Cesare

Erik Lensherr and Charles Xavier | a zombie au

Reblogging for Helens78… also, got this image stuck in my head, so, happy Tuesday?

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When they come outside, they discover cars abandoned at the side of the road, doors standing open. But for all the signs of catastrophe, the lamp-lit streets are oddly quiet.

When they finally see someone ahead, shuffling steps and the gleam of a shopping trolley, Charles sets off at a jog. Erik has had plenty of reasons to be grateful Charles found him; now he’s glad for Charles’s sake. He catches up easily and snags Charles by the arm, holds him back. They shouldn’t approach anyone mad enough to walk at that snail’s pace on a road cluttered with abandoned cars. Erik sees the hem of a dress, but he’s not sure this person’s even wearing shoes.

Charles allows Erik to pull him to a stop. His other hand is at his temple, and he frowns intensely, staring at the figure slowly pushing the trolley a block away, leaning against the handlebar with almost all her weight, feet pushing slowly against the ground. The wheel squeaks.

Erik looks to Charles for cues. She’s mad or ill or in shock, possibly, and Charles will likely insist on helping her, whatever the case.

But maybe not this time. Charles looks white and strained, and his eyes gleam, filling up. Not tears, exactly. Something else. As if he can’t bring himself to blink.

“I can’t feel her. I can’t feel anything at all from her. It’s like nobody’s there.” Charles shifts against Erik’s hold on him; grasps his hand and squeezes tight. “Something’s wrong, something’s… Erik…” He’s backing away now, pulling Erik with him, his voice low and quiet and urgent. “Erik, run.”