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thehangeddemon · 1 year ago

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The Road to Hell || Charleson, Xavier, Ramsay, Lawrence, & Captain Issott || July 11th, 2023

Charles: Charles winced as the uppermost vertebrae of his spine popped like firecrackers, working the stiffness from his shoulders and rolling his neck from side-to-side. He glanced first to the glowing digital clock on the hotel nightstand, then to his long-suffering husband. His groan was equal parts pained and apologetic. He’d spent the better part of four hours hunched over his laptop, attempting to cram an entire lecture on Bioethics into a thirty-minute presentation.

“I’m nearly done,” he promised, shifting atop the mattress to give his legs a stretch as well. He’d moved from the cramped desk to the king-sized bed some two hours ago. It hadn’t helped his posture, or his productivity, but it was more comfortable than the chair. He leaned over to snag his half-empty bottle of water from where it’d rolled to the edge of the mattress and took a swig.

“I know it’s late. What if you go and tuck the kids into bed? I’ll be finished before you get back. I swear.”

Mason: Mason looked up from his own laptop. Not a presentation of his own, but the yearly appointments app. A wall of various colors and jotted notes. He wanted so much to do more. Still, after all these years, no secretary had managed to pick up his mantle. This was just life, and with no mention of an assistant uttered in months.

By now, Mason wouldn't trust anyone else to keep up.

"Ya are. Ya need to eat somethin'." Charles wasn't the only one watching the clock, but he knew cutting his husband off in the middle of writing would mean more time getting his thoughts reorganized.

But a moment would be stolen, just a moment, to comb his fingers through Charles' hair and pull him into a kiss. Not nearly as long as he would have liked, but time was precious.

"Fifteen minutes." Leaving without a crack of thunder and a horrible stench required exertion and a bloody nose, but Charles would be left in peace in the blink of an eye.

Charles: He nodded, but his attention had already returned to the PowerPoint he’d been polishing.

“We passed a deli earlier; a block or two away from here. Sign said it was open late. I’ll grab a couple of sandwiches for us when I’m finished.”

For his husband’s quiet, gentle affection, Charles would allow a brief distraction. He hummed softly into that kiss, and brushed a thumb over Mason’s cheek. A swift touch, but it would hold them both for a short while.

“Fifteen minutes,” he echoed, refocusing on his penultimate slide. He did not watch his husband leave, but he felt his parting. He let the resulting silence -in the room, and in his mind- drive him just a bit harder.

Seven minutes later, the professor was satisfied with what he had. He knew from experience that his satisfaction would be short-lived. But any tweaking could wait until he’d had a decent meal, and enough rest to assuage his husband.

He collected mobile, wallet, and room-card. The open laptop and scattered stacks of notes he left on the bed. They could be dealt with later. He glanced at the clock again, and after a beat of consideration, grabbed a spare scrap of paper and scribbled a quick message to Mason.

Ran down to the deli. Won’t be long.

-C

Mason: Fifteen minutes could feel like seconds or a lifetime. On the day-to-day, no one counted the minutes. A vague goal had been given as they had always been given; something to look forward to, and a warning should something go amiss.

The children were surprised to see their father. Limited time had been explained, as well as the progress their father was making with his conference, and the love Charles perpetually felt. News he didn't have to give, but given to feel included, and peace of mind. Both daughter and son were given affection. Hugs and kisses for Cynthia, hugs and ruffling of hair for Rory.

Tomorrow, Charles would say good morning and goodnight himself, but they had to understand his busy schedule, and while both said they understood, Cynthia's private thoughts were agitated, restless.

Mason knelt by her bed.

'What's the matter?'

'I don't know. I want to use my voice today.'

'You want to scream?'

Eleven years old and those eyes were beyond their years. The worry behind them, a look no child should express. The demon nodded.

'Do you trust me?'

She nodded.

"I'll be back." Mason kissed between her eyes and stood. "Nothing's gonna happen to you."

The school would be put on lockdown. No visitors. No one through the front door without Jean's approval. They could either like it or lump it.

Mason returned to the hotel some thirty minutes later, ready to explain himself when he found himself alone. Without seeing the note, his first instinct was to reach for Charles' mind.

Charles: He’d never had any desire to live on the West Coast. He never would. But Charles couldn’t deny the appeal of a summer night in San Francisco. The weather was the perfect side of cool, and the view of the Bay from their balcony was breathtaking. They could have dinner out there, he supposed, as he left the alley between their building and the next, passing out onto the sidewalk.

The stroll from hotel to restaurant was a short one, and so quiet. At least compared to Manhattan. With no baseball game to draw crowds to the stadium, this section of the city was rather peaceful.

The deli, too, was uncrowded. Only an enamoured young couple stood between him and the middle-aged woman manning the counter. She was quite pretty, with her deep dimples and wide brown eyes. Charles knew Mason would forgive him a bit of harmless flirting, if it meant two free cookies.

His spirits were sky-high on the short journey back. Delightfully, he found himself thinking more of the pleasure of his husband’s company than further editing his presentation. Perhaps a shower together, after dinner. Or drinks at the rooftop lounge, if it wasn’t too crowded. Both, he thought. Drinks first, shower after. And then they could make use of those pristine hotel sheets…

The chill that ran up his spine as he rounded the corner into their alleyway once more had those lovely thoughts tapering off. He stopped there in the opening, wanting to retreat to the sidewalk and not quite understanding why. It took a moment for him to place the source of the unsettled feeling.

An Amazon delivery? At this hour?

Not unheard of in a major city, he supposed. But he let his loosely-wound telepathy unfurl, regardless, trusting his instincts.

Nothing.

Well, not nothing, precisely.

There were millions of minds within his impressive radius. But nothing sinister. Not from the blue-gray van with its smirking logo. Not from either of the buildings flanking him.

Gripping the paper bag that held his dinner like a lifeline, Charles eased his way into the alley. He was fine. Everything was fine. Mason was almost certainly some ten stories above him, waiting in their room for his return. With that image in mind, he picked up his pace, heading for the lobby doors at nearly a jog.

The massive hand that snapped around his mouth like a vice should have come as a surprise.

It didn’t.

He was yanked back against a broad, solid chest. There was no wriggling free from those trunk-like arms, but Charles would be damned if he didn’t try.

He threw his weight to and fro. His curses were muffled by that iron grip. The heavy bag split as it hit the pavement, spilling its contents across the alleyway. Charles roared against that hand, reached out mental claws to drag against his assailant’s–

Nothing.

Truly nothing, this time.

Like fingers passing through fog, he could find no mind to grab hold of.

His heart slammed against his ribs. Deliriously, he feared they might crack. He redoubled his efforts to pull free, kicking and thrashing as he was dragged back toward that godforsaken van.

In desperation, he reached out for the familiar timbre of Mason’s mind. A wordless plea. Deafening. Or it would have been, had his husband been near enough to feel it.

A sharp pain flared in the side of his neck and dulled just as quickly. He had only the briefest moment to panic over what he might have been injected with before the world went dark.

Mason: Not feeling Charles’ mind in any capacity was the first and only flag required to put a rod in Mason’s spine. Never in the history of their marriage was that normal. Beyond their marriage. Even respecting one another’s privacy, he could always feel his companion’s presence. There was not so much as a tingle. And that… was utterly terrifying. History would note this very moment as frightening to the crossroad demon as Hell itself.

“Charles,” was a whisper between his teeth.

The note was found in a spin of confusion, folded, and pocketed. Kept for a spell, perhaps, if he could wrap his head around one. He then disappeared, reappearing in the alley Charles would have taken to find… a mess of paper and discarded food.

“Charles!” There was no sense in calling his name. His telepathy, like flailing arms, felt for as far as he was capable. Not nearly the impressive range as Charles. Not nearly as far as –

Mason pulled his phone from his coat, tapped for his brother’s number, and held the phone to his ear.

Xavier: Xavier stepped into the elevator and checked his watch. If the coffee shop wasn't busy and if he was quick about it, he had just enough time to grab himself something before his meeting. It would have been simpler to ask his secretary to get it for him but he needed to get some fresh air to sustain himself before the hours-long torment ahead.

And he had no doubts it would be hours long. Meetings with architects and designers always were.

Xavier had only managed to take three steps into the lobby of his hotel when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. For one terrifying moment he thought it was his secretary telling him the architect had come early, only to relax when he saw it wasn't.

"Hello, Mai," he greeted his brother, smiling to himself. "This is a surprise. Shouldn't you be in bed?" Late night in San Francisco was mid-morning in Bangkok.

Mason: Hearing a smile from his brother after all these years should have warmed his chest, but there was absolutely nothing.

"Charles is gone. I need you here." The name of the hotel, street, and view were rattled off without pause.

He didn't expect another demon to question the urgency. A call wouldn't have been made if he could feel the telepath's presence. Still, he waited in those split seconds to have to defend himself.

Xavier: The familiar icy claws of dread sank violently into Xavier's chest at his brother's words. It couldn't be. Not again, not to yet another member of their family.

He said, "I'll be there in five minutes," and hung up. He'd be there in less if he could swing it. Questioning the urgency or demanding that Mason justify himself were the farthest things from his mind, and besides, there was no need to do either. This was his brother, and he was asking for help.

He placed two calls. One to Abel, informing him of the situation and asking him not to let Devlin out of his sight, and the second to his secretary, informing her that an emergency had come up and to have Saifah fill in for him at the meeting. The former was far more understanding than the latter but just now that was of no consequence.

His affairs seen to, he ducked into the nearest bathroom and, having made sure it was empty, disappeared to the other side of the planet, to his brother's side.

Mason: Not again was only Mason's second thought after hanging up the phone. His instinct had been Xavier, but he knew what this city meant to his brother. This city was cursed.

Five minutes might as well have been an hour. Mason would be found in the alley beside the ant-ridden mess, a note in his hand and his eyes to the light-polluted heavens. In such limited light, his eyes might as well have been as black as his brother's, but any demon would know better. A grave scent had washed over him, toiled earth, char, and sulfur. A bead of black blood had pooled at his nostril. An all-too-familiar heat radiated just several feet from the crossroad demon. A great doglike beast had its nose to the wall. Its armor-plated scales quivered a gradient of black and red.

Desperately, Mason had stretched his telepathy to its breaking point. The more he pushed the stronger his migraine. Interrupted not by Xavier's presence, but by his second hellhound, Para, coming from behind the black-eyed demon and pushing its nose in his palm.

Xavier: The sudden transition from day to night would have been jarring for any other magic user, but not so for a demon like Xavier. He needed no time to adjust or get his bearings; he knew where he was going and he strode there with purpose, steps echoing off the pavement to herald his arrival.

Such a long time since he had seen a hellhound that their presence was almost nostalgic, unlike the heat and the sulfur and brimstone clinging to the air that reminded him so vividly of Hell. Of course, given his experiences, San Francisco may as well have been the same thing.

"Mai."

Mason: Red eyes transitioned to brown as the demon blinked, looking toward the sound of his childhood name.

"I can't feel him. That's not normal, Zav. Even when we put up walls I know the wall is there. Nothing's there."

Xavier: A sleeping mind and an unconscious mind were still reachable for those of adequate power and skill. If a mind couldn't be felt at all?

"Then someone's purposefully keeping you out. Even demons can't always perceive barriers they haven't built. How long has it been?"

Mason: "I left for thirty minutes." The note was shown to his brother. Logic would tell a human he wasn't taken far. But their world revolved around teleportation, and without feeling Charles' mind, he could have been one mile or a hundred.

"He was here for a conference. People knew he would be here. I shouldn't have left."

Xavier: Xavier sighed at the note. Oh, Charles. "You couldn't have known, Mai. The trip to the deli wasn't planned. They waited for him to be alone and ambushed him. Mere seconds are all that's required for that, even among humans. A trip to the bathroom at the conference would've been enough."

This had just been rotten fucking luck.

"Can your hounds detect his scent?"

Mason: "It ends here," Mason sighed. "Either a vehicle or something like us. I didn't smell sulfur before." A hand was thrown in the direction of his hounds. "Useless fucks."

Xavier: A vehicle would've been nothing for the tracking abilities of something like them. Whoever had done this had been prepared far beyond the capabilities of a mere mortal.

"They hid him from you, too, hm?" Xavier patted both hounds on the head and swallowed the sickly feeling of foreboding at the fact that even they couldn't detect Charles. But maybe...

"Can you smell anyone else, lovelies? Can you smell a vehicle?"

Charles: Indeed, there would be no scent trail to follow. Beyond the bag he’d been holding, only a small drop of blood told that the telepath had been there at all.

That, and the hotel’s security cameras, of course.

His captors had been utterly human, neither possessing knowledge of the preternatural, beyond the public knowledge of mutantkind.

But the mercenaries were professionals. Thoroughly trained. Handsomely paid. They would stop only once on their journey northeast, out of the city. To swap their stolen delivery van for one far less conspicuous, though conveniently lined with psionic-blocking panels.

His mobile phone, if traced, would lead pursuers as far as I-80 E. There, it could be found smashed to bits in a patch of scrub grass off the highway.

Mason: It would take a moment of clarity for Mason to remember cellular phones. An old-fashioned soul brushing the fingertips of technology for only a single lifetime.

Bola had found the speck of blood. All but pressed its slitted nose against the unnoticed splatter. Its insistence caught its maker's attention. Seeing the minute, gruesome evidence caused a flash of red in Mason's eyes.

Para had turned the corner of the alleyway. No mortal would see the creature; only feel a terrible crawl down their spines and a noxious feeling in their stomachs.

Only one woman stopped to glance back, brow furrowed. Someone else's contract, and far from Mason's concern.

The further Para walked the more focused Mason became, taking half a block to realize -

"His phone. Do you know what I'm supposed to do? A way to follow...?"

Xavier/Ramsay: An ambush, a single drop of blood, seemingly no trace left behind. Whoever had done this was highly skilled. It was precision work more than luck that had landed them Charles.

Xavier frowned as he followed the hound, thinking. They were going to need more than this. Absent telepathic connection and something to track by magical means, they'd have to resort to far slower human methods. Hardly ideal.

He'd just been about to ask if there had been any strange incidents around Charles when Mason spoke and reminded Xavier that his brother was not in fact, the only old-fashioned soul out of the two of them. Why hadn't that occurred to him sooner?

Rather than answer Mason right away, Xavier pulled out his own phone and dialed a number from memory.

"John, I need you," he said by way of greeting.

The phone wasn't on speaker, but Mason would be able to hear the person on the other end anyway. "At the hotel?" Ramsay practically shouted. It sounded like he was at a party.

"No, I need you to track a cellphone for me. Can you do that, are you at home?"

"One minute."

Like Xavier, Ramsay hadn't questioned the urgency in his friend's voice. He simply left wherever he was and entered a quieter room. "What's the number?"

The demon rattled it off.

There was silence on the other end of the line as Ramsay worked.

Xavier gave his brother a nod. "He's working on it."

A few moments later, Ramsay relayed the results of his search. Xavier finally put him on speaker.

"The phone left the city heading east," said the witch. "Last ping was along I-80, then it disappears. Probably got turned off."

The demon shook his head. "He wouldn't have turned it off. Where along I-80?"

Ramsay told him.

"Okay, thank you, John."

Mason: Why did he know the name John? A generic name, but coming from Xavier's mouth it was familiar.

"Your porter?" That was what they needed, more of their kind. Those unburdened by human methods.

"We need more feet on the ground."

He didn't care about the time of night; didn't care there were thousands of people on the highway. Right now, he didn't care about concealing a goddamn thing. Mason disappeared with a rumble of thunder, reappearing by a tree off the side of the highway. A place he had been before, but only a vague image. A half mile from where he needed to be. Teleportation was tricky without proper history in the area.

Xavier: Xavier nodded. “Yes, that’s him. His skills go beyond transport.” Far beyond. Ramsay had all manner of tricks up his sleeve, not that one could tell from looking at him.

Part of that was by design, of course.

He sent Ramsay a quick message telling him to keep his phone close and followed his brother through the ether to the approximate location they’d been given.

With just as little to go on as Mason, Xavier’s aim wasn’t much better. He landed a few yards away from his brother.

Not that it made a difference, really. There was nothing but the highway and the cars speeding along on it, which meant that Charles’ phone had probably been tossed out a window.

“Mai, has anyone new entered Charles’ life? Yours? The school?”

Mason: "Just the fucking cucks that organized the conference."

It could have been ten minutes after his departure. Three minutes before his return. Any number of minutes meant further miles of separation.

They had already lived through this once. Over a fucking daydreamed question. Life in a fucking marble in a djinn's drawer, and Charles had managed to keep his head.

But Charles wasn't a demon deserving of punishment. How far could his teleportation take him? If Charles had been out of his range...

"Zav, can you feel him?"

Xavier: Knowing that introduced many more questions and had myriad implications but offered no answers. None that could be quickly and easily obtained at least.

“I can try.” Although it would be difficult to concentrate enough to perceive one specific person with hundreds continuously zooming past on the highway behind them, knowing where not to look was a small blessing. The most logical place for Charles to be, if he was still in this area, was away from the road.

Xavier began walking with his back to it, motioning for Mason to follow as he felt for anyone or anything in the area ahead.

Come on, Charles, he thought. Be here. Please.

Mason: "Here? Ya think he's here?" Mason had his doubts, but anything was possible. There weren't many roads leading off this specific patch of the highway. Couldn't have been supernatural, he told himself again. Para and Bola would have given as much. That just left Charles' circle of concern, mortals and mutants. He would much rather deal with something he could trace.

Something he could trace...

"Your porter know map spells? Tracers? There's a fuckin' spell... blood... and somethin' appears on the map? It's old fuckin' magick."

Xavier: “I think that if he is here, he won’t be right near the highway.” However much Xavier doubted that Charles was anywhere nearby, they had to make sure. They couldn’t afford to dismiss possibilities when they had so little to go on.

They also couldn’t afford to waste time. Xavier didn’t intend to linger if he didn’t feel a mind nearby that could be Charles or someone related to his disappearance.

“The spell sounds familiar but we’d actually need Charles’ blood for something like that to work. Would you happen to have any?” It was a serious question.

Mason: "Bola found a speck. Speck isn't enough... to... " Mason paused mid-step, staring at the ground.

"He'd have some at the school. The lab. He's a fuckin' collector." Though, he couldn't recall the last time Charles had mentioned taking his own.

He pinched between his eyes and held his breath. Doing anything other than directly searching felt like betrayal. Charles had been this way. To leave would be to abandon the closest he could be to his husband.

Thoughts he shared freely in their connection. Today was not the day for the walls. Not yet.

Xavier/Ramsay: “That’s only half the battle,” Xavier said as he reached into his pocket for his phone to give Ramsay another call.

He updated his friend on the situation and asked about the spell that Mason had mentioned, as well as inquiring about any others that Ramsay might know.

“Mate, that shit’s out of my wheelhouse,” said the witch. Xavier had put the phone on speaker. “Even if I did know that spell, no way I can pull it off. I don’t fuck with blood magick. And as far as trackers, I don’t think I have anything that’ll help. Have you asked Ro?”

Xavier sighed. “No, but I doubt he can find something in time.”

“What about that compass thing? The one you found in that shop?”

“I’ve never tried it but it uses hair.” He looked to his brother. “Do you have any of his hair?”

Mason: The words blood magic had Mason looking up. He knew exactly the witch with expertise, but witchcraft generally took time.

If these people wanted Charles dead, he would have found his body slumped in the alley. They could have something planned for his body. He could very well -

A drawbridge connecting their minds began raising.

"He just uses a comb. I can... go look."

Xavier/Ramsay: “Try that,” said Ramsay, having heard Mason. “I’ll ask around, tap some people who might know of a way. I’ll tell you if I find anything.”

Xavier nodded. “Thank you, John,” he said, hanging up. He put his phone away and reached for Mason’s hand.

“I’ll take us back to the hotel. We can’t both wear ourselves out.”

Mason: Instinctually, Mason pulled from his shoulder, intent on putting distance between them. By now, the drawbridge had been raised. Not even a hint of his thoughts.

"What compass is he talkin' about?"

Xavier: Xavier dropped his hand. “I was at a shop that masquerades as an ordinary antique shop but also sells magical artifacts to those with the means to afford them. The owner is an acquaintance. According to him, the compass can point you toward anyone as long as it has a lock of their hair. I’ve never tried it and I can’t guarantee it’ll work.” Artifacts from that shop were a toss-up at best but…

Xavier looked away from his brother under the guise of thinking the matter over. In reality, he was considering other…less savory options.

Mason: A lock was more than a single strand. The answer was staring them in the face. Neither were admitting the chance of success was slim.

"Ya get the compass, I'll look for... a hair. I have other people to call. A fuckin' number in North Carolina t'find."

Even if he traveled this road with every ounce of teleportational power, it wouldn't matter. If Charles were conscious, this chase would already be over. Maybe feeling the thoughts of his captors, but there were thousands on this road. He had to think logically.

"I'll call ya when I find somethin'."

Xavier: “…Wait.”

Xavier closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If it weren’t for recent events, and if it were anyone else, and if he didn’t have the sinking feeling that they were very much up against a ticking clock, he probably wouldn’t have been considering what he was currently considering.

But, circumstances being what they were, he really didn’t see another option that would be faster or more reliable and they very much needed something that was both of those things. The benefits far outweighed the cost, and he was the one who’d be paying it anyway.

“Look for the hair but don’t call anyone just yet. I’ll get the compass and see if I have anything else that might help.”

Mason: He didn't like the tone of that single word. He stared at his brother and considered their entire life story. When in their history he heard that tone before. Recent events in Xavier's life, events that would lead to those closed eyes, tight lips, and a crushing grip tightened the muscles of his shoulders.

"Your blood magic? Your wards? Your porter? A naphil in Louisiana? That better be all ya see. For your fuckin' sake."

Xavier: “Yes, blood magic,” Xavier said with a nod. That much was the truth. It was the most viable option, and the one he planned to pursue if at all possible.

He just wished the ‘if’ wasn’t quite so big.

“How much time would it take to check if any of Charles’ blood is available?”

Mason: "A phone call." Or arrival. The more likely place to find his hair would be on the many sweaters and cardigans.

His phone was removed from his coat once more.

"Xavier."

Xavier: “Then you’d better make it. Knowing whether that’s an option will speed my search.”

Maybe he’d better ask Ramsay to transport him. He’d meant what he’d said about not wearing themselves out.

“Hm?” He began composing a text.

Mason: "You have a son." He watched his brother closely. Whether or not he would look away, hesitate. Whether his breathing remained even, and the grip on his phone neutral.

"Look at me," he finally said, waited.

Xavier: Xavier finished his message to Ramsay and made sure to ask him to be quick about arriving. Lingering wouldn’t do at all.

By the time he looked at his brother, all his mental walls were in place. He looked concerned. Determined. Angry in a way that wasn’t directed at Mason. And when he spoke, his voice was gentle and calm.

“I know. He’s safe in a warded house in Bangkok with someone I trust with my life and his. You have a son, too. And a daughter. Whatever we’re dealing with won’t touch any of them, of that you can be certain.”

Mason: The expectation that he would finish what he started only served to disappoint. Did Xavier think years separated via hate would make him a better actor in his brother's presence? As authentic as that accent.

"Ya know goddamn well that's not what I'm sayin'."

Xavier: He wasn't a better actor, but his emotions were sincere. He was concerned about Charles and determined to find him. He was angry that this was happening to his brother and his family, that someone had had the gall to think they'd be able to get away with taking Charles.

When he and Mason succeeded, and they would, Xavier fully intended for there to be hell to pay.

"We're going to find him, Mai. We're going to find him and bring him back safely and afterward, I'm going to go home. I'm going to hug my son. I'm going to have a meal with him and ask him about his day and then at some point, when you're up for it, you and your family can come visit my resort."

Although Xavier's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, his gaze was steady. His voice never wavered. He spoke like a man who believed every word he said. What he was telling his brother wasn't merely a hope; it would happen.

Mason: No other calls. That's what Xavier had said. No outside parties just yet. If they could keep this contained, then it would be Charles' decision who did and did not know what had happened. It would be his trauma, his right.

So then, kept contained... there was still someone in mind. The more Xavier elaborated, the more hardened his resolve.

"Hotel, and home for his blood. You... the compass. I'll call ya."

He would not wait for Xavier to confirm. Disappearing in a blink. The wind kicked up all around the highway, causing several near-misses, and carrying with it an inexplicable storm on an otherwise placid day.

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier’s departure would be made to far less fanfare.

Ramsay appeared moments after Mason left, his arrival passing unnoticed in the kerfuffle Mason had left in his wake. The dark helped as well.

“Where are we going?” the witch asked as Xavier joined him.

“The warehouse. I need to find the compass and see if there’s anything else in my arsenal that can be of any use at all. Mason seems certain using Charles’ blood is an option, so that should broaden my scope.”

“What happens if you can’t find anything and the compass doesn’t work?”

“Then I’m going to need you to take me to Quebec.”

“Bloody hell’s in Quebec?” Ramsay wondered, making preparations for the ritual.

“Don’t ask,” Xavier sighed before his friend’s magic whisked them back to San Francisco.

Mason/Lawrence: The hotel was far too quiet. Not the sound of Charles stretching, sighing, yawning, twisting to relieve the stress on his back. Absent the sound of typing, papers rustling, sipping tea or clandestine whiskey.

It had taken this long for the realization to sink in. He had not felt his husband at all. The possibility that he was dead was as real as the silence suffocating him. Just thirty minutes to lose the man he had reversed so much of his life for. No message to the school. No garish writings on the wall. No goodbyes.

Mason crossed the room to the bed, feeling foolish in his fruitless pursuit of thin brown hair. When he found nothing, he crossed to the bathroom, to the sink and the forgotten comb. One single strand. This was not enough for any benign spell. All this power at his fingertips, and not a fucking thing he could do without the aid of a witch.

The hair was left behind as he traveled south, appearing in the very town Xavier had told him to wait. Not to Leslie Issott’s cabin, but another equally abhorred creature. The one that knew he was there without a single knock.

Lawrence Atlas came to the door, concern as present on his face as that of his twin.

“When?”

“Less than an hour.”

Lawrence excused himself to find his wife, pull her to his chest and apologize. He did not know when he would return. There would be no lie and no speculation.

Their merge was swift and nearly painless.

Xavier’s number was punched into his phone as he started down the driveway.

Xavier/Ramsay: Magical artifacts of dubious origin and power, as well as those deemed too dangerous to keep at the estate, were kept in a warded vault at Xavier's main warehouse. Entry to and knowledge of the existence of the vault were limited to Xavier, Rohan, and Ramsay.

Its contents were more or less organized, with the especially powerful items kept behind warded glass to render their magic inert and everything else sorted into very general categories. Loose as it was, the system kept things in order and was usually helpful when looking for something specific. Unfortunately, the latter was not true tonight.

Xavier found the compass he was looking for easily enough but an alternative was proving...challenging.

"Far be it from me to tell you what to collect," Ramsay said as he looked through records. "But how it is possible that you've got dozens of things to help you find things and almost nothing to help you find people?"

"Because I'm a collector, John!" Xavier had been growing more irritated with every passing moment. "All I ever need to find is things! Just keep looking."

"I am, I am."

The depths of his inadequacy were out on full display tonight. Truthfully, they'd been on display for decades; he just felt them more keenly in some moments.

Mason's call was cause for both hope and dread.

"Did you find hair?" Xavier asked his brother.

Mason: There was something in that tone that irritated Mason just as much as he could relate to it. They were getting nowhere slowly. His solution might have been in this godforsaken town, as reluctant as he was to accept it.

“One strand of fuckin' hair ain’t bringin’ my husband home. I have an idea n’m’not fuckin’ waitin’ around. Ya remember seein’ a man at our weddin’. Tall blond, piercin’? Charles got chummy with a fuckin’ blood mage n’he’s in Lawrence's fuckin' town. I’m getting’ Charles’ blood, n’m’bringin’ it t’him.”

Xavier: Xavier gasped softly. Was it possible that something in this godforsaken universe had finally taken pity on their family? Not one minute ago it had been a faraway hope and now they were being thrown a bone by Charles himself.

"Vaguely, yes." If he was remembering the right man, his appearance had hardly screamed 'blood mage' but did anyone's ever?

"What do you need from me? Tell me and I'm there." Xavier's tone had changed almost completely. Any irritation he'd felt was no longer present in his tone or in him. He sounded relieved.

Mason: What he needed was a grip on his patience and sanity. Of all the people in the universe, there might have been better choices. Bronwyn, for one, but that was impossible. A delicately mended relationship with his brother would have to do.

"Meet me back in Edenton. M'not walkin' into a witch's house on my own."

Xavier: "I'll be right there. Do you want John to take you to collect the blood?" There were charms in here that helped bolster magical energy; perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to take a few just in case they were needed. Zipping around was no small feat.

Mason: "Just picked up Lawrence. M'good. Meet ya back at his place."

The call was ended before any argument could be made in Ramsay's favor. So far no efforts had been made to conceal his presence. His stamina would hold. No bloody nose, half the energy, and every bit the fanfare, as Xavier regarded. For now, his tunnel vision was tolerable.

The walls built against his brother were used in equal measure against Jean Grey. She didn't need to know. No one needed to know what had happened. Only when Charles was willing and able to tell them himself, if he cared to at all.

Only one vial. More than he was dreading, and less than he could hope for. No one needed to know of his presence, but it was too late to pretend Hank McCoy hadn't seen him exit the lab without so much as a glance.

Only in the coming and going of the school, for the sake of his children, did he conceal his presence, wiping blood on the back of his hand as he reappeared around the side of Lawrence's house. Now, at last, he was beginning to feel the strain of constant movement.

Xavier/Ramsay: Right then. No matter. The decision to take the charms had already been made. If Mason did exhaust himself, they’d be able to make up for it.

“Change of plans,” Xavier told Ramsay. “The compass is off the table. We’re going to Edenton to see a blood mage who’s a friend of Charles.”

“Charles knows a blood mage?”

“Apparently.” For which mercy may we give thanks, the demon thought. He’d avoided the metaphorical hangman’s noose.

Together, he and Ramsay combed the records for any charm that either amplified magical energy or facilitated magical travel and chose the best of the bunch for Xavier to take him.

“I’m goin’ with you,” Ramsay said as they stepped out of the warehouse some time later. “I’m not lettin’ you go into the heart of bloody darkness by yourself.”

“It’s only Edenton, John.”

“I don’t mean Edenton, I’m talkin’ about wherever the hell it is they took your brother-in-law that even bleedin’ hell hounds can’t fuckin’ find him.”

“I won’t be alone, Mason will be there.”

“Quit arguin’ with me, I’m goin’.”

Xavier nodded. “All right. Let’s go to Edenton then. I’ll tell you where.”

Mason: If only Xavier could read auras. Perhaps it was for the best he could not. The impatience oozing from his brother was damn near palpable.

"Could ya take any fuckin' longer." Seconds. A minute at best. Today was the day to count the seconds.

A look was given to Xavier's tow. Who are you was passed for, "Is that comin' with us?"

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier had never needed to be able to read auras in order to know what his brother was feeling. Doing so would have been something akin to checking for a probability of rain when you were caught in a downpour.

Rhetorical questions didn’t require an answer, but Xavier would by way of tossing an oddly shaped gold talisman to his brother. “Put that in your pocket. It’ll restore you.”

“It sure fuckin’ is,” Ramsay said with only the appearance of cheerfulness.

Xavier nodded towards the street. “Which way to the mage?”

Mason: "Lawrence knows the way. Either I'm takin' all of us or we're takin' his truck." That being said, the talisman was stuffed in his pocket without question. Some things with Xavier were indisputable.

Xavier: “Cars are too slow,” Xavier said as he took Ramsay’s hand and held the other out to Mason. And short distances didn’t require too much effort.

Mason/Leslie: Xavier's hand was taken just long enough to disappear, reappearing at the end of a long driveway surrounded by trees on either side. The dirt path opened up to a meadow-facing lawn and a large A-frame home, a white picket-fenced garden on either side. A white Toyota sat quiet and warm in the driveway. Someone had just gotten home.

Both the doorbell and fist were utilized. History of retaliation from Leslie's mind kept his telepathy at bay. He needn't wait long before the door opened. A man of over six feet stood before them in a rolled-up blue tartan shirt and blue jeans, surprise high and tight on his brows.

"Uh... hi? Where's Charles?"

Having to tell a witch he needed his assistance tasted like blood in Mason's mouth. For his husband, he would do anything.

"He's... missin'. Taken. We need your help," he managed. The plastic tube of Charles' blood was pulled from his coat.

The witch stared for a moment, processing. When? How could anyone possibly take Charles, and why? He remembered the laboratory and answered his own question.

Blue eyes glanced at the others, but paid them no mind.

"Come in."

Xavier/Ramsay: It was obvious immediately that a witch lived here. The scent of magic was a living, palpable thing, easily detected by someone like them.

A very promising sign.

Almost as one, Xavier and Ramsay gave Leslie nods in greeting. Xavier looked somewhat apologetic, but Ramsay looked unabashedly curious.

“Thank you,” the demon said quietly, waiting for his brother to enter before he did. “Pardon the lateness of the hour.”

Mason/Leslie: "It's important," he muttered. "Please," he gestured to the living room. A chef's coat had been tossed over the couch. Shoes discarded by the door. Herbs and flowers hung to dry in the kitchen, visible from the living room with its open layout.

Their host stood with his back to them, fingers fidgeting, one might assume a spell if paranoid.

"We're looking for... for - he's alive, isn't he?"

"Yes," said Mason, firmly.

Shoulders visibly relaxed. "I'll be right down." Already jogging to the stairs.

Xavier: Xavier couldn’t tell if Mason’s curtness was due to the gravity of the situation or to some personal issue he had with the mage but he wasn’t about to ask. It was just something to ponder while they waited for their host to return.

Alive, yes. Charles was alive. He had to be. Logic dictated that whoever had gone to such trouble to take him wouldn’t have done so if they planned to kill him.

Logic, not faith.

“How did Charles meet this man?” Xavier wondered aloud as he took in their surroundings.

Mason: It was a combination of conflict. He would not lean weight on the idea of his death, not an ounce, until laying eyes on his corpse. He would not hear it from anyone else, much less a witch.

"On a train," Mason sighed. "Doin' everything he can to... " Such things they had bickered about. Felt trivial this moment. Find him tomorrow feeling differently.

"Was teachin' Charles spells."

Xavier: “That tracks,” Xavier said quietly, smiling to himself. “Theo always tells me—” He caught himself and sighed. “He always used to tell me how much Charles enjoys learning new things.”

Mason: Mason wasn't about to correct him. Reminded him too much of Charles at the moment. No, he wouldn't dare correct tenses.

"Told him he was doin' too much. Gave up after a while. Started showin' him mirror magick. Just tricks. Made him... happy."

Xavier: “I’m sorry to say you were never going to win against Charles’ love of learning, Mai. He has a sharp mind. He needs to keep it fed.”

That sharp mind would help him, Xavier was sure of it. No matter where Charles was, as long as he had life, the demon was certain he could handle himself until Mason came for him.

“He’ll have more to learn after this.”

Mason/Leslie: "Right." Still confounded why Charles hadn't used his ring. Must have been swift and horrific. No scenario he could fathom was worth lingering on when none of them could be true. In the end, Charles simply couldn't reach his ring. They would have to find something else from this day forward.

Leslie came down without a word, rolled-up vellum under his arm, old pair of boots on his feet. With a sniff, he held out his hand for the vial.

Seeing the reluctance in the demon's eyes, the witch took a deep uneven breath, shoulders rose from the effort.

"You're gonna have to trust me, and... you're gonna have to take me with you."

"Where?"

"Close as you can to where you think he is."

Xavier: Xavier had expected the mage to come downstairs equipped with far more than what he had, which only piqued his curiosity.

“Does it have to be where we think he is?” Xavier chimed in. “Will the ritual work if we take you to the last place we’re certain he was?”

Leslie: "The further I am from him, the longer this'll take. So if you have any idea, any location. I'm accustomed to porters, not..." He gestured to the demon.

Xavier/Ramsay: Now it was Ramsay’s turn to chime in.

He gave Leslie a little wave and tipped an invisible hat. “That’d be me, then. We can tell you where the professor last was and where his phone last was but nothing more.”

Xavier nodded. “There’s no trace that we can defect.”

Mason/Leslie: Again his fingers twitched, fleeting confusion in his eyes and brows. There was something lost on him when the demon spoke, but he would not say.

"Alright." One last thing, then. He turned back to the kitchen and grabbed a granola bar from a basket of snacks, pocketed.

"Let's go." He looked to the porter expectantly, sniffed.

"First one's free," Mason said, grabbing the witch by the shoulder and disappearing back to the road in New York.

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay didn’t get a chance to even begin his ritual before Mason and the mage disappeared. “Oi! What the—!”

Xavier just shook his head and took John’s hand. It wasn’t what he would have done but he could hardly blame his brother for being impatient. He only hoped it hadn’t swayed the mage from helping them.

“Never mind, John. You can bring him back when he’s done. Are you ready?”

Ramsay nodded. “Go on.”

Presuming Mason hadn’t seen the point in going back to the alley behind the hotel, Xavier returned them to the highway.

Mason/Leslie: They would find the witch hunched over a young tree, head down and knees bent. Had been so long since teleportation, so long since seeing Charles that his body seemed to have forgotten.

But he forced himself upright, took a deep uneven breath through his nose, and spit.

His back remained to the group as he set to work. A bone and gold folding knife was pulled from pocket and opened, used to tear pieces of the flesh paper. The delicate sounds of ripping stifled by the relentless traffic.

He held his hand out again.

"This is all we have," said Mason.

"It's all I'll need," Leslie replied.

The vial was finally handed off, opened, and dripped onto the small bit of parchment. Just two drops. The calfskin was folded over itself and placed underneath the mage's tongue.

At once he crumbled. Shoulders rounded dead weight. Sitting upright on his knees by sheer force of will. Every muscle in his body felt loose. Throat dry. Breathing even and yet not enough. They might not understand his actions, but punching his own chest was important. Just maybe Charles would feel the same.

Charles: His eyes snapped open, wide and red-rimmed. White light blazed from everywhere. His gasp was more a strangled wheeze. His throat was on fire. His chest. He reached for the tubing he could feel grating against his throat, but his hand stopped short.

He was... bound. Bound. Arms. Legs. Chest. He twisted against his restraints. The hammering of his heart was matched by shrill beeping that drowned out all thought.

No. He could think. Despite the searing brightness, he let his gaze sweep first one way and then another. He was in... an ambulance? And he was moving. Bound to a gurney going God knew where. He renewed his efforts to fight against the straps that lashed him.

A gentle voice let out a string of curses from behind him. He'd only just made note of the IV needle sticking from his arm when a pair of gloved hands pierced the injection port with a syringe full of... something.

And the world went dark once more.

Xavier/Ramsay: Easily avoided nausea, Xavier thought as he joined his brother. Not that he would say a word or allow that thought any sort of projection. He had absolutely no room to judge Mason's impatience.

And besides, his time was better spent observing what he could of the utterly fascinating spell the mage was performing.

Blood, paper, and proximity. Was the spell forging a connection? Was it allowing the mage to see what Charles saw? If it was the former, the spell was not unlike the bond between familiar and magic user. If it was the latter, this might be a bit more difficult.

Beside him, Ramsay was observing just as closely, with just as much fascination.

Mason/Leslie: Long fingers slid over his chest, rubbed and scratched at his throat, then fell to his arm, rubbing with the same gentle vigor. Something was crawling all over him - Charles. Him.

This was only his second use of the tracking spell. Botan Nowicki didn't even make the attempt. He didn't need to. Seemed to know where everything was at all times. A twist of his finger and he had his answers, always. Something about his grasp on primal energy. The Ether mage would have been useful. He owed Charles that much.

At this moment, Leslie's confidence was only a budding remnant. The last time he had been sent on a hunt he had been caught, forced into a boon.

Three fingers rubbed against his temple, head tilting and eyes closing. Deep breath. No time for that.

"How long has it been since he was here?"

"An hour," was just off the top of Mason's head.

Judging the road, this seemed a major highway. "Take me... take me 80 miles that way."

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay was quicker this time. He was at Leslie's side in a flash, situating himself between the mage and any funny ideas Mason might have of more teleportation. "X, can you--?"

"Already checking." Xavier pulled up a map on his phone and input the distance they'd need to go and checked to see what was around. Even though it was night and they had the cover of darkness, they couldn't just appear in an area that might be potentially crowded with people.

He scanned the area for a safe landing spot and showed it to Ramsay. "Here."

The witch nodded. "Right then. Come on, you lot."

Mason/Leslie: Leslie looked between the two, to the man that had already outstretched his hand to take him, held off by his rescuers. Only to realize he didn't know either of their names.

"Leslie," he muttered. "What - What kind of porter are you? I don't feel... feel any nodes here."

Xavier/Ramsay: "John Ramsay, at your service," said the witch, giving Leslie a quick, boyish grin as he pointed to one of the many rings on his fingers. "The kind that carries a different sort of magic. We'll swap stories later." When circumstances were less dire and when he wasn't certain Mason would take a shot at him if he didn't make haste.

After ensuring that they were all together, Ramsay completed his ritual and took them all precisely 80 miles away, as Leslie had requested.

Their landing spot was another alley, abandoned save for a few rats scrounging their dinner from a pile of garbage.

Mason/Leslie: Sounded like a protagonist from an epic tale. A throwaway thought as he watched the porter create his spell. So different from Tyson Wright. It was a wonder he could do anything next to a major highway, but that was also a pending thought as they disappeared and reappeared. Much less nausea, but the same flip of his insides as he was accustomed.

He forced himself to his feet. Fingers gravitated to his temple again, but this time was pulled away. They didn't belong there. They didn't belong anywhere. He itched at his wrists and turned, absorbing their surroundings.

"Well?"

"Patience," said Leslie, gently. "We're heading in the right direction."

The witch readjusted his jaw, felt at his mouth with his tongue, and began the ritual over.

Xavier: It suddenly struck Xavier that they were going through roughly the same experience Abel had gone through the night he had rescued Xavier from the church.

Was this how his familiar had felt, wandering with desperate purpose to find him? Not knowing what was going to meet him at the end of his journey? They had the benefit of having each other but Abel had been alone.

Xavier took a deep breath. He’d never be able to repay what he owed.

“Which way next?” he asked quietly after a few moments had passed.

Mason/Leslie: "Need to walk."

Mason's hands had become fists.

"We don't have this kind of time."

Leslie could understand where this was coming from; he wasn't the one feeling Charles' itches, dry throat, and silent mind. He was running on faith in a man he barely trusted.

"Look, you came to me for a reason." Venomous words hesitated on his lips, tingled his tongue, but he just couldn't. "Please, trust me. What I'm feeling... gets muddled when... " He closed his eyes, pointed forward. He wasn't going to finish that sentence and frighten the group. "We're walking." He needed to feel something again. Charles was... not there. Not entirely.

Xavier/Ramsay: “Let him work,” Xavier said to his brother, daring to pat his shoulder. They couldn’t do anything if they didn’t know where Charles was and to know where he was, they needed to trust Leslie.

“Walking then,” said Ramsay, falling into step beside his fellow witch. “Just say when we need to make another leap.”

Mason/Leslie: Like touching a rounded brick. The attempt wasn't lost on Mason, just underappreciated in the moment.

Another leap would take nearly fifteen minutes. Northeast was all wrong. He turned north five minutes in, then west after that.

"What's the other chap's name?" he whispered to Ramsay.

Ramsay: The only thing stopping Ramsay from asking a barrage of questions was his reluctance to disrupt the witch's focus. Plenty of time to ask what he wanted to ask after they'd gotten the professor back safe.

In the meantime, silent observation was his lot.

"Hm?" Ramsay frowned, confused. "That's Xavier, Mason's brother. He said you'd met before."

Leslie: Leslie stopped dead in his tracks, making no attempt to hide his confusion nor his stare at the man called Xavier.

"You're Xavier Atlas?"

Xavier: Xavier stopped as well, regarding Leslie with an identical look of confusion before it dawned on him that, like nearly everyone in his life, the mage had met him before he'd gotten a new face. Although in this particular case, the lack of a meaningful connection between them meant that this realization didn't cause the dread it normally did.

The demon nodded. "Yes. I looked different when we met at my brother's wedding."

Leslie: There was a sense of relief that he wasn't mistaken. Wasn't losing all of his mind through this spell. Seeing faces perhaps influenced by Charles.

Leslie gave a singular nod, a deep breath, and pointed west.

"If one of you could... We need many miles that way."

Xavier/Ramsay: If only it was always that simple, Xavier thought to himself. He couldn't complain too much, however. It had gotten easier over the past two years.

"How many is many?" Ramsay asked, already preparing his ritual. "Another eighty?"

Leslie: Eighty miles in an hour, now considering the minutes lost, and the possibility of inhuman means, it couldn't be just any outrageous distance. Charles was closer now than before.

"We'll start with fifty."

Xavier/Ramsay: "Right you are then."

Like before, Xavier pulled up the map and found them a safe landing spot before Ramsay enacted his ritual. This time it was an industrial area not unlike the one Xavier's warehouse was located in.

Mason/Leslie: Each and every transportation was a test of Mason's will not to grab the witch by the shoulder and move them along. Limited the same way as Xavier; he couldn't simply will himself where he had never stood before. This was the leg of the journey where they relied entirely upon the power of witchcraft. But every step was now a memory etched in his teleportational power.

A name crossed his mind once more. A name he believed fortified behind a thousand bricks.

"Do y'all feel anything?" Leslie whispered.

Xavier: Xavier wasn’t all too pleased about the speed at which they were moving either but they had no choice. It would take far longer to wander around aimlessly than it was taking to be methodical.

At Leslie’s question, Xavier cocked his head and closed his eyes. Listening. Feeling. Reading the air.

After a moment, he shook his head. “Plenty, but not Charles. No magic save ours.”

Mason/Leslie: The witch turned to face the group.

"I can't get very far right now. I had him. I had him for a moment. I was able to... to wake him up."

"What do you mean wake him up?"

"He was... unconscious. That's all I know."

"You're telling me this now?"

"He's not dead," Leslie said, firmly. "I'd... I'd know that."

"What else are ya not tellin' me?"

Leslie shifted from one heel to another, rubbed at his nose before locking eyes. "Until he wakes up, there's - there's other methods, but they take time. We could reach out to Bo, maybe -"

"I've had about enough of fuckin' mages."

Xavier: "Mai," Xavier interjected softly. "We're closer to Charles now than we were before. I know we're not moving as quickly as you want us to be moving but we're making progress. Even if you can't bring yourself to trust Leslie, trust Charles."

He turned to the mage. "You said you can't get very far. Does that mean you can't track him at all or that tracking is slower because he's unconscious?"

Xavier fully expected every word he said to Mason to fall on deaf ears and depending on Leslie's answer, Xavier was going to have to make a decision, and quickly.

Mason/Leslie: "It's not impossible, but... I had him. For a moment I had him." To have lost him after the punch meant something. For a moment, he debated another solid knock to the bruise he had caused, but his gut told him not to. If they had given him something, beaten him, another force to his chest would only add to his pain.

All speculation, which was agony. And the mention of Bo had him realize he had left his phone.

"Fuck. Mason, please. We know where to return. We can find Bo. I'm - I'm sure he can help us."

"You were supposed to help." But the venom wasn't quite there. His attention was on his brother.

"Take him wherever. I've got an idea I'm gonna look into."

Xavier: Something made Xavier take his brother’s hand. A gut feeling, a premonition, something. He didn’t know. He didn’t question it. He just took Mason’s hand and squeezed it.

“Don’t do anything that’ll break Charles’ heart,” Xavier whispered, searching Mason’s eyes for any indication of what he was thinking. “Don’t do anything stupid. I can’t lose you on top of everything else. Promise me that I won’t.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie squinted as he watched the brothers huddle, trying to remember the exact shape of the man he had seen at Charles' wedding. Had to be the situation they found themselves in, but he couldn't remember a thing. Only that the body he inhabited better suited him.

Focusing on Xavier's pale and pointed face washed a sense of calm over his entire being. This was not the first desperate time in his life, and it would not be his last.

"If we don't move, there won't be a heart to break," Mason whispered.

"Wait. Wait, wait. We've already said he's not... he's not -," Leslie sniffed, rubbed his face with both hands. He didn't want to finish that sentence yet again.

"We have time. There's another spell, but it takes time."

"Ya said that. And I said-"

"You've had enough of mages. Right. The longer we stand here the longer this'll take. I need you with me for this spell."

Xavier: Xavier looked between Mason and Leslie and squeezed his brother's hand harder. "Please, Mai. We've made it this far. He's Charles' friend, he cares about finding him." Otherwise why would Leslie have agreed to help? "You don't have to like him, you just have to trust that he's acting in Charles' best interest."

Xavier hardly knew why he was advocating so strongly for this mage whose skill he had no firsthand knowledge of. He just knew that if someone like Charles trusted him enough to call him a friend, he had to be worth his salt in at least one regard.

"What do you require for this spell?" he asked Leslie.

Mason/Leslie: The road to Hell was paved with good intentions. Just look at himself. Intentions only got someone so far.

Only just realizing Xavier still had his hand, Mason withdrew from the trio with a roll of eyes.

Remembering his lesson with Logan, Leslie knew exactly what to say.

"A ring. Has to be a real stone, green, and shiny enough to see your reflection." This was said to Mason, attention on his expression, his willingness. "You're going to have to sacrifice something. Has to be something valuable enough to hate giving up. Something that'll make you cry."

He recalled the phone call he had with his mother that day with Logan. You don't put yourself in danger. Give her the ring and send her on her way.

She would absolutely have a conniption right now.

"I've got everything else at home. These two items need to come from you."

Mason knew immediately what he needed to give, and his expression was everything bleak because of it.

"Fine. Let's fuckin' go."

Xavier: Only a situation as dire as this could turn an eyeroll into a small ray of hope. Xavier knew that coming from Mason, it was as close as they were going to get to an affirmation. He'd take it.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Xavier asked his brother, feeling such a reluctance and dread at the thought of leaving him alone. Why, he couldn't say. Maybe to stop him in case he did anything stupid. Maybe just to keep him in his sights. "Ramsay can take Leslie back to his house to get whatever he needs ready."

Mason: Mason refused to look at anyone but nodded just the same. A finger was pointed at Ramsay.

"Ya take him back, we'll meet ya there."

Xavier was given a pointed look. He had anger to spare, and no one to throw it at. His brother seemed a right punching bag at the moment, and took considerable willpower to keep his venom to himself.

"I've got some shit in New Orleans. Might be a ring there."

Xavier/Ramsay: "I'll steal one if there isn't, it's fine." Xavier kept his voice quiet and carefully neutral. Mason's anger was a palpable thing that practically made the air shimmer with its intensity like heat waves in the dead of summer. His temper was on a hair trigger, and Xavier knew that, unintentionally or otherwise, he'd set it off before the night or even the hour was up.

It made no never mind. Better he take the hits or the punches or the insults than Leslie.

"Let's go. John."

Ramsay nodded, beginning his ritual to take Leslie back to Edenton while the brothers went off to New Orleans.

Mason/Leslie: Today was not the day Mason gave any shit about thievery, but he didn't have the energy to say anything worthwhile in any measure. Only looking at his brother with the assumption they were about to argue over which would use their magick.

And when Xavier pushed them south, Mason didn't say a damn thing. With Lawrence in their company, he had enough energy for the next.

Mason pushed past the front step and to the door, which swung open with a dismissive flick of his hand.

"Shoulda said somethin' sooner," he muttered.

A hand was waved at Xavier. "Not you," he motioned to his head. "Down in the library. That angel from - before ya." Arguably before both guests in his house. "He kept a box of bullshit. Think he had a ring."

Leslie's hand flicked nervously upon returning. He didn't expect to see his boyfriend or his daughters, but he was looking both ways as he crossed the yard, expecting to see someone in the herb garden. Half the town had an open invitation. Didn't hurt to be cautious, but he knew this was nerves.

"Talk to me, please. I don't know many, uh, not Verbena."

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier simply nodded and made his way downstairs.

It wasn’t remotely of importance but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering—privately—how anyone could stomach decorating with this much white. Walls were one thing but everything else?

Small, useless thoughts to occupy his mind while he helped his brother look for this box and the ring it hopefully contained.

The atmosphere felt much less fraught without Mason’s looming presence, although the same probably couldn’t be said for Xavier, Ramsay mused.

But it was precisely those thoughts that had him saying, “Wanna start a pool about how long it takes Mason to deck one of us and which one he decks first?”

Mason/Leslie: If only Xavier knew. This apartment had been decorated with someone else in mind. The same someone this box once belonged to. Someone Mason never gave a second thought to until this very moment, thankful to have lived with a magpie with angelic wings, however briefly, to save the man that truly mattered.

"A book box," Mason muttered, feeling at each of the books surrounding the little nook area.

"It'll most likely be me. He's not going to strike his brother, and you're too close to Xavier," Leslie explained as simply as a weather prediction.

A modest hammered copper cauldron was pulled from underneath his altar. He looked over his shoulder to the wood. Just a few logs left. The spell required oak. His hands flicked again as he crossed the living room to the fireplace, tossing a blue fireball onto the single log within.

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier nodded, brow furrowed as he considered the reading nook. If it were him, and he had a box disguised as a book among his other books, he'd put it within easy reach.

He checked the shelves closest to the seat, mirroring his brother and feeling all the books until he came across one that was off.

It was pulled off and shaken to check for a rattle from within.

"Found it."

Ramsay snorted. "You haven't spent enough time with these brothers, mate. They get along now but before?" He gave a long, low whistle. "Trust you me, Mason's got no problem lumping his brother one. But..."

He considered for a moment, nodded. "Yeah, it'll probably be you first if we don't move quick enough. But you're also his hubby's mate, so maybe not. Five bucks it's you first, ten it's Xavier first."

The witch stretched and looked around. "Need any help? I'm good at hunting and gathering."

Mason/Leslie: "Partially burned oak, a cauldron, the words, the item, the ring - this won't work if Mason doesn't allow it." He could do it. He knew he could do it because he had utilized the spell before. He had more now than he had then. This would work. It had to.

He wasn't much concerned about placing an actual bet. Felt rather callous considering the situation, but would not shun what he assumed was a man's coping mechanism.

The moment the box had rattled, Mason had crossed the room to snatch it from Xavier's hands. Urgency, not malice.

Within was an old assortment of magpie treasures. Shirt buttons, a gold tooth, a splintered angelic feather, the tip of an angel's blade, a thimble, and there, as Mason had hoped, were two rings. A bent dirty gold band with the name Robert Hooper 1979 etched within, and a heavy solid jade ring.

The book box was tossed onto the cushion. The ring was examined and tested on his middle finger.

"Let's go."

Xavier/Ramsay: Leslie gave Ramsay far too much credit. His callousness wasn't so much a coping mechanism as a bid to bring levity, which in his mind was absolutely essential. Levity re-centered. It shifted focus back where it was needed. Tunnel vision, while useful, often caused more problems than it solved.

"Guessing that's oak then," he said nodding toward the fire. "So how does this spell you're gonna do work? Why does Mason need to sacrifice something?"

If Xavier didn't know any better, he'd think the box belonged to Vincent. Although there weren't nearly enough rocks for that to be the case.

In any event, they'd found what they were looking for.

"Lead the way."

Mason/Leslie: Leslie simply nodded, circling his hand over the fire to extinguish the flame slowly. His hand hovered, quietly urging the embers to cool.

"Powerful spells like this need an equivalent exchange. Being able to track what you want whenever you want sounds fantastic at first until you realize anyone can have it. Someone that shouldn't. Someone hiding from a monster has nowhere to go."

And he was giving this to a demon, rather than creating one for himself. He didn't know how far Mason would allow him to travel, and he didn't know what he would sacrifice. He didn't want to think about it. It was selfish, and -

"I'll be back." He was heading back upstairs.

Leading the way meant back to Edenton. Back to the dirt driveway and the A-frame cabin. Appearing without warning, his hand on his brother's shoulder.

"When we find him, ya gonna stop me from gettin' my hands bloody?"

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay nodded along as Leslie spoke. “Makes sense. So does that mean that Mason is going to be the only one who’s able to use it once it’s done?” He had about a hundred more questions but they didn’t have time to get into all of them. Still, he had to indulge his academic curiosity just a little.

“All right then. I’ll be here.”

They were fortunate to be doing all this zipping around at night. Had it been day, they would’ve been spotted ten times over.

Xavier turned to his brother and shook his head. “No. Are you going to stop me from helping?”

Mason: Luckily they had minimal cloud coverage to excuse away the sudden thunder and unhinged lightning scattering across the night's sky with every unrestrained transportation. This was not the night for wasted energy.

"What's your version of help tonight?"

Xavier: Xavier looked up, considering the night sky, wondering if the magic users among Edenton’s citizens would be on high alert.

“Whatever you need.”

Mason: "I need fuckin' blood." Vengeance in one hand, with his husband in his other arm. "When we get inside n'I do this spell, I don't need ya sayin' shit t'me, okay? Just... don't stop me."

Xavier: Xavier nodded. He knew when he’d pushed his luck as far as it would go and begging Mason to allow Leslie to do this spell had been the tipping point. Anything beyond was a fool’s errand.

“Understood,” he said quietly.

Mason/Leslie: Leslie was returning downstairs by the time the demons walked through his living room. The door had been left unlocked on purpose. On a night like tonight it was necessary, though he would be considering wards in the near future.

The witch pinched the bridge of his nose, sniffed, and sighed. Both hands combed through his hair and nodded his greeting.

"Let's get started."

The oak, still considerably warm to the touch, was placed diagonally in the copper cauldron. The witch then took to his knees on one side, gesturing to Mason on the other.

"What have you brought to sacrifice?"

The demon only hesitated a moment. Hand hovering over the collar of his shirt.

"Has to be something you're going to regret." Leslie felt a need to emphasize. "This spell will fail otherwise."

Dark eyes closed. His shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a raised X scar over his heart. The sight caused the Verbena to straighten, feeling more inexplicably alive in those seconds than he had since their arrival.

"What - "

A knife was pulled from a sheath in Mason's boot, the tip brought directly to the edge of the scar and circled. No screams, no curses, only heavy panting as he turned from the group to finish carving.

Xavier/Ramsay: Until Leslie asked the question, it hadn’t hit Xavier that he and Mason hadn’t retrieved anything but the ring. That meant that whatever Mason was going to sacrifice was something already on his person.

Xavier wouldn’t get a chance to wonder what that could be, however, because the moment the thought formed in his mind, Mason was undoing his shirt. Then, before there was time to process the scar on his chest, there was a blade in Mason’s hand and in the next breath, the blade was carving into his flesh.

This was why Mason had asked his brother not to say anything or try to stop him. This had always been his intention.

Even though Mason angled his body away, Xavier still turned his head and closed his eyes. It wasn’t the sound so much as the mental image it conjured. He tried taking a deep breath but the smell of burnt wood lingering in the air only made it worse.

He barely lasted a moment before he was practically bolting out the door.

Ramsay started to go after him but instead opted to turn to Leslie, face grim.

“Where do you keep your cups?” he asked quietly, trying his best to ignore what Mason was doing in his periphery.

Leslie: This was not the Verbena's first time seeing blood. The witch didn't so much as flinch his eye. Blood was the reason he wasn't known as a Hermetic mage. Blood was why he could transform into an owl with relative ease.

And there was nothing he could do to heal a demon, so he didn't bother offering. Only looking up as Ramsay spoke, pointing towards the kitchen.

"First cabinet when you walk in."

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay nodded once and headed for the kitchen. He got a glass from the indicated cabinet, filled it with water, and went after Xavier.

It didn’t surprise him to find the demon retching a little ways away from the house or to see him shaking and struggling to breathe in between.

Ramsay simply rubbed his back and waited for Xavier to get everything out. “You’re okay,” he murmured in a voice he’d only used with his younger siblings and Devlin when he was a baby. “You’re all right. You’re not there anymore, I promise. You’re right here with me, right here.”

He offered Xavier the glass. “Rinse out your mouth.”

Mason/Leslie: Mason could think of nothing else, do nothing else until Charles' gift was removed from his body. A scar lovingly seared onto his skin with holy water on December 9th, 2019. By the time his skin was removed he was in tears. Less for the horrific mutilation; he was in mourning.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, choking on his own words. His palm pressed hard into his wound, utilizing Lawrence's pyromancy to burn the wound closed. It would make do for the time being.

"What the fuck now?"

Leslie took a breath through tight lips. "Now, you need to think about him. Think about why you're doing this. Every intention focused on your hands. While I'm chanting, place the ring, then your skin."

Leslie held his hands on either side of the cauldron.

“What is lost will now be found. With my magick you are bound. With my magick you are tied. Where you are, you cannot hide.”

The log reignited with the with the placement of the ring. The unburnt piece fell to the side as that within crumbled to ash. Blue-green flames rose in anticipation of the sacrifice. The stench was as unpleasant as it was familiar to both witch and demon.

Xavier/Ramsay: They each had their own methods for helping Xavier get through these rough episodes. They being what MJ called their coterie, of course. Ramsay may not have had the most delicate touch, but he knew what he was about nonetheless.

After all, there had been ample opportunities to practice.

He continued to rub Xavier's back even after he straightened, encouraging him to finish the glass of water after he'd rinsed his mouth out. Getting that breathing under control was the next order of business, then the shaking. Ramsay regrettably didn't have his tried and true method of calming on him at the moment, so counting breaths would have to do.

When Xavier had calmed, Ramsay pulled out his cigarette case and lighter. "Let's get that taste out of your mouth. Menthol or clove?"

"Menthol," Xavier said absently, staring off at nothing.

A menthol cigarette was lit and handed over, then a second for himself.

"Gonna finish this and then I'm gonna head inside," Ramsay said after the first drag. "You just stay here, okay? I'll come get you when we have to move again." He took Xavier's free hand and rested it on the grass they were sitting on. "You're not in the church anymore. You've got grass under your feet. Not carpet, not stone. Just grass. You're okay. You're here with me and your brother. You're safe."

Xavier nodded and fisted his hand in the grass.

"There's a lad." Ramsay squeezed the demon's shoulder and joined him in staring at nothing.

A few minutes later, he slipped back inside without a word.

Leslie: The spell was complete by the time Ramsay returned. Every speck of ash cleared from the cauldron, absorbed into the ring itself. The air was clear of the stench of burning flesh; the house had the same scent as before the ritual. The scent of pastries, lavender, cedar, and only a trace of the fireplace.

Leslie was slumped on the kitchen floor. An apple in one hand and the crumbled wrapper of a granola by his hip. He was staring off at nothing, the demon nowhere to be found.

Ramsay: Ramsay’s brow furrowed. Had Mason already run off to rescue Charles?

The witch took the empty glass to the kitchen, only to find yet another person with a thousand-yard stare.

“Mason take off or did he go take care of his wound?” he asked, going over to the sink to wash the glass. He almost hoped for the former.

Mason/Leslie: Leslie just shook his head and took another bite of his apple. He motioned to the back door and dropped his hand to his lap with dead weight.

"Testing the ring. Looking for his brother."

Which he had, with ease. Following the pulse of green light on the ground creating the most direct walkable route to Xavier's feet.

Xavier/Ramsay: The witch nodded. He doubted it would happen, but he really hoped Mason wasn’t looking for Xavier just to make him feel worse.

“What about you?” he asked Leslie. “You good, mate? No offense but you look like you’re about to keel over.”

Xavier wasn’t hard to find. Ramsay had sat him on the lawn close to the house and that’s exactly where he’d remained. One hand in the grass and the other on a cigarette.

He looked up at his brother’s approach, eyes falling to his chest.

Mason/Leslie: His shirt partially hid his wound, his hand covered the rest. Keeping pressure over his heart did little, but it was a comfort.

"It works." He didn't know what else to say. His warning hadn't been given in anticipation of this response. He just stood there, waiting for some reaction.

Meanwhile, Leslie shook his head with embarrassment.

"Diabetic. Working on it." In more ways than one.

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier nodded. That was part of the battle done and dusted.

He finally let go of the grass to offer his brother a cigarette. He looked like he could use it.

“Ahhhh.” Ramsay nodded. “That apple gonna be enough? Seems like a job for a sandwich.”

Mason/Leslie: "There's grape juice in the uh - the fridge. Please. Don't need a glass."

The cigarette was given the deepest inhale Mason could muster.

"I dunno what I'm supposed to say," he confessed.

Xavier/Ramsay: “You got it.” Ramsay got the juice and handed it over, taking a seat beside Leslie. Apparently it was a ‘sit on the floor while you got yourself together’ kind of night.

Xavier shook his head and lit another. “You don’t have to say anything. Do you need something to heal the wound faster?”

Mason: "I'll fuck with it when it's over. We need to get movin'. The witch's done. We're leavin' him here."

Xavier: Xavier nodded and got to his feet. “Are you opposed to John joining us?”

Mason: "Is your man gonna get his hands dirty or not?"

Xavier: Another nod. “Yes. He has before and he’s willing again.”

Mason: "Fine." The more energy between them the better. But he looked at his brother again. Really looked at him.

"Just leave him with me. Ya should go home."

Xavier: “I don’t need to go home, I’m fine.” He’d done a lot more feeling a lot worse than this. He wasn’t exactly the image of composure and vengeful intent he would’ve liked to be but no one got what they wanted all the time.

Besides, being a little pale and a bit haunted-looking behind the eyes wasn’t going to be a problem until he tried to sleep which was hardly a priority at the moment.

Xavier sent Ramsay a message telling him to come outside.

Mason/Leslie: He could try and be a big brother again tomorrow when his husband was someplace safe. If Xavier insisted he was fine, then that would have to be enough. For now.

"Fine," he repeated.

But it wasn't just Ramsay walking out the front door. The Verbena hobbled close behind, fiddling with the Dexcom on his arm.

Ramsay: “We all set to go then?” Ramsay asked, slipping his phone into his pocket as he approached the brothers.

Nothing seemed amiss between them. A good sign.

Mason/Leslie: A finger was pointed at the witch. "What are ya doin'?"

"I'm fine. I'm coming." Two chocolate bars were pulled from his back pocket. See? He would do fine. He'd already taken insulin. Not that it was anyone's business.

A look was given to Xavier, but he was in no position to argue.

"Let's get back."

Xavier: Xavier was hardly in a position to judge how ‘fine’ anyone was or wasn’t at the moment. If Leslie wanted in, who was he to object.

He nodded toward his brother’s hand. “Which way is the ring telling us to go?”

Mason: He was about to run out of patience, having expected Ramsay to already start his ritual. He took a forced breath. "Where we were last. Let's just fuckin' get there."

Ramsay: “Copy that,” said the witch, completing his ritual as quickly as he was able and taking the four of them back to the industrial area from which they’d departed earlier.

Mason/Leslie: Leslie would have his fill of this mode of transportation for a year if he could help it, but he knew it wouldn't last that long with Charles' return. Everything was about the next moment, and then the next moment. He didn't know how he'd feel when finally laying eyes on Charles. Even now, he'd yet to process his feelings.

Mason's hand was out in front of him the moment they arrived, and Leslie began tearing into the skin parchment for his own tracking spell. One would point the direction while the other signaled their nearness.

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay was just here to play his role as magical chauffeur. He’d take them where they pointed and in between, he’d stick to Xavier’s side like glue and check up on him as subtly as he was able.

For his part, Xavier was glad to assist in finding them safe landing places for every leap they made, all the while wondering what it was exactly that they were about to walk into. Not that it really mattered. Whatever it was, it would be dealt with swiftly and violently and at Mason’s hand.

Charles: It was the chill in the air that woke him. Slowly, at first, then all at once. His pulse spurred into a gallop as the night’s events flashed through his mind. It took a few moments of measured breathing to settle into the quiet calm that he’d mastered over the decades. Panic would solve nothing. If he wanted to get himself out of… whatever this was, he needed to think.

When the roil of his emotions had been shoved deep beneath a placid surface, Charles opened his eyes.

Blinking against harsh fluorescent light, his gaze swept slowly from side to side. He appeared to be in a hospital room. Though small and sterile, it seemed to have been designed with some degree of comfort in mind. The bottom half of the otherwise white walls were painted a soothing mint green. A tan armchair sat to one side, below a blandly abstract painting of interlocking shapes. The small white drawer on the opposite side of his bed held a carafe of water and a glass, along with a vase of cheerful yellow tulips.

Indeed, the entire space was about as welcoming as a medical setting could be. He might have thought himself safely recovering from a timely rescue, had it not been for the restraints that held him fast to the bed. He snorted softly at the irony.

There were no windows to be found, but a door sat closed on the left side of the wall opposite him. Closed and locked, no doubt. He had to be in an interior room. Or perhaps underground. Far from stuffy, however, the room was positively freezing. A massive vent behind him pumped dry, icy air into the small space.

That explained the gooseflesh that had pimpled along the skin of his exposed forearms.

Odd.

Yes, his forearms were bare. He took another deep breath and swallowed bile as he realized that he’d been changed from his comfortable, academic attire into loose cotton trousers and shirt, both pale blue. His shoes were gone. As were each of his rings. There would be no summoning Mason to his aid.

Charles/Haine: He let his eyes shut for a moment, refusing to let thoughts of his husband send him into a spiral. He had no idea how much time had passed since his abduction, but surely Mason was aware of his absence, by now. The worry his husband must have been experiencing didn’t bear dwelling on. Not if Charles wanted to remain steady enough to get back to him.

With yet another calming breath, he resumed his quiet examination. He pushed past the beginnings of a migraine to unfurl his power. The utter silence that greeted him was no surprise, but he still swallowed bitter disappointment. Beneath pleasantly painted plaster, the room must have been lined with psionic blocking panels.

His gaze had just snagged on the steady tally light of a surveillance camera in one corner of the room, when the sound of a bolt clicking had his head snapping to the door.

He kept his expression perfectly bland as a man stepped into the room. He was dressed as any practicing physician might be, pressed grey slacks and blue shirt beneath a crisply white lab coat. A dull metal band encircled his head, and the telepath knew without checking that it was a psionic blocker. He was perhaps two decades Charles’ senior, his salt-and-pepper hair trimmed short and perfectly pomaded into place.

Under less fraught circumstances, Charles would’ve found him distractingly attractive.

The man’s greeting smile was broad and warm, bright hazel eyes crinkling at their corners. There wasn’t a hint of duplicity in his expression as he approached, pulling the door shut behind him as he did. The audible ‘click’ of the lock was automatic.

“Professor Xavier!” His tone was as open and friendly as the rest of him. Charles didn’t trust him for a moment. “I’m Dr. Christopher Haine. I’ve been following your research for a very long time. Your first published article was the single most influential piece of writing on genetics in my lifetime, at least. It’s truly an honor to meet you.”

Charles/Haine: Charles sniffed at Haine’s outstretched hand, his expression still entirely indecipherable. “There are simpler ways to schedule an appointment,” he croaked. His throat flamed, raw from disuse and a breathing tube he vaguely remembered being inserted.

The doctor merely chuckled at Charles’ cheek, claiming the armchair at his bedside like he was an old friend and not his bloody kidnapper. It took effort to keep his indignation from cracking his facade.

“I suppose so. But something tells me you would have rejected my invitation before you’d had a chance to truly consider my proposition. Your little organization burning down one of my facilities and stealing the patients there sent a pretty clear message.”

Charles blinked. This man was a complete stranger to him. His team had put an end to many an operation in the past, but he preferred to avoid outright destruction. It was bad for public image, and he always wanted as few casualties as possible.

Oh.

“New Hope,” he wheezed, the realization bringing with it a wave of icy rage. His bound hands trembled with it, and he had to clench them into fists to keep from wrestling against his restraints.

Not the team, then. Mason. Exerting himself to the point of collapse to save a group of defenseless children. Their children. Yes, that horrible place had been burnt to cinders, and Charles didn’t regret it for a second.

He shook the memories from his head, confusion cracking his careful facade. “But, Scott…”

“Ah, yes.” Haine nodded, looking unaffected at the mention of the man driven mad by his own cruelty. He waved a dismissive hand. “A wealthy donor willing to facilitate our mission. Nothing more. Though, it was unfortunate to lose his funding.”

Charles shook his head. Any hope at hiding his emotions had vanished. Disgust and ire warred for dominance on his face. “You’re a monster.”

Charles/Haine: For the first time since he’d entered the space, the kindness in Haine’s eyes seemed to falter, replaced by a fervor that bordered on delirium.

“No. No, not a monster. A doctor. A scientist. You of all people should understand, Charles. You wrote it, yourself! Mutants are the next stage of human evolution. The potential for progress is… it’s limitless! Extraordinary strength and speed, superhuman cognitive abilities, infinite cellular regeneration! Imagine if we could tap into that genetic code, Charles. If we could harness it. We’d be looking at an end to aging, to disease, t-to death itself!”

Charles stared at Haine in open horror. The manic zeal in his hazel eyes was a dark mirror of the professor’s own passion. The man truly believed himself a hero; Charles knew better. He’d never been able to forget those gruesome photos: small bodies splayed out on lab tables in various stages of dissection. He pushed those thoughts aside before he could heave up bile from his otherwise empty stomach.

“By killing children.”

“A tragedy, of course.” The bastard looked genuinely remorseful. “But a necessary one, for what we hope to achieve. Millions of lives saved. Billions!”

“How Utilitarian of you.”

“Listen, Charles, as much as I’d enjoy a good philosophical debate, that isn’t why I brought you here.”

He scoffed. “No, I suppose not.”

“Our mission is bigger than any one person. Bigger than me.” The ‘or you’ went unspoken, but Charles heard it, all the same. “Unfortunately, progress is slow, with our current recruitment methods. As you might imagine. We plan to utilize your impressive abilities to… expedite the process.”

Charles felt his heart stutter to a stop. Though Haine continued laying out his plans, the telepath could hear nothing beyond the ringing in his own head.

No.

Nonononononono.

Charles/Haine: Cold sweat broke out over his face and neck, and the ever-present chill in the room settled deep into his core. He couldn’t feel it. Nor did he note the full body tremble that had taken hold of him. He was only aware of the icy terror that had gripped him at those words. His deepest, most private fear mentioned as casually as a plan for dinner. That he’d be used as a weapon against his own people.

He’d sooner die.

Had a plan in place to do precisely that, actually. But his study, and the small handgun he kept locked away inside it, were likely hundreds of miles away from wherever he was being held.

He was shaking his head before he realized it, cutting off whatever bullshit Haine was spouting. “No. You’re completely mad if you think I’m going to hunt down mutants for your sick attempt at ‘progress’. You’d have better luck carving me up for parts, like the rest of them.”

The gentle pity in Haine’s eyes seemed genuine; Had Charles been any less than himself he may have spat in the bastard’s face.

“I don’t actually need your cooperation, Professor. Although I would prefer it. Tracking down exactly who we need would prevent unnecessary loss of life. And think how useful you could be once we retrieved them! Soothing fears and easing pain. Your help would be invaluable.”

Charles/Haine: With a soft grunt, Haine stood from the armchair. Charles flinched violently as a hand came to rest almost paternally on his shoulder. “Please do consider helping our cause willingly. I’d like to get the ball rolling as quickly as possible, either way.”

He turned toward the door with a gentle squeeze to Charles’ shoulder. And though he knew it was fruitless, the telepath lashed out toward that wicked mind with every ounce of his power. It fell harmlessly against the shield. He nearly sobbed in frustration.

Somehow, he managed to keep the emotion from his voice as he rasped, “Whatever good you think will come from the sacrifice of innocents won’t save you. You’ll be damned, regardless.”

“I don’t believe in Hell.”

“Neither did I.”

Mason/Leslie: Charles’ blood underneath his tongue was too small for an honest taste, but the flavor was an unnecessary element of the tracking spell. Still, with the next piece of ancient parchment, the witch froze in place. The air around him seemed to have dropped by twenty degrees, forcing an immediate visible shiver.

What the fuck, was muttered sotto voce as he looked to the side and behind. Looking at Ramsay for any confirmation of the change. No one else had flinched.

His throat had become dry and sore. Cleared with a cough as he massaged his wrists.

And then it all clicked.

“He’s awake.” His voice felt a distance away. He shivered again. The urge to back himself into a corner was both bizarre and impossible. They were in the middle of nowhere by now.

“Can’t you feel him? Say something to him?” He recalled having heard Charles’ voice in his mind in Edenton all the way in Cameron. Surely they were near enough for telepathy.

But the crossroad demon just shook his head.

“He would have said somethin’ by now.”

“But he is. I know he is.”

“Yeah, n’somethin’s in the way. How much closer?”

Leslie closed his eyes, forced deep breaths as he held his hand out and circled his finger as he’d seen Bo do a hundred times, hoping it would somehow encourage his magick.

“More than a day’s walk. We need another fifty miles. Go from there.”

Xavier/Ramsay: Indeed, Leslie was the only one who felt a change. Ramsay felt absolutely nothing. He was looking at him but only for guidance. The moment he noticed the change in Leslie's demeanor, however, his eyes widened. Was his fellow witch finally getting something?

Xavier visibly relaxed at the word 'awake'. Charles was awake which meant that Charles was alive. They weren't too late.

"The same direction?" the demon asked, already searching for their landing spot while Ramsay locked and loaded his ritual. There was nothing on the bloody map that pointed to any sort of anything where a person might be held. Wherever Charles was, it was either extremely well-hidden or it was underground.

He said as much to the group.

"Humans don't know to ward, so that shouldn't be a problem. A cloaking spell will help us break in even if we can't see the layout of wherever we're going."

Mason/Leslie: "I can only cloak myself." Not that that went well last time, or the time before that. Mind readers caught Leslie each and every time, but with Charles' assistance the past few years, maybe not this time.

Mason didn't want to hide shit, ready to tear the door down and take every bullet walking the path to his husband, but the very real possibility of Charles being killed rather than reclaimed steadied his impatience.

"Northwest," he managed through grit teeth.

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier shook his head. “That’s not a problem.” He had enough tricks up his sleeve to conceal all four of them to varying degrees; the question was whether or not all four of them would be requiring it.

He and Mason were bulletproof to a degree. Ramsay and Leslie were not.

“Northwest,” Ramsay repeated, taking them another fifty miles closer to Charles.

Charles: The door shut with a final ‘click’. Utterly alone, Charles released a trembling breath to fight the rising panic. He willed his pulse to slow. Any hope of getting out of this would come only with a clear head.

He inhaled for a count of five, held for a count of three, released for a count of seven. Repeated. And again. He continued the cycle as his gaze found that surveillance camera once more.

He had no way of knowing how closely he was being monitored, how quickly they’d respond to any escape attempt on his part.

Though, he didn’t actually need to escape.

If this facility was even half as well staffed as the last had been, it would be incredibly expensive to arm every individual with psionic blockers. If Charles could damage the room’s paneling just enough to seize hold of a nearby mind, he could manage the rest from there.

When one wasn’t weighed down by anxiety, hospital restraints weren’t all that difficult to get free from. He scooted to one side, stretching his left arm to its limits as he reached over the edge of the bed to the rails on the opposite side. The thick, canvas straps were tricky to unlatch with a single hand, but he managed after several tense minutes. From there, removing bindings from chest, wrist, and ankles was quick work.

The tiles beneath his feet were fucking freezing, but Charles did not let that slow him. His thoughts were swift and focused as he rounded to the end of the bed, intending to use it as a makeshift battering ram against the back wall.

He froze at the deafening ‘click’ of the lock, but only for a moment. In for a penny. He pushed the bed toward the wall at a sprint, ramming into it with a satisfying crunch of drywall. Chalky, mint-painted chunks of it fell away, just a hint of dull metal peeking through.

Charles/Haine: Grunting, he made to haul the bed back again when a familiar pair of tree-trunk arms wrapped around him.

Fuck.

He’d already learned that wriggling free from that grip was beyond his capabilities, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try. He fought fruitlessly with every ounce of his strength as he was turned to face the deep frown of Christopher Haine.

The doctor tutted, shaking his head, sounding for all the world like a disapproving father.

“Really, Charles. You disappoint me. I was hoping you’d understand the significance of our undertaking, here.” A sigh. “No matter. We have to press forward.”

Charles/Haine: His gaze shifted to the man behind him, dismissing Charles entirely. “Ian, help our Professor here back to bed. And… ensure that he can’t make a run for it. It’s really only his brain we need intact.”

The implication of that statement chilled Charles to the bone and had him redoubling his efforts for freedom. He managed to loose a single arm, ramming it back to check his captor with an elbow to the gut. A deep, gratifying grunt was his reward for the maneuver, and he used the temporary lapse to pull himself away completely, stumbling to the hard ground.

He only vaguely registered the sound of soft footsteps retreating, the shutting and locking of the door. He clambered to his feet and spun to face the man –Ian, the doctor had called him– seeing him full-on for the first time.

He was unsurprisingly massive, slate grey hair cropped close and mostly covered by a thick, black helmet. He was armed to the teeth, but didn’t bother drawing a weapon as he reached for Charles. The telepath had no time to appeal to the man’s reason, pulling back a fist to knock him hard across the jaw.

The impact was solid. Decent enough. But Ian’s answering blow had him slamming into the tile once more, vision blurred and head swimming. A second punch nearly sent him under. Ian seemed to recall Doctor Haine’s warning about keeping his brain in one piece, because the next strike was aimed towards his ribs.

A booted foot drove into his torso over and over. It was all Charles could do to scramble away, curling in on himself in a pitiful attempt to protect his vitals. Without a word, Ian hefted him bodily from the ground and dumped him onto the medical bed.

“You don’t have to do this,” Charles rasped, as he was rearranged like a ragdoll onto the firm mattress. Ribs that were most definitely cracked wailed in protest, but he ignored them. “I have a family. Two little kids that deserve to see their father again.”

Charles: Ian set about strapping him into bed once more, expression impassive. Charles changed tactics.

“What information did Haine provide about me? Whatever he’s paying you, I can double it. Triple it, even.”

In the answering silence, he briefly considered moving on to threats. But he was in no position to act on them, and Mason couldn’t possibly know where he was, yet. If he did, this place would already be ashes.

Ian pulled a set of handcuffs from one of the many pouches along his belt, shackling Charles’ right wrist to the bed. If he made a second attempt, he’d have to formulate a new plan.

Charles: At last, he was fully secured to the bed. More firmly than last time. Ian seemed to hesitate for a moment, something akin to compassion tightening the corners of his mouth. He pulled a small, black cylinder from his belt, which expanded into a baton with a flick of his wrist.

His voice was gruff, but his tone unexpectedly gentle. “I’ll try t’make it a clean break.”

Without further preamble, he swung the baton down swift and brutal over the telepath’s right shin.

Charles screamed.

Leslie: The room was acrid. The stench of incense and blood flooded Leslie’s senses the moment he entered Belmira’s bedroom. Suzette sat at the head of the bed. Merlot and green sheets bunched in Belmira’s arms curled up against the telepath’s chest, rocked like a child. It was unlike Suzette not to meet his gaze, but the circumstances – in that circumstance, he hadn’t considered anything amiss.

Belmira whispered a retelling of events. Of a man named Leo Rosa and his many violations of her mind and body. A friend of the family. The shame and guilt tore her to shreds, unable to look at him, refusing a single touch of comfort. The blood beneath her fingers, the hair still clutched in her white-knuckled fist taken by Suzette with whispered apologies.

An innocent man had been nearly ripped in two. A learned spell from the very woman to have deceived him. A man mutilated so horrifically by Leslie's hand it took the combined effort of four blood mages to mend. Suzette and Belmira had insisted they did not mean for such carnage. They did not mean for their trial to end in so much bloodshed, but not one of their coven looked to Leslie for an apology. Not Edwin, Troy, or Tonya demanded repayment in blood. They had known, the same as Suzette, what Belmira was doing. No one would speak of this incident. Leo would never remember. His crime would go unpunished. Each and every one had proven their devotion to the coven. Each one with their own private crimes. All save one. Their most loving and gentlest member.

Suzette and Belmira were left unscathed by their vulgar escapade. Never once took pity on the tears Leslie shed. They just wanted his loyalty in action. Insisting again and again this was his reality. He was their hand of vengeance, and he was beautiful.

Mason/Leslie: And here, nearly a decade later, Leslie sampled another drop of Charles Xavier’s blood. Dull blue eyes had taken on a brighter hue, glossed over and on the verge of tears he could not explain.

Mason had noticed the change in his eyes. They were his husband’s eyes, and looking at them sent shooting pain through his encrusted wound.

“Awake?”

“I’d rather not be asleep, but this is worse.”

Dark eyes lingered over the witch as the ring pulsed. More miles to go, but the pale green light had widened its path, just as Leslie had explained it would upon nearing his desire.

“Hell is hopelessness, isn’t it?”

“As far as the eyes can see.”

“I’m thinking about Hell.”

“Sayin’ he’s thinkin’ ‘bout me?”

“Thinking everything all at once.” Leslie pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. Teeth had become clamped, biting into his cheek to the point of blood. Refusing to verbally acknowledge the excruciating pain cascading up his shin to his groin and spine. These two conditions were going to collide. The increase in Leslie’s body temperature, dilated pupils, and pounding heart. No, no. Charles’ heart was already slamming into his chest. He didn’t have to play the game of which came first.

“I’ve never felt so close to him. He’s right there. Another fifty and we’re there.”

Xavier/Ramsay: Ramsay looked from Leslie and Mason to Xavier and gave him a grim nod. They were finally at the point of no return.

Xavier returned the nod and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a length of braided, gossamer black silk. Woven into the silk with fine gold thread was a spell in ancient Arabic that Xavier knew by heart.

"We need to conceal ourselves," he said, pulling a strand from the braid. "If Leslie is correct and fifty more miles will get us to Charles, then we're about to encounter guards and security measures from the moment we arrive. They cannot under any circumstances detect anything amiss."

The demon tied the strand of silk around Ramsay's wrist and murmured the incantation. A haze began to form over the witch as Xavier spoke that grew more and more opaque until he disappeared from view completely.

Xavier pulled another strand from the braid and held out his hand for Leslie's wrist.

Charles/Haine: He was only vaguely aware of Ian's departure. Breathing exercises to manage the pain of his fractured tibia caused his ribs to flare. The lesser evil, he supposed.

Such was his distraction, he did not realize that Haine had returned until he felt a gentle hand press to his forehead. He flinched away from that contact, and then again at the resulting pain.

"Oh, Charles. I hate to move forward with you in this condition, but you did bring this on yourself. "

Charles glared up at the man as best he could with the entire left side of his face rapidly swelling. The pain was secondary to the overwhelming rage he felt in this man's presence. He refused to dignify his false sympathy with a response.

It was a silence that he maintained even as he was wheeled from the room and into a glaringly bright hallway. They were joined by a slender woman, her thick, blonde hair twisted up into a bun and crowned with another of those fucking blockers.

Charles drowned out their clipped conversation. He struggled to ignore his pain. He was out.

Keeping his expression as impassive as he could, he unfurled his telepathy. As ever, it was the minds of his fellow mutants that shone the brightest. Their pain, anger, and despair were beacons in the dark.

He had no time for this, but he could not abandon them. He sent out a blanket soothing to every glowing mind he could reach. It would have to be enough, until he could get out of there.

He pushed his power out a bit farther, and came up against a wall. Damn. It seemed that the building itself was a barrier against his gift.

He'd have to compel someone on the inside.

Leslie: Leslie watched Xavier’s hands with a fixed expression as he worked the spell.

“We won’t be able to see each other?” was the only question that came to mind as he reached for his Dexcom, hesitating a moment before ripping the device from his arm. Everything was shut off and that would have to be enough. Abandoning his electronics completely wasn’t off the table.

That in mind, he offered his wrist.

Xavier/Ramsay: “We will,” said Xavier, tying the silk around Leslie’s wrist. “We don’t have time to get into the specifics of this spell but since the silk all comes from the same braid, we’ll be able to see and hear each other clearly. To all others we’ll be invisible and almost completely silent. Don’t speak above a whisper and you’ll be safe.”

As he repeated the incantation and Leslie began to disappear from view, Ramsay would come back into view for him.

Ramsay gave a little wave. “Neat little trick ain’t it?” he whispered.

Mason would be next.

Leslie: Leslie nodded. That was all he needed to know. A better spell than his own, by the look of things. Probably older and by the material, more expensive. Something for another day, if he would remember when the dust settles.

"Neat," Leslie swallowed. Long fingers reached out, only to retreat and rub the side of his face with a wince.

"Mason," he whispered, "something's horribly wrong."

Xavier/Ramsay: They were long past the point of wasting any time. While Xavier finished cloaking his brother and then himself, Ramsay began his ritual. They knew how far, in what direction, and exactly where they were going now.

From here on, every single move they made would have to be calculated.

Unfortunately, Xavier joined them beneath the veil of shadow just in time to hear Leslie’s ominous words.

“John,” the demon said. “We need to go now.”

Mason/Leslie: Leslie was pulling his knife out as Xavier spoke. Everyone was mentally and magically preparing and the Verbena was no exception. He expected someone would comment about the thin spiral he was cutting into his forearm, but there would be no explanation this time. Neither would there be for the removal of his boots and socks.

Mason had yet to say a word. Knowing the witch felt akin to his husband, knowing he was just within reach, in pain, possibly terrified - the demon was someplace else entirely. Reaching down into that place disallowed in Charles' presence. That circle of Hell belonging to him, where actions had no consequence.

Lawrence knew every image. That place never to have been, recognized only by the depths of his soul. The two were one in agreement.

What appeared before them was not at all what Leslie had expected. His knife was put away, hands quietly clapped and rubbed together, expanding outwards to test the strength of Quintessence.

"Ramsay?"

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier and the map he’d been consulting had been correct: Charles was being held underground.

In the demon’s experience, the more unassuming something appeared to be on the outside, the more dangerous and insidious it was on the inside. Effort had been made to make this place impossible to find and attract as little attention as possible. Whoever was in charge hadn’t even bothered to put a single guard outside.

Of course, human guards wouldn’t have been equipped to handle what had arrived at their doorstep even if they had been present.

“Yeah?” Ramsay whispered. He was staring intently at the door and twirling the ring on his pinky.

Charles: There.

A lab tech taking blood samples from a young man with a striking pair of antlers. He couldn't have been older than twenty. Charles seethed, but he would not allow himself to be distracted from his goal.

Without a psionic blocker, it was laughably easy to slip into his mind. He seized full control. Never mind the ethics of his actions. Desperate times.

The tech's eyes went glassy and his hands stilled at their task. Without a word, he left the exam room, leaving the door ajar for the confused boy to go free, if he chose.

A quick rifle through the man's thoughts and Charles knew precisely where he was. If he could just open the bunker doors, he stood a slim chance of signaling for help.

Leslie: “If… something happens to me,” Leslie swallowed, “could you please tell Tristan Seger what happened. We live together. He’ll worry.” A horrible goodbye, but it would have to suffice, should this go terribly wrong. So long as he could feel Charles Xavier, this wasn’t a hopeless endeavor. Tristan would understand. He hoped he would understand.

The people within had to believe in something. There was enough Quintessence in the area to carry his magic as if in the presence of his coven. Of course; if these people believed in Charles Xavier’s existence, then their logic had to expand beyond that of the average sleeper. But still, despite this, he could not feel a single ward.

“Y’all don’t feel anything either?” he whispered, already having to catch up with Mason's pointed gait.

Xavier/Ramsay: "Oi," Ramsay chided, turning to Leslie with hands on his hips. "None of that. Nothing's gonna happen to you, you hear me? Only five people are walkin' out of the heart of bloody darkness and it's gonna be us four and the prof, not one of them fuckin' wankstains in there doin' god knows what. The body count's gonna be on their side, not ours." Words that were sincerely meant, even if they were said in a whispered shout.

Xavier's silence could very reasonably be interpreted as him feeling out the energy of the place before them, his furrowed brow merely an indication of his concentration.

He shook his head at Leslie's question, falling into step beside him. "Nothing," he confirmed in a whisper. "They're not using magic as we are. Can you still feel Charles? Mason's ring should lead us straight to him, yes?"

Charles: He'd lost hold of the lab tech for a moment or two, distracted as he was wheeled into a poor imitation of Hank's original psionic amplifier. Tiny needles had slid beneath the membrane-thin skin of his temples and he'd writhed against the intrusion, despite his body's throbbing protests.

But he'd regained control. He prayed to any entity listening that he would be able to reach the outside world before he no longer belonged to himself.

The massive metal doors slid open, revealing an exasperated looking guard, gesturing with his weapon at the quiet night air. He glared down at a short, auburn haired young man in a lab coat.

"I told you there's nothing out there. We're not due for another delivery for three days. And nobody told me about an extra supply drop. You need to get back inside."

From his confines, Charles reached out desperately for the nearest mind.

Mason/Leslie: Ramsay was given a look as they walked. There was every reason to believe something could happen to one of them. After all, Charles was here. The Charles. Their Charles. A man capable of controlling minds and speaking telepathically for hundreds of miles. Despite knowing with every fiber of his being that he was here, that familiar breezy hatchet, as he so lovingly named the sensation, still eluded him.

Mason’s only concentration had been on his hand and the pulse in front of him. Only considering the door when within arm’s length. No, he hadn’t felt a single ward. These people had no idea what was coming.

No show of strength. Not a ball of fire. Not a flex of telekinetic rage. The door opened as if of its own accord. Considerable patience was utilized in feeling each mind – no, not each. That ridiculous getup on the guard’s head prevented entry. The same barrier utilized in their England home. The only obstacle capable of repressing their connection. It was fucking offensive to look at, and one open-handed strike to the guard’s throat was enough of an unwelcome surprise to remove it as the guard fell heavy on his knees.

Only then did he bother reaching into the scientist’s mind.

Xavier: And here Xavier had thought he'd have to put at least a modicum of effort into breaching the door when it was so obligingly opened for them. There were some security measures out here then. Something had roused suspicion, and it was likely their shadows being picked up on a camera somewhere.

No matter, entry was entry.

The demon stepped inside quickly, walking past the downed guard and the man in the lab coat as if they were merely inconveniently placed lamp posts before urging Ramsay and Leslie to follow him.

"Stay close and behind me," he whispered to them. They may have been invisible, but taking out the guard had still made noise and it was only a matter of time before attention was drawn.

Especially given that the guard Mason had punched was not the only one in the parking garage they'd emerged into.

Charles: "What the fuck?" the guard wheezed, down on hands and knees as he struggled to drag air into his abused throat. The blow had come from nowhere, the night just as empty as it had been a moment earlier. But everyone on site was well aware of what types of beings were being held there. A mutant was definitely capable of an invisible attack. He raised a trembling hand to flag down the nearest guards, still unable to call out.

Charles had watched the entire display through borrowed eyes. Like the guard, he could see nothing, but he didn't need to understand the phenomenon to know who'd caused it.

"Mason?" The voice would be unfamiliar. The eyes vacant and staring off into the darkness.

The telepath reached farther, seeking the perfect familiarity of his husband's mind. Deep inside the facility, he swallowed a sob.

'You're here.'

Not a question.

Mason/Leslie: “Shit,” Leslie whispered, his voice barely carrying past his hand. Here he could be useful, he thought, and covered the guard’s nose and mouth with his tattooed palm. He could do nothing to the guard’s mind the way Charles could, but he could force melatonin into his system instantaneously. This is what Charles would want. He knew in his bones he wouldn’t want a pile of bodies, but ultimately, this wasn’t his decision. If this had been Tristan… he knew what he would do.

But what were they meant to do with the taciturn scientist? Mason was staring at him as though –

“Baby?” The demon whispered in a tone Leslie had never before witnessed. Desperate and relieved. He'd never heard that vulnerability from him.

Mason reached into the scientist’s mind before pushing deeper into the facility. Of course. Charles had managed to latch onto someone without a barrier, which meant he no longer needed the ring, so long as they could find each other’s minds.

‘Yeah, baby. I’ve got ya. Just hold on. Lemme see where ya are.’

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier, for one, wasn’t opposed to a pile of bodies but speed and stealth mattered more. At least until they had Charles, then all bets were off.

While Leslie silenced the guard, Ramsay rushed forward to remove any visible weapons from his person before he could get his bearings. Hopefully they got him to pass out before he managed to.

Xavier noticed the tone as well and let his eyes black out in response. With any luck, it would be enough make any security cameras they encountered glitch out until they got to Charles.

“Don’t waste time trying to open doors,” he whispered as he stalked toward the interior door. “We’re teleporting past any barriers from here on.”

Charles: He couldn't see anything. He had no idea how Mason had rendered himself invisible, and was that... Yes, that was Xavier's hushed voice he'd heard through borrowed ears. There was no time to ask questions; he'd take full advantage of whatever shrouded them and figure the rest out, later.

'Yes. Yes, all right. Follow the tech. He knows the way.'

He'd stop only once, just inside the interior doors, explaining to concerned guards that their colleague had collapsed unexpectedly. A heart attack, perhaps. Best go look after him.

The tech pushed into the brightly lit corridor, expression blank. Charles trusted Mason and his brother to keep pace. He pushed the tech to walk as swiftly as his body would allow without breaking into a run. It wouldn't do to draw attention. On that note.

'There are cameras every-bloody-where. Can you be seen through them?'

Mason/Leslie: There was no need to share space in the lab coat’s mind. Charles was plenty capable of multitasking, but Mason was still blind to his condition, and until knowing the extent of his injuries, if any, a finger was kept on the stranger’s mind.

Lawrence itched to be released, but under the circumstances, he would leave himself vulnerable without a shroud. Together, Mason’s abilities were whole.

Red eyes cast a glance to Xavier, to a nearby camera, and down the corridor they had taken.

“Still don’t understand. Moving through places you’ve never been,” Leslie whispered.

“Just shut up and follow Charles,” Mason hissed. Internally, his voice was much softer, soothing as he said, ‘Like a malfunction.’ If that. ‘Don’t worry about us.’ Was Charles going to allow him to see from his point of view? It had been his intention when asking to see where Charles was.

Xavier/Ramsay: Xavier's pitch-black gaze met his brother's blood red one and then looked directly into the camera. Whoever was monitoring would see the mass of shadow that was the four of them following the lab tech but nothing that, on the surface at least, would explain any technical glitches.

The demon's hands ached to simply flick any cameras away with his telekinesis and he had to fight himself not to. Their presence--or rather a presence--had already been noticed, the tech and the incapacitated guard were proof. All he could do was allow as much of his demonic aura as possible to permeate the air around them to force those glitches to happen.

It would fill any surrounding humans with unease, including Ramsay and Leslie, but it couldn't be helped.

Ramsay patted Leslie's shoulder and shook his head. Later. They could all have a nice chat about the wonders of teleportation later.

"Ask him how many people are around him," Xavier whispered to his brother.

Charles: Leslie?!

That was a voice he'd know anywhere. He just couldn't wrap his mind around his friend's presence here. And with Mason, no less. Another discussion that could be put off for later.

'Of course I'm going to worry about you. Be careful.'

He hesitated. Mason was under enough strain without adding Charles' pain onto his shoulders. But he was likely to cause as much stress by leaving him blind.

Reluctantly, Charles lent Mason his vision. Machines lined the walls, being tinkered with by a pair of technicians. He let his gaze sweep to Haine as he spoke in hushed tones to the blonde-haired nurse. Ian stood in one corner, well out of the way, but with his gaze locked on the telepath.

Charles deliberately avoided looking down at himself during this exchange; every sense but sight was kept under lock and key.

Mason: Electronic malfunctions accompanied demonic exposure, and so too did the sulfuric stench now saturating the body Charles inhabited. The stronger they allowed their true selves forth, the stronger they signaled their presence. Luckily for them, the only man in this building to understand the signs was tied to a bed, surrounded by walking-dead ignorance.

"Five people," Mason whispered. "We're close."

By now, the pale pulse at their feet had spanned wide, rhythmic like a heartbeat.

Xavier: Xavier didn’t like that number. They were outmanned, by a slim margin but even so, he’d feel a lot better if Charles was surrounded by fewer people.

“How does this play out?” Speaking in whispers was starting to annoy him. “I can make sure no one else enters the room once we reach it, but I need to ask if we’re the only ones walking out of it.”

Charles: Leslie had been correct in his earlier assumption about Charles. Even broken and bruised as he was, he had no interest whatsoever in a bloodbath. He wanted himself, his family, and the captured mutants out of the facility with as few casualties as possible.

It was a long shot, he knew.

'Tell your brother that there is only one armed man, here. No one else will put up much of a fight.'

Inside the room, at least.

Their mindless guide stopped dead in his tracks, whirling on his heel to face the seemingly-empty hallway. For the first time since Charles had taken hold of him, his eyes were bright with awareness and fear. He took off back the way he'd come at a sprint.

The connection had been severed; the machine was switched on.

#masonatlas #askprofessorx #leslieeissott #johnramsay #tristanseger #The Road to Hell chapter #lawrenceatlas

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