Title: The Road Less Travelled

Author: Milliecake

Fandom: X-Men: First Class

Category: Angst/Adventure

Rating: T

Warnings: AU, bromance (new word of the month!) possibly slashy (I've been told) lots of spoilers for the end of the movie, including shameless dialogue theft

Disclaimer: Do not own, but if I did I'd make a sequel. And possibly make them do naughty things. For box office ratings.

Summary: What if Charles had been at Erik's side during the final confrontation with Shaw, would the course of history be irrevocably changed?

Author's Notes: I know there's been a lot of AU beach scenes, but I felt one flaw of the movie's own scenes was Charles not being with Erik in that last confrontation with Shaw, especially when he lost contact (Charles your legs were working at that point, git over there boy). I know Shaw was Erik's target, the man he'd hunted for years, but Erik cutting himself off from Charles at the end seemed like a lost opportunity, especially if he had witness the pain he was causing Charles.

I don't read X-Men but I'm sure there's some AU stuff going on, and let's face it the ending is so bittersweet, so just consider this an alternative where they have the chance to live happily ever after and have lots of adventures and mutant babies and stuff.

OoOoO

"Erik! Take my hand."

He refused to heed the command, ignoring the warning in the other's voice as fierce, gritted determination swept through Erik Lensherr. Now that he had Shaw, literally within his grasp he was unwilling to let another opportunity foolishly slip through his fingers, to let another, brief moment in long years of hunting flit by as nothing but failure. A little further, he thought, just a little further...

And then hurricane winds and the savage spray of salt-water was forcing him to relinquish his grip, leaving him drenched and clinging to the landing gear of the Blackbird. But gazing downwards he held witness to his own marvel, Shaw's submarine beaching, twisting in a cacophony of grinding, sheering metal upon Cuban shores.

Over the roar of strained engines, Erik heard the same cry as before repeated above, more forcefully this time and with an accompanying shout inside his head that he couldn't ignore. He suddenly became aware of the danger Charles had seen. As the aircraft was whipped into a tailspin, as he heard the explosive detonation of a wing tearing loose, he hurled himself toward that proffered hand, never once questioning whether it would be strong enough, hold fast enough. Metal was spinning, out of control. Hauling himself inside the craft he had a moment to realise what that would mean for Charles...Charles who had never returned to the safety of his seat, had stayed, for Erik...

Struggling to raise the mass of the submarine, Erik had found himself that child again, in the presence of Herr Doktor Schmidt, desperate and helplessly grasping, trying to make the metal move and failing as tears came to his eyes, realising he did not have the power to save his mother. And then the images inside his mind, evoking one single, bittersweet memory, the evocative scent of wax, a haze of candles.

"Remember, the point between rage and serenity."

Charles' own emotions were bound within the words he sent to Erik, his heartbreak for Erik, his trust, his love for his friend. It had been enough and Erik had suddenly reached that perfect balance, calm waters meeting raging fire to focus, strengthen beyond anything he had every known. His fingers had ceased to tremble, ceased to grasp at, instead drawing to him, a mass of energy and raw power coming rest within his palm...

Raven's high pitched scream propelled Erik into instinctive action, and he lunged forward, desperately throwing himself headlong over his young friend, protectively covering the slighter man with his own, broader body. Using his powers to weld them both to the hangar decking, he heard Charles' yell over his own roar as the g-force spin threatened to crush them...as the tail section they had occupied but moments before was sundered in a fiery explosion.

Floor, ceiling, up and down became a blur as the forward section of the Blackbird rolled to a thundering halt, belly to the sky. Erik slowly, painfully let go, feeling his body gently drift downwards, his powers cradling both himself and a groaning Charles for the softest landing he could manage.

Charles, dishevelled but in full possession of his not inconsiderable faculties despite the crash landing, quickly took up the mantle of leadership as they freed the others. As Charles laid out Shaw's intentions, plans stolen from the teleporter's mind, Erik stared through unbroken glass, at the felled trees, the burning sand, the explosions still ripping through fuselage of the torn tail section. The swathe of destruction caused by his enemy's vessel. The very vessel that contained Shaw.

"I'm going in." The words shot from his mouth, not as a question, not seeking permission, but Charles didn't break his verbal stride, instructing the two younger mutants to accompany Erik into clear danger.

If their youth was a concern, now was not the time to voice it. This was what they had trained for, had already risked their lives for. If Shaw's plan were to succeed, none of them could know what would be left, of either human or mutant kind. The three who stood guard in the sand before the submarine were either fools or had some plan to survive an explosion of a hundred Hiroshima proportions, enough to wipe Cuba from the world map.

Either way, they worked for Shaw and, like the woman Frost, like the greedy Swiss bank managers who gave succour to the enemy, corrupted by their stolen gold, in Erik's mind it planted them firmly in sympathiser territory. They stood in his way and he would show no mercy. The very essence of Erik Lensherr, ruthless, efficient Nazi hunter, had supplanted all else.

"Erik." Charles' cut glass tones dragged him almost unwillingly back from thoughts of that long anticipated confrontation. "I can guide you through once you're in but I need you to shut down whatever it is that's blocking me. Then we just hope to god it's not too late for me to stop him."

"Got it." It gave Erik the chance to look away, to reveal nothing as he turned to obey.

Charles, so intent upon this plan, to telepathically manipulate Shaw into surrender, failed to delve beyond the shallow waters of Erik's mind. The images there dutifully swam with thoughts of stopping Shaw, but the details...the details were for Erik alone.

As the boy, Alex, opened with a salvo, as he and Hank McCoy battled the teleporter then vanished in a puff of red miasma, Erik was already charging towards the Caspartina, hurtling over debris. Mossad trained, he was no stranger to stealth when it suited his purpose but here, where only burnished sands separated him from his goal, subtlety had no place.

The enemy mutant, climbing to his feet, was brutally flattened as Erik all but bisected the submarine, yanking a clump of shrieking metal and twisted wires from the belly of the beast, recklessly leaping through a cascade of water into Shaw's lair.

Erik. Charles' voice, inside his mind, was decisive. Erik had half-expected some chiding at his brash charge but none was forthcoming. Make for the middle of the vessel. That's the point my mind can't penetrate, we have to assume that that's where Shaw is.

Prowling through the damaged vessel, ignoring the sparks, the lights flashing their warnings, Erik could sense the confidence in Charles through the link and anticipation filled the very fibres of his being, warring with the dread that had settled heavily in his stomach, a weighty, antagonising thing. He wasn't afraid, inured to pain thanks to the man he'd once known as Schmidt, but failure was a luxury he couldn't afford. And that was the true torture. He felt with certainty, within the very core of his being, that this would be his one and only chance for vengeance before the world went to hell.

That's the nuclear reactor, Charles informed him as he paused before a panel. Disable it.

Erik obeyed slowly, relishing the movement. In perverse pleasure, he stripped Shaw of this latest feast, the memory of a bar of chocolate pushed across a desk rearing in his mind, the way Schmidt had greedily savoured the luxury while outside people had starved, hungry and skeletal, beyond the comfort of the office walls.

The now familiar sense of expectation coiled like a snake in his belly. His enemy would now be alerted to his presence, that Erik was coming. For him.

Would Shaw know fear? Would there be that faintest worry at the back of the mutant's mind, the possibility that retribution, no matter how long or how far he had come, might now find him? Would guilt, shame, the singular terror that every Nazi, every collaborator that Erik had hunted down, too be his?

Schmidt had been an inexorable, tyrannical presence to his young mind, delighting in wanton destruction, entirely at ease with Erik's terrifying abilities. Vindictive and cruel. Would Shaw, this clean-shaven, decadent businessman be any different?

The hatch swung outwards at a bare command, Erik's eyes furiously searching through scattered opulence, finding only an empty room.

Erik, you're there, you've reached the void. Charles voice was low, intent, a subtle warning to be on guard, to be ready.

"He's not here Charles," he said aloud, his voice rising with the growing sense he'd been thwarted, yet again. "Shaw's not here! He's left the sub." He said the last with frustrated certainty. With the teleporter in the vicinity, Shaw could be anywhere by now.

What? Charles sounded as frustrated as he felt. He's got to be there. He has to be. There's no where else he can be. Keep looking.

Did he think Erik blind? "And I'm telling you he's not," he snapped back, his temper growing. "There's no one here goddamit."

You've sent me on a fools errand, Charles, he thought, angrily, uncaring if that got sent back through the link. He should never have trusted someone else to this, not even Charles, should have relied on the instincts that had brought him thus far.

The smooth, opening glide of a door behind him echoed as a chill that swept up his back as a caress, the fine hairs on the back of his neck pricking as he half-turned to the figure that awaited him.

"Erik". His voice was softer than he remembered, but still held that deceptive gentleness, echoing through the helmet he wore. "What a pleasant surprise."

Erik? Erik! A burst of alarm, bright, cerulean concern flooding his head.

But his mind had shut down of its own accord, thoughts turning leaden, cold and silent as he turned to finally gaze upon the man he had hated and hunted for near to two decades.

The night strike upon the boat had given Erik little more than a glimpse, but now...now through the slanted, twisted doorway he could see that Schmidt had barely aged, if at all. Shaw, this new outer shell, was different, more...soft, suave, less of the scholarly, pernicious Herr Doktor. But while the chameleon appeared to have slewn off old skin, inside those benevolent, smiling eyes Erik, familiar with every look, every word through countless nightmarish memories, could see the soul remained the same.

Cruelty a fist within a velvet glove, power easily restrained and easily abused, that same confidence and delight in all things terrible.

"So good to see you again." Even his words failed to sound disingenuous, as if he were truly pleased.

Erik approached, slowly, one foot before the other. His rage was a cold, icy metal that deadened his mind and he could sense Charles, struggling, fighting to reach his thoughts, frantically calling his name. As the door slid shut behind him, an intimate, claustrophobic sealing, he felt the younger man cut off entirely and he wasn't displeased. Charles' friendship was a warmth that was a danger to his plans.

Shaw continued in that same velveteen voice. "May I ask you something?"

Erik came to a stop before his enemy.

OoOoO

Erik's mind was an impenetrable sheet of iron, and Charles called his name, within and without, seeking something to grasp, to latch onto.

He could see Sebastian Shaw through Erik's eyes, could feel the slow thump of Erik's heart, could sense the coiled tautness of his friend as he approached the man. But Erik wasn't responding. And as he entered the mirrored room, as a multitude of refracted Eriks came to stand before the man they knew as Shaw, as the door slid downwards like a scythe, suddenly Charles couldn't sense him at all.

"He's gone." Fear, frustration made him bite out the words, dropping his hand uselessly. He hadn't anticipated this. How had he not prepared for this?

"What?" Moira, crouched over communications, sounded confused. She had not been party to their conversation.

Erik's thoughts had been...frightening, in their lack of emotion, their lack of responsiveness in the wake of Shaw's emergence. Charles had never idolised Erik, though he was fascinated by the man, had always known this side of his friend existed, that cold, lupine capacity, honed, predatorial instincts that allowed Erik Lensherr to exact his vengeance with breathtaking cruelty.

And how he had exacted that vengeance, compelled by an anger, a rage so all consuming that it had become an integral part of him. He had hunted down his persecutor through the years, but his pain had found many others along the way, just as deserving, their guilt a palpable stench, their lives a stain on all that was good.

Charles had not shied from those memories, those unforgiving judgements. He had never allowed himself to be deceived by his ideal of the man, an Erik Lensherr freed of his grief, his torment. But only through the contact of their minds had he hoped to sway the older man, to mirror back to him that very same ideal, of his potential, of what he could be.

"He's gone into the void," he explained, desperation making his voice sharper than he had intended. "I can't communicate with him there."

Erik must have known, must have guessed what that room would do to Charles' telepathy.

He intended to confront Shaw alone.

Gazing through a shattered window at the Caspartina, pushing aside a sense of betrayal, Charles realised he couldn't allow Erik to do it. Erik was his friend, a good man, burdened enough by memories, the horror of the camps, the brutal murders committed by his hand. They both knew killing Shaw wouldn't bring him peace but killing Shaw would be an irrevocable act. A line that, once crossed, there would be no coming back from.

Erik needed to know he could be the better man, that he could be free. Charles was determined to show him how.

"I'm going after him," he told Moira, suddenly, picking his way through the damaged section before she could reply.

"Then I'm going with you." Raven, yellow eyes fierce, started to follow.

He didn't need to read her thoughts to guess her concern for Erik, that she was oh so determined to be a part of this. But out there, her mutant powers wouldn't have much use and the limp she attempted to hide was all too obvious. And she was his sister. He'd once sworn to keep her safe, one promise he fully intended to keep.

"No," he ordered, emphasising his instructions with an echoing thought inside her mind. "You must stay here Raven, guard Moira."

She looked ready to argue, glancing back at the grey clad CIA agent, but he had already taken off, running through the sand after Erik as he'd once chased after the man through the grounds of the Russian Defence Chief's estate. He had the terrible feeling, as he had back then, that Erik was about to commit a horrifying mistake.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he could make out hazy shapes across the watery distance.

Moira, get those ships out of here, he flung to the woman as he ran, knowing the concise message would be somewhat lost as movement and his concern for Erik sapped his concentration. If Shaw managed to carry out his plan, the loss of those vessels in an unclear nuclear devastation would inevitably trigger war.

OoOoO

"Why are you on their side?

Wordlessly, Erik regarded the man he had come to kill. Barely hearing that soft voice, the American accent, it was Schmidt's harsh, Germanic tones, Schmidt's clinically inquisitive eyes watching him and Erik fought not to be that child again. Fought not to be the broken boy who had screamed and suffered under that unremitting curiosity, fought against the devastating memory of wishing for death, envying those who passed daily through the gates...

He could barely draw breath as Shaw continued, his voice stroking as if a favoured pet.

"Why fight for a doomed race that will hunt us down as soon as they realise their reign is coming to an end?"

He looked at Erik as if he were that boy again, a specimen whose inexplicable traits were to be laid out under harsh lights and restraints and forceps. This time, the scalpel was aimed at Erik's soul.

Erik lashed out with his left hand, a clenched fist, without even realising his intention to physically strike. Shaw's head snapped to the side, blurred then came back into focus, the man standing as before, as if Erik had never even struck him.

It was then Erik began to understand the other mutant's devastating abilities, the reason Schmidt had never shown fear as metal crushed and scythed and sheered at a Jewish boy's command.

"I'm sorry for what happened in the camps."

Shaw's words were a knife's edge dragging across an old, unhealed scar. Fresh blood welled as salt water in Erik's eyes. He felt crushed beneath the weight of the lie, the realisation that in the face of Shaw's impenetrable powers he was still that child.

All those men and women Erik had hunted, interrogated, killed, their eyes had all held a hidden, filthy shame, belying their pleading innocence. They had condemned themselves.

Behind Shaw's eyes within the helm, there was no remorse, no humanity, the lives of those people, Erik's own family, nothing but specks of dirt to be brushed aside by a god.

"I truly am."

The kindly smile at the mouthed platitude revealed the façade.

As if reading Erik's thoughts, Shaw brought one hand up and gently touched the younger man's forehead.

Instantly, Erik felt himself flung backwards by the sheer power that coursed through that simple touch, an explosive force that sent him crashing into the mirrored wall like an insect casually flicked by a finger, cracking the fragile glass, to fall with a pained, breathless grunt to the floor.

OoOoO

Charles skidded to a stop in a spray of sand, fingers flying to his temple. He's back, he thought, in a surge of delight, unsure if he'd said the words aloud. Erik was back, but the connection was tenuous, nebulous. He remained as still as possible in order to focus down the thin thread that led to Erik's mind, realising he was vulnerable like this, frozen and out in the open, aware a battle was being fought on the beach behind him.

He could only trust the others to do their work as he would not abandon Erik to the man who had caused him such pain, even at the cost of his own exposure.

He stretched his telepathy, straining his ability as much as he was able to reach the other man through what could only be the slimmest of cracks in Shaw's shielding, psychic, metaphorical fingers intertwining between the bars of a cage.

Erik whatever you're doing, keep doing it, it's starting to work. He hadn't meant to sound quite so jubilant, not when they still had a long way to go, but relief that Erik was still alive, still able to hear him, overwhelmed all else.

Erik himself resonated raw pain, not just physical cuts and forming bruises, and Charles suddenly received a strong impression of two soldiers screaming as their helmets crushed inwards, a cold, deadly fury, then Erik's frustration as he was somehow thwarted from doing the same to Shaw.

And Charles could hear Shaw now, oil over water, as he spoke down to Erik, earnest, patronising, unaware or uncaring of the other man's silent, failed intent.

"...but everything I did, I did for you. To unlock your power, to make you...embrace it."

Through Erik's eyes Charles briefly saw Shaw's hand reach beneath his chin as if to raise his face, then Erik was flying, crashing, shards reining down. Shaw's power was truly staggering, seemingly immense, limitless. Charles had felt the pulse of energy he had used to strike at Erik and it was but a fraction, a minuscule, of what he truly had at his command.

A cell door to the void had yawned wide at Shaw's casual brutality and destruction of the mirrors and Charles' mind hungrily filled the broken room, coming to alight on his friend's agony.

It's working, he told Erik, grimly, hoping he knew his pain was not for naught. I'm starting to see him but I can't yet touch his mind.

A little further Erik, he thought to himself.

OoOoO

I'm with you my friend.

Dragging himself upright, Erik gazed with loathing at the smug, satisfied features of his enemy, hidden behind that damned helmet, the item incongruous, out of place amongst Shaw's decadence and comforts. And nothing had responded to his call within the shiny encasing, no alloy to prick its ears at the master's call, nothing to warp and bend and use to drive through Shaw's skull into soft brain tissue below.

It's the damned helmet. Erik wasn't sure if the belated thought was his own or Charles', but he knew, however Shaw had devised it, it had been made not just to guard against Charles' telepathy, but against Erik's powers as well.

"You've come a long way from bending gates," Shaw said, as if reading his thoughts, a paternalistic smile curving his lips. "I'm so proud of you."

It was the wrong thing to say and Erik felt white-hot rage erupt. Metal surged at his furious command, girders speared through ceiling, pipes lancing through walls, spraying glass, every twisted piece of metal becoming a lethal weapon that Erik violently used to strike at his enemy.

Looking up, he was shocked to discover Shaw unharmed, not a single scratch, Erik's deadly hail of metal nothing more than a child's tantrum that had only impeded the man's slow walk towards him.

"And you're just starting to scratch the surface," Shaw continued his prowl, cajoling, encouraging, as if nothing amiss had even occurred. "Think how much further we could go. Together."

The last said as Erik blew outwards the curved section of the outer hull he had thrown between them, pushing back against Shaw's approach with everything he had, stray shards of metal caught up in his desperate bid to stall the other man and whipping with lethal speed across the room.

Shaw remained unmoved, unharmed, the girder buckling as it was caught between two competing powers. As if noticing Erik's efforts for the first time, efforts that were increasingly appearing as little more than a child tugging at an adult's trousers for attention, Shaw's splayed fingertips touched and pushed lightly back and suddenly Erik was rammed against pipes, a cry of pain escaping his lips.

Shaw's sadistic conceit filled his vision.

END OF PART ONE