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Sleep, for Erik, had always been a shallow thing. Years of prison camps and cold barracks had carved that habit into his bones. Even now, decades later, he slept like a soldier in hostile territory. A creak of wood, a shift in the wind against the windows of the mansion, the distant sound of footsteps in the corridor, and he would surface halfway from sleep, mind alert before his body followed.
That night the room was warm, the air heavy with the faint smell of old wood and tea leaves. Charles insisted on drinking tea before bed. Erik still thought it was deranged.
Milk first, of all things.
The lamp had been turned off hours ago. The moon hung low outside the tall windows, pale light spilling across the room and touching the edges of metal objects like quiet invitations. Erik could feel them even half asleep. The bed frame. The springs. The wheelchair beside the bed.
And Charles, breathing slowly next to him.
Erik drifted in that half place between waking and sleep when the world shifted.
Suddenly he stood in the middle of the mansion gardens.
Bright sunlight warmed his face. The grass stretched wide and green, dotted with children running across it like bright birds. Laughter rang out, full and careless.
Erik blinked.
He had gone to sleep in Charles's bed.
He was fairly certain he had not sleepwalked outside.
A small boy ran past him, pursued by a girl who left tiny sparks crackling in the air with every step. Somewhere to the left someone shouted, "That's cheating, Jamie!" followed by the unmistakable sound of Nightcrawler laughing.
Erik frowned slowly.
Ah.
He turned.
Charles stood a few steps away, leaning comfortably against the oak tree near the edge of the lawn. Except this Charles stood. No wheelchair. The wind ruffled his hair and the sunlight caught the familiar blue of his eyes.
Charles looked around with quiet delight, as though watching a favorite play.
Erik folded his arms.
"You are dreaming."
Charles glanced at him, surprised. "Oh."
A moment passed.
Then Charles sighed faintly. "I was hoping you might not notice."
Erik raised an eyebrow. "Charles."
"Yes?"
"You are projecting."
Charles winced.
The garden dissolved.
Erik opened his eyes to darkness again.
Beside him Charles shifted under the blankets, making a small embarrassed sound.
For a moment Erik simply stared at the ceiling.
Then he began to laugh.
Softly at first. Then helplessly.
Charles groaned and dragged a pillow over his face.
"You could at least attempt discretion," Erik said.
"You were not meant to be conscious."
"You underestimate me."
"I had hoped to," Charles muttered into the pillow.
Erik lay back, still smiling faintly. He could feel the lingering warmth of the dream like sunlight that had soaked through skin.
"You were dreaming of the children."
"They were happy," Charles said quietly.
"Yes."
Silence settled again.
Then Erik said, "You run in your dreams."
Charles did not answer.
But Erik could feel the echo of a small, wistful thought brushing his mind.
Just a little.
The second time it happened was considerably less peaceful.
Erik woke to the sound of screaming.
Not from the room.
From everywhere.
His eyes snapped open.
The mansion was gone.
He stood inside a building made of gray concrete and steel, narrow corridors stretching in all directions under flickering lights. The air smelled of chemicals and electricity.
People ran past him.
Scientists. Soldiers.
One of them shouted something in English.
Containment breach.
Erik knew this place.
Not from memory.
From Charles.
He turned slowly.
Down the hallway at the far end something moved.
Not walked.
Moved.
A figure stepped forward from the shadows, tall and wrong, limbs bending with a fluid unnaturalness that made Erik's skin crawl. Its eyes glowed faintly red.
Behind it came another.
Then another.
Erik clenched his jaw.
Sentinels.
But not the clumsy machines he half remembered from Charles's retelling of the future.
These were alive in a way that made his instincts recoil.
Metal shifted across their surfaces, adapting, forming blades, weapons, things not meant to exist.
A door slammed somewhere.
Someone screamed.
And suddenly Erik felt it.
Fear.
Not his own.
Charles's.
Raw, overwhelming terror that flooded the dream like cold water.
Erik spun around.
Charles stood in the corridor behind him, breathing hard, eyes wide as he watched the Sentinels advance.
Except Charles looked younger here.
Not a child.
But not quite the man in Erik's bed either.
This was Charles from another future. Or past. Or universe.
A broken one.
Erik walked straight toward him.
The Sentinels lunged forward.
Metal shrieked as the hallway twisted violently.
Even inside a dream Erik's powers answered instinctively. The steel walls buckled, pipes ripping loose as he tore the environment apart like wet paper.
But the Sentinels kept coming.
Charles whispered hoarsely, "No no no no—"
Erik grabbed his shoulders.
"Charles."
The younger man flinched.
Then blinked.
Recognition dawned slowly.
"Oh," he breathed.
The hallway flickered.
Reality stuttered like a damaged film reel.
Erik could feel Charles struggling to pull himself out of the nightmare.
He tightened his grip.
"They are not here."
The Sentinels froze mid step.
Charles stared at them.
Then at Erik.
Then the entire world shattered into white light.
Erik woke with a sharp breath.
Charles was sitting upright in bed beside him, shaking.
His hands gripped the blankets so tightly the fabric twisted between his fingers.
Erik immediately sat up and pulled him closer.
Charles did not resist. In fact he leaned into Erik with surprising force, forehead pressing against Erik's shoulder as his breathing tried to steady.
"Future?" Erik asked quietly.
Charles nodded against him.
"The one we avoided."
Erik rested his chin lightly against Charles's hair.
For a long time neither of them spoke.
Finally Charles exhaled slowly.
"I suppose I should apologize."
"For what?"
"My subconscious invading your sleep."
Erik snorted softly.
"I have endured worse roommates."
Charles huffed a quiet laugh.
Then his mind brushed Erik's again, gentle and tentative.
Thank you.
Erik did not answer with words.
But he did not close the door either.
The third time it happened, Erik learned something important.
Not all of Charles's dreams were quite so... innocent.
Erik found himself sitting in the library.
The large fireplace crackled warmly, casting soft orange light across the familiar room. Shelves of books stretched toward the ceiling. Rain tapped lightly against the tall windows.
A chess board sat on the small table between two armchairs.
Erik stared at it.
White pieces.
Of course.
He looked up.
Charles sat across from him, smiling faintly.
"Your move."
Erik examined the board.
"Knight to f6."
Charles moved a pawn without looking away from Erik.
The room felt unusually warm.
The rain outside grew heavier.
Erik leaned back in the chair, studying Charles.
"You are aware you are dreaming again."
Charles sighed.
"Yes."
"And projecting."
"Yes."
"And inviting me to a chess match."
Charles tilted his head slightly.
"You object?"
"No."
Erik moved his bishop.
They played several turns in comfortable silence.
Then Erik noticed something.
Charles's posture had shifted.
He leaned slightly forward now, elbow resting against the arm of the chair. His gaze lingered longer than usual. There was a thoughtful curiosity there that Erik knew well.
Too well.
Erik raised an eyebrow.
"Charles."
"Hm?"
"You are staring."
Charles blinked once.
Then looked down at the board with a small, sheepish smile.
"I might be."
The fire popped softly.
The rain continued outside.
Erik suddenly realized that the dream version of himself wore far fewer clothes than he had gone to bed with.
He looked down.
Shirt gone.
Of course.
He looked back up slowly.
Charles was very carefully studying a rook, slight blush spreading on his cheeks.
Erik leaned forward slightly.
"You are having an interesting dream."
Charles made a choking sound.
The library flickered violently.
The chess board tipped sideways as the entire scene collapsed.
Erik woke to the sound of Charles groaning into the mattress.
"You saw nothing," Charles said firmly.
Erik lay on his back staring at the ceiling.
"I saw many things."
"You imagined them."
"I assure you I did not."
Charles buried his face deeper into the pillow.
Erik turned his head slightly.
"Your subconscious is quite flattering."
Charles made a muffled, horrified noise.
Erik smiled into the darkness.
For several weeks after that, Charles attempted to construct mental barriers before sleeping.
It did not always work.
Sometimes Erik found himself wandering through memories instead of dreams.
A young Charles sitting cross legged on the floor reading a book far too advanced for his age.
Raven chasing him through the gardens when they were children.
Oxford lecture halls filled with bored students.
A younger him sometimes in those memories too. A distant figure in the back of Charles's mind long before they met.
Other nights were stranger.
Floating through abstract landscapes of thoughts and half formed ideas.
One particularly bizarre dream involved Charles attempting to teach a group of floating teacups how to play chess.
Erik woke from that one laughing.
But eventually came the night Erik understood the true problem with sharing a bed with a telepath.
It started peacefully.
They walked through a quiet beach at sunset. Waves rolled across dark sand under a sky full of burning orange clouds.
Charles walked beside him, hands in his pockets, the wind tugging gently at his coat.
They talked.
About the school.
About the children.
About the quiet fragile peace the world seemed to be holding for the moment.
Erik enjoyed those dreams.
Charles's mind created beautiful places.
They reached the edge of the water.
Charles stopped.
The ocean suddenly went silent.
Erik felt it immediately.
A shift.
Something wrong beneath the surface.
Charles stiffened beside him.
Then the water rose.
Not like a wave.
Like something enormous waking beneath it.
The entire ocean lifted upward as if gravity had lost interest.
And from the darkness below came voices.
Thousands.
Millions.
Human thoughts screaming.
Pain.
Hatred.
Fear.
War.
All of it crashed into Erik's mind at once.
He staggered.
Charles dropped to his knees in the sand, hands pressed to his temples.
"Too loud," he gasped.
Erik realized then, this was not a nightmare. This was what Charles lived with when he didn't have his barriers.
Every mind on their side of the planet whispering, shouting, crying inside the back of his skull.
The ocean collapsed into chaos around them.
Erik moved instantly.
He knelt beside Charles and pulled him close, one hand gripping the back of his neck.
"Charles."
The telepath trembled violently.
"They never stop," he whispered.
Erik closed his eyes.
Then did something he had only done a few times before.
He reached back.
Into the quiet place in his own mind where Charles often liked to rest.
And opened it.
The noise faded immediately.
Not gone.
But distant.
Like thunder miles away.
Charles went still.
Slowly he looked up.
"You..."
Erik shrugged slightly.
"You said once my mind calms you."
Charles stared at him.
Then smiled faintly.
The ocean flattened.
The screaming voices faded into quiet wind.
They sat together in the sand as the sun dipped below the horizon.
When Erik woke, the room was still dark.
Charles lay beside him, breathing slowly, one hand resting lightly against Erik's chest.
Peaceful.
For once.
Erik stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
Then carefully reached over and turned off the small metal clock on the nightstand before its alarm could ring.
Charles would need the rest.
Sharing a bed with a telepath, Erik decided, was a very strange experience.
But as Charles shifted slightly closer in his sleep, Erik found he did not mind it nearly as much as he had expected.