles moves so fast, that if Wesley hadn’t been staring at him, he would have missed him. Stark lets out a shout of surprise. Wesley is running after Charles before he really understands what is happening. The rest of the team follows. It’s clear, the way Charles moves, that he had spent a long time in this basement. 

Wesley follows Charles out of the basement, up the five flights of stairs and out of the mansion. He thinks, maybe, it would be useless to follow Charles any longer. The way Charles runs though (like a man that was focused on one thing and didn’t know anything but that thing) makes him think twice. He continues to run after Charles, stumbling slightly in the snow with the others behind him, until Charles reaches a tree.

A fucking tree.

He stops behind Charles, an arms length away and he watches as Charles collapses to his knees. That’s when he notices the headstone. He leans forward and catches sight of the name, scratched poorly into the stone (it looks like a child’s handwriting).

Erik Lehnsherr.