Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Amy Carson was particularly bored that night. The bar was half empty, even for an average Tuesday night. Her shift had started four hours earlier, but the evening had yet to take off. There were few customers left and they had consumed few drinks, leaving her plenty of time to be bored.

Amy would have preferred to be somewhere else, with Steve for example. Steve worked as a clerk in the ice-cream parlour below Mary's house, but was always willing to give her an extra ice-cream cone when she passed his stall. The last time Amy had eaten ice cream, Steve had given her one of his best smiles and talked at length about how beautiful the town park was on a spring Sunday.

The boy had added nothing more, but Amy was convinced that next time he would invite her to go with him, and she was more than willing to say yes. Compared to the boys she usually hung out with, Steve was a bright exception and as fresh as a mountain stream, and Amy looked forward to bathing in his waters.

If she could close the club early, she could go home and get ready for Steve. She could wear different outfits and pick the one that looked best on her while she fantasised about the taste of Steve's lips when he would kiss her.

It was a good plan.

The clatter of cutlery rubbing together caught her attention. Behind the partition separating the bar area from the lounge sat the only customer who had given her anything to do that dreary evening. Apart from him, the bar was completely empty at the moment.

The man was a regular at the bar, but Amy did not like him. His eyes made her skin crawl and she had always avoided spending too much time with him, although he was a good tipper and not a particularly annoying customer.

He had blue eyes, like Steve's, but unlike the ice-cream man's, they were watery and slanted, like those of a dying fish. Amy couldn't explain exactly why she found them so disgusting. The word that came closest to describing the way he made her feel was slimy, so she rarely submitted to his flirtations and was always glad to see him leave, his slouching gait resembling a dance step.

Since Rosy, a colleague, had whispered to her that the man was a security guard at a nearby bank, her anxiety had increased. The thought that the man might be armed made her deeply uncomfortable.

So when two people entered the premises and she knew she was no longer alone with the man, Amy felt a wave of overwhelming relief.

The two men who had entered were at least twenty years younger than the only customer left in the club. Their clothes suggested they belonged to a gang, with their equally worn jeans and leather jackets. Their faces were so distinctive that Amy felt she could recognise them anywhere.

She certainly hadn't expected to have to do so so soon and so formally.

The taller of the two, with black hair and a prominent scar on his right cheek, walked confidently towards the most hidden part of the diner, where the only other customer was finishing his meal. The other had olive skin, typical of Latinos, and wore his hair long, pulled back in a low ponytail that accentuated the sharpness of his jaw.

If Steve hadn't piqued her interest so much, Amy would have flirted with him. He was definitely her type.

As he walked past the counter, the boy with the scar gave her an amused smile and motioned for her to be quiet, bringing one of his long fingers to his mouth. Amy had the quick wit to obey his command, but her eyes lingered on their backs until they disappeared behind the partition of the inner room.

She hadn't decided whether to get her orders or wait a few more minutes when a roar of gunfire filled the air.

Amy watched as the two reappeared in the large room with slow and exceptionally calm steps, carefully cleaned the two pistols they both still held and disappeared from the room, not forgetting to leave on the bar the exact amount of the man's dinner they had just shot and a generous tip for her.

When the front door closed and the bar was completely empty, Amy allowed herself to scream at the top of her lungs.

Charles was returning home after a day's work. The area was deserted and the pavements empty. In the distance, a couple of drunks were singing an off-key song at the top of their lungs, but that, along with the police sirens, was the only noise to be heard.

Decent people were locked in their houses at this time of night. The curfew had not been imposed by law, but the night had never brought good things to Hell’s Kitchen and its people had quickly learned to hide and protect themselves as best they could behind the bars of their homes.

Charles, on the other hand, was not afraid to move about the area. It had been his home since he moved there as a child, and he knew its streets better than anyone. As a result, he was considered one of the best news reporters on his paper.

Charles had discovered his passion for letters during his high school years. His professors were convinced that Charles would succeed in life, as he had been the best student for all four years he had been at school. Before graduating, he'd received offers from prestigious schools such as Harvard, Yale and Oxford, but against all odds, he'd chosen the community college and continued to live in the neighbourhood.

This choice was seen by many as a serious waste of talent. Charles had never bothered to explain or contradict them. He was just happy with it. He could do a job he loved and walk fearlessly down some of the most dangerous streets in New York.

He didn't even bother to investigate the identity of the shadow standing on the sidewalk in front of his house. But when he had slipped his keys into the keyhole of the door, the figure stepped forward and into the beam of one of the streetlamps that lit the street.

"Charles."

Charles hadn't heard that voice in a long time. Ten years, to be fair.

"Erik."

His tone was firm and controlled, but Charles felt his heart skip a beat.

Despite the time that had passed since their last conversation, Charles had not lost sight of Erik's career. His job as a journalist had allowed him to. Unlike him, the boy had left the neighbourhood right after high school on a scholarship to the prestigious Yale University, where he had studied law and then returned to become the youngest district attorney in New York City.

Charles had always featured him in his articles, but had never interviewed him, preferring to focus on the facts rather than the personal stories of the new rising star of the New York District Attorney's office.

Erik was wearing a grey coat, stained on the sleeves, and had no umbrella to protect him from the rain. His gaze was raw and painful, and Charles had a strong urge to open the door to his house and disappear quickly inside, shutting Erik and his past out.

"Why are you here, Erik?"

"He's dead, Charles. Everything is about to begin."

Charles felt as if he had been punched in the stomach and his mouth went dry.

"I don't know if I really want to do this, Erik."

Erik's body trembled visibly. Charles saw him clench his jaw as he always did when anger threatened to take over.

"You promised, Charles. We all did. Now it's time for each of us to do our part. Azazel and Janos have already done theirs. Now it's our turn."

Erik's voice was controlled, but Charles knew him well enough to know that in a more private room the man would grab him by the shoulders and shake him so that his words would penetrate his brain. Erik had always been the most determined of the group.

Charles had tried to forget that one day someone would appear at his door, asking him to account for a promise he had made so many years before. Perhaps he had even hoped it would never come to that.

But he had stayed in the area and found work as a journalist, existential decisions too important for him to hope to convince anyone that he had forgotten what had happened so many years before.

Erik would not have believed him. None of the group would have, because Charles acted like one of them, as he always had.

"Check the news tomorrow morning. You'll know what to do."

Erik's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Erik did not even wait for a nod of agreement from him. With a simple, single step, he stepped back into the shadow of the wall that bordered Charles' house, and soon all that was left of him was the sound of his footsteps on the pavement.

Charles entered the house and tried to ignore the trembling of his hands as he opened the liquor cabinet.

Ten long years had passed.

Hell’s Kitchen was the most crowded and seediest district in New York. It was a great mix of ethnicities, nationalities and languages that made it a modern-day Babylon, with its smells, colours and crowds of desperate people walking the sidewalks in piles of torn clothes.

Charles had moved there when he was six. His father had just died and creditors had descended on the family fortune like barracudas, leaving the family on the breadline. So his mother had to sell the house and everything they owned and move to what she often referred to as the first circle of hell.

The move had been a real hurricane. Charles had never been used to fighting for what he wanted. Everything had always seemed like an acquired right to him.

In Hell’s Kitchen, however, nothing was guaranteed. Not school lunches, which could be taken away with brute force if you had the audacity to show them to other people. Nor the clothes you wore, which were a good way to get some credit on the black market that was rampant in the neighbourhood.

Charles spent many days with an empty belly and bare feet before he learned how to behave properly.

At home, his mother never accepted the new arrangement and soon her mind was so clouded by the alcohol she swallowed in large quantities that her presence became something distant and vaguely disturbing, which did nothing to help Charles overcome his grief and difficulties in life.

What did help him in this sea of despair was to find friends. Three boys who made the most difficult time of his life the most cheerful.

Charles' stomach growled furiously. Mum had been too drunk to remember to go shopping and he had found the fridge desperately empty. He had saved some change to buy a doughnut from the stall outside the school, hoping to get something for lunch, but Robert Channingam had decided he was in the mood for doughnuts that morning, so Charles' lunchbox was now terribly empty.

The children were already seated at the plastic tables in the dining hall, looking at him quizzically. Not the way you look at a new and slightly strange child, but the way you look at someone who has a big, disgusting stain on their shirt that makes everyone laugh.

Charles was angry, hungry and sad, so he made his way to the only empty table and sat down, hiding his face in his arms and hoping to fall asleep or sink into the ground with the whole bloody school.

The giggles increased around him, but Charles tried to ignore them. He wanted to go home. He wanted his father. He wanted to smash all the bottles that made his mother's days a chaotic nightmare. He wanted to run away.

Then a plastic object hit his elbow. Charles lifted his head weakly as he realised that the giggling had stopped. Something had stopped the laughter.

Charles was a fool, but he had quickly learned that new things did not always bring good things. Not at this school. Not for him.

So he saw a plastic wrapper containing a sandwich. It was a fat, bulky sandwich, so much so that Charles was afraid that the wrapper would explode at any moment from the pressure.

Charles feared he was dreaming. He had fallen asleep without realising it and now his hungry mind was producing this hallucination.

Charles was convinced that if he tore off the plastic wrap, his imagination would be so fertile that he could smell the sandwich.

"You can have it."

Charles almost gasped. A little boy, whom he was sure he had never seen before, was suddenly sitting next to him, looking intently at his own sandwich, clasped in his hands with long, slender fingers.

He was taller than Charles, but that hardly mattered; most people were. His hair was a reddish colour that changed with the changing light of the day, and his eyes were so clear and bright that it was almost impossible to concentrate on anything else. If the child had been completely bald or naked, no one would have noticed because they were all too busy looking at his eyes.

Charles looked in front of him and saw that a sandwich of the same make was looking at him from the table.

Charles looked at the boy again and noticed that he had started to eat. There was an underlying confidence in his demeanour that gave him the conviction that his words would be followed without the need for repetition.

The tables around them had become unusually quiet. No more laughter, no more chatter. Everyone was eating, but Charles noticed with alarming clarity: everyone's eyes were focused on what was happening at this table.

Was it all a joke? What would have happened if Charles had decided to accept the child's gift? Life had taught Charles that gifts could be dangerous, especially when they came from complete strangers.

"I don't want it. I'm not hungry."

The boy continued to look in front of him, but when Charles pushed the sandwich away from him forcefully to make his refusal more clear, he stared back, very seriously.

Charles thought the boy was going to beat him up now. It was punishment for those strangers who would not submit to the pranks of those good-timers who had nothing better to do than harass the newcomer.

"My mother is convinced of two things: that I like tuna and that I am too thin for my own good. So since the rabbi advised her to supplement my diet, she has doubled my rations to make sure I grow well." The boy suddenly interrupted and took a bite of his sandwich. "I hate tuna. If you could help me make her happy and not waste this sandwich, which would otherwise end up in the rubbish before she gets home, you would be doing me a great favour."

The boy turned to face him and Charles noticed that his mouth was wide open. He couldn't remember the last time someone had spent so much time with him without yelling at him. It was a completely new and extravagant feeling.

The sandwich was huge and Charles was hungry, but he still didn't feel ready.

"I have nothing to give you in return."

Charles didn't want to be indebted to anyone. That was the first lesson he had learned there.

A grin appeared on the other boy's face.

"You totally do. I've always wanted to try Oreos."

Charles was about to say that he didn't have any Oreos, but the other boy had already stood up, walked confidently to another table and grabbed the Oreo packet from a black boy who tried to protest, but was promptly silenced by a cruel, sarcastic smile.

The boy returned to his seat and shoved his sandwich back at Charles before taking the newly stolen packet of Oreos.

"But don't tell my mum."

Charles broke into a completely involuntary smile and accepted the gift.

Little did he know that this encounter would change his life.

This is how Charles Xavier met Erik Lehnsherr.

Chapter Text

The newspaper office was on a busy street near the river that ran through the area. It was close enough to Charles’s home that he could easily walk there without having to take the subway.

On the way there, Charles had often wondered, as he had during the sleepless night, if it was possible to get out of this situation without feeling completely dirty.

When he walked through the door of the newspaper, he still had not found a solution that would allow him to live with himself.

Erik’s eyes the night before had expressed the firm conviction that Charles would keep his word. It was just like when he was a child, when Erik always expected people to do what he said, just because he said it.

Charles would have liked to disagree, but his conscience seemed to have other ideas.

He greeted everyone politely and made his way to Moira’s office without delay.

There was no point in putting off what he had to do any longer, and a small part of him harboured the secret hope that Moira would convince him not to take the case.

“Good morning, Charles.”

Moira was already busy scrolling through the day’s news and deciding who among her staff to send for new information, but she still managed to smile at Charles as she concentrated on her work.

Charles suspected that Moira had always had a soft spot for him. Not so much that she took off the mask of professionalism, for she was still a woman of principle, but enough to listen to his advice and sometimes even follow it. But that was not what Charles needed.

“Good morning, Moira.”

He entered the office and closed the door behind him, making sure to give them just the right amount of privacy. Moira’s eyes settled on him immediately. Surely it must have been obvious that something was troubling him, and Moira was a keen observer.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Charles?”

Charles nodded and sat down across from her.

“The Alladin crime. Have you appointed anyone yet?”

Moira pushed her glasses down her nose and looked at her daily list.

“The Alladin crime…” Moira’s finger scrolled down the list until it stopped in the middle. “Ah, yes… here it is. A murder committed by two hoodlums. Nothing sensational. I was thinking of Oscar. Why do you ask?”

Charles licked his lips, trying to banish the memory of Erik’s eyes watching him at his front door.

“I wish I was on the case.”

One of Moira’s eyebrows moved across her forehead. The woman slowly removed her glasses and looked at him with great suspicion.

“That’s quite a tale, Charles, especially in an area like this. Don’t you think you’re wasting your talent on a showdown between criminals?”

It was a pertinent question.

The Charles who had told Erik that he did not want to be involved in this story would have welcomed this objection. It was a good reason not to deal with the article and to leave his past where it was.

He could have told Moira that he agreed with her and gone back to his job without worrying about the consequences.

But Erik had reminded him of their promise.

It was a promise they had made as children. Nothing important. But a voice in his head told him that when they had made it, they had stopped being children and that there were things worth risking.

“The victim wasn’t a gangster. He was just a former prison guard trying to make ends meet as a security guard for the Brokensband Bank.”

A benevolent smile appeared on Moira’s face as the woman continued to read the documents.

“I see someone has done their homework.”

Charles replied with a smile. He and Moira had always had a good relationship. Many people claimed that his rise to the top was due to the fact that the woman had feelings for him. In reality, that was not the case at all. Charles had never used his influence over the woman, simply because he never needed to. Moira was a woman who knew how to keep her personal and professional lives separate, and Charles had always been a capable and responsible journalist.

“I can try to work something out and then bring it to you. If you find it trivial, you can assign me something else.”

Moira stopped what she was doing to focus on him. Charles had the irrational wish that she would not fall into his trap and remain convinced of his ideas. It would have been a coward’s way out and Erik would not have missed it, but was it really so wrong to refuse to descend further into the hell of his past?

Charles thought not.

He could have tried. If nothing worked, he would resign himself and allow himself to feel the shameful relief he had been craving since Erik had appeared on his doorstep.

“I want to trust your instincts, Charles. Are you sure you’re all right? You look terrible.”

Charles tried to smile, feeling the wrinkles that had formed on his face that night tighten all at once.

“I’m fine. I didn’t get much sleep. That’s all.”

Charles wasn’t sure he’d be able to fall asleep again. Not any time soon.

When he got home, he went down to his cellar.

There, in a dusty old room just wide enough to hold a desk and a chair, he opened the middle drawer where, in a thick brown paper bag, were several filing cabinets.

Charles had started collecting them many years before. Five, to be precise. Back when the promise he had made as a boy still weighed on his conscience.

Perhaps Charles had started this job, chosen this profession, to keep that promise. Wasn’t it strange that now he wanted to go back on every word?

Charles sat down in the chair, which creaked under his weight. It was the same desk he had used as a boy. The seat was a little small for the current size of his bottom, but he had never felt like replacing it.

He scrolled through the cards with his thumb, one by one, like a teacher checking the attendance of his pupils every morning. At first he was driven by the need to remember and to be in control.

His life was completely in his hands. For too long, Charles had had no control over his body or his destiny. This filing cabinet was the answer to his need never to repeat that experience.

At that moment, however, he was no longer so sure.

If he really wanted to leave everything behind, he would have to leave the country, go far away and start a new life.

Yet he was the only one of the group who had never crossed the Hudson.

Erik had left, but then returned. Azazel and Janos had wandered the country for a while, but then returned to Hell’s Kitchen.

Perhaps Charles just had to accept that his life would never make sense without the conclusion it deserved.

Erik, Janos, Azazel and Charles were bound by something more precious than blood.

Erik would have called it vengeance.

Charles could only call it fate.

The summer in Hell’s Kitchen had always been muggy and humid, so its inhabitants often sought solace in the waters of the Hudson. They were not very clean, but the citizens of Hell’s Kitchen had quickly learned to make do with what life had to offer.

As for the children, the Summer Oratory had a dock where its young guests could cool off and escape the summer heat.

Erik, Charles, Janos and Azazel, whose parents had to work all day to support the family, were regulars at the oratory throughout the year. Erik, as a Jew, had to get special permission from the synagogue and from Father Logan, who was one of the few adults to whom the group paid grudging respect.

In the sunny courtyard, two boys giggled as they peered side by side through holes they had drilled in the metal separating them from the women’s changing room.

Not far from them, a younger boy sat on the concrete steps, concentrating on reading a yellowed little book with worn pages.

All the boys were wearing knee-length swimming trunks that must have belonged to more than one previous owner.

Suddenly, the taller of the two bent down to pick up a stone from the ground and threw it at the little boy, hitting him painfully on the head.

“You idiot! You hurt me!”

Azazel burst out laughing and looked back into his hole.

“Where’s Erik? I haven’t seen him since lunch.”

The other boy, Janos, shrugged, but it was obvious that the question was not directed at him.

Charles tried to ignore them both and continued to rub his head where he had been hit.

He didn’t know where Erik had gone.

Since the beginning of the summer, the boy had disappeared for hours at a time, only to reappear with no explanation.

Azazel and Janos had often teased him, asking what girl was keeping him from his friends, but he had never given an answer that would satisfy their curiosity.

Charles had never asked why, he knew the answer and it was not one of his favourite subjects.

So Erik’s activities had quickly become a taboo subject.

Azazel and Janos only used it when they wanted to annoy Charles, who was mature enough not to fall for their provocations.

“Oh… His Majesty has decided to join us!”

Azazel’s sentence made Charles’s head jerk. Erik had magically appeared at the entrance to the oratory. The boy was wearing dust- and sweat-covered shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt that seemed to have suffered the same fate as his trousers. He was also very sweaty, as if he had just run, and his hair, left long out of a lingering dislike for the local barber, who was known to be rather careless with scissors, curled softly around his ears, giving him the appearance of a shaggy shark.

A striking image, if Charles didn’t have more than one reason to be annoyed with him.

The boy carried a canvas bag over his shoulder and was so hot that his skin glistened with sweat under the tan of a spring spent outdoors.

Janos, still distracted by whatever he was looking at from his rusty hole, interrupted any answer Erik might give.

“Sally McKnees has got two huge tits!” The boy turned to face the courtyard audience, hands clasped high on his chest. “They’re this big!”

Erik burst out laughing.

“You guys are such wankers!” The stupid grin that appeared on Azazel’s and Janos’s lips made Charles laugh too. They were two idiots! “Losers and wankers!”

“Oh yeah…” Azazel wore a dreamy expression and mimed a masturbation with one hand, his fingers deliberately spread wide to simulate an obscenely fake girth that was not lost on Charles. “I could jerk myself to death with those tits!”

Erik, who had approached as they spoke, punished him with a punch on the shoulder.

“I’m going to change, losers! Don’t dry out while I’m gone!”

The two boys continued to laugh as Erik headed for the opposite tin door, into the boys’ changing room.

Charles would have liked to keep the good mood going, but the prospect of finding Erik alone forced him to confront the thought that haunted him every time Erik disappeared without a reason. The fact that he had become a taboo subject did nothing to alleviate his concern.

Maybe he should have just waited for him and enjoyed the afternoon with his friends. But he could not do that.

He slipped behind the door through which Erik had passed a few minutes earlier. Azazel and Janos were too busy gazing at the feminine beauties to notice him, and Charles was able to avoid answering the questions that were swirling around in his head.

He found him in the first of the changing rooms. The boy had just taken off his shirt and was now sliding his worn-out shorts down his long legs, revealing his toned, muscular bottom.

Charles swallowed. He had never been interested in Sally McKnees’s gigantic tits, but there was definitely an image that accompanied him in his solitary masturbation sessions.

He closed his eyes and turned away in embarrassment. It was best not to indulge in such thoughts when he was only wearing a wretched bathing costume.

“Where have you been?”

Erik jerked, but then, seeing that it was only Charles, he relaxed and went back to looking after his costume. He could clearly see that he wanted something to keep him occupied so that he could appear calm and unflappable.

Charles wondered when Erik had developed those muscular arms.

The boy had never been puny, but puberty had hit him faster than his peers. While Charles still had boyish features and a soft body that seemed to struggle against the changes caused by hormones, Erik was already a made man.

It was no longer just his green eyes that caught the eye.

Charles thought that if Sally McKnees or any of the other girls who attended the oratory had to choose who they would let touch their tits, Erik would surely be at the top of any list. Charles, at least, would have no doubt if he had a pair of breasts.

“Around. My mother needed me.”

This was clearly a lie. Edie was a good mother who worked hard all day, and as such did not like leaving her son alone on the streets, so she tried to do as little as possible.

“When did your mother change her name?”

The tone was more angry than he wanted to admit. Anger had no effect on Erik, and Charles knew that well. The best thing to do with him was to avoid direct confrontation and skirt around the subject. That had always been Edie’s technique. In fact, only Erik’s mother was able to change her son’s mind without raising her voice. Charles had always been a little jealous of that relationship.

Erik began to tie the rope around his shorts. His gaze was hard.

“Why ask the questions if you’ve already decided you won’t like the answers? We’ve been over this, Charles. My mother works hard every day to feed me and my sister. She is always tired. At night she’s exhausted, but she can’t give up because she’s the only one taking care of us. I just want to help her and do my part.”

“Then get another job!”

Erik’s eyes flashed and Charles was afraid they might have to hit each other that day. Erik wouldn’t hit him, of course, because he loved him and was programmed to protect him, but they would both remember the resentment and anger of those moments. It would have been their first real fight.

“I’m fourteen years old, Charles! Do you know what they make a Jewish boy my age do? A dishwasher, if that’s all right. I can earn ten times as much in an hour’s work.”

“Yes, but at what price?”

“You don’t have to pay it!”

The frustration was so great that his eyes watered.

This had been going on since last summer. Charles had begun to notice the presence of some rather strange characters around Erik. When he had asked his friend who they were, he had begun to be vague, until he could no longer hide behind long silences and irritated faces, and had confessed that the neighbourhood boss, En Saba Nur, had taken an interest in him. Charles had a vague suspicion that the boss’s attention was a matter of bragging for Erik, although he had not understood why. Edie had always been a poor person, but she was a good person and had always taught her son to respect the law.

Obviously there were things that Erik did not feel able to share with his mother, even though he loved her deeply.

Charles was immediately concerned, and Erik’s esteem for him had probably diminished a little at that moment. How could Charles not understand? He was young, poor and lonely like himself. How could he not understand the attraction En Saba Nur had for Erik?

So Charles had done what many boys in the neighbourhood did when they could not find a solution to their problem.

He had turned to Father Logan.

The priest was a familiar figure to the young men of the neighbourhood.

For many of them, Logan was closer than their own parents.

At first glance, he did not look like a priest at all. He was unusually robust for a man dedicated to peace, and made no secret of his criminal past. Instead of discouraging the children, it gave him an aura of omniscience that was hard to escape. Logan knew what it felt like to be young and angry at the world. Logan would never make empty, run-on sentences. Logan knew how to listen.

Even Erik, who belonged to a different faith, had a kind of respect for the man.

Logan had advised Charles to change his friend’s mind, because such a relationship with an organisation like En Saba Nur could seriously change Erik’s future, and Charles had been scared to death by the idea.

But then Erik refused to listen to reason and went on his way, as he often did, and Charles felt betrayed and abandoned. If something had happened to Erik, what would he have done?

“Don’t you understand that I am afraid for you?”

Erik’s eyes softened as the boy approached. Soon his friend’s arms were around him again and Charles could breathe in Erik’s unmistakable scent of clean sweat and sunshine.

“I’ll be careful. I know my way around.” Charles nodded, although the words did not reassure him at all. Erik thought he was smart and clever, and he was, but he was still a child, too inexperienced to see the dangers of his choices. “I need the money, Charles. And he’s not as bad as he looks. He is a man of his word. You must believe me.”

Charles was not very convinced. He would have preferred Erik to retrace his steps, or at least consider it. But anyone who knew Erik could see that this idea was completely out of the question. Erik would never change his mind. His logic could only be challenged by elements that disproved it, not by emotion. Not even by his best friend Charles.

“Let’s go swimming. I’m hot.”

Outside, Azazel and Janos had already jumped in and were now splashing everyone around, laughing their heads off.

Erik didn’t wait for Charles to follow, but launched himself into a dive that took him out of sight for a few moments.

Charles watched as the boy resurfaced, dragging his other two friends into the water with him.

At that moment, they really did look like rambunctious, happy teenagers.

Sitting on the porch of his house with an ice-cold beer in his hand, Charles brought his mind back to the present.

It was hard, though, not to get sucked back into the past.

That was why Charles had avoided thinking about it in the long years after high school, but Erik’s appearance had reactivated all his memories and now he couldn’t quite understand how he had managed to keep them out of his mind for so long.

Charles thought about how happy his days had been since he had found friends.

Erik had been the first, then Janos and Azazel.

The three of them, along with other occasional additions, had been the centre of his life for years.

The summers spent with them were the happiest times Charles remembered from his childhood.

Azazel and Janos seemed made for mischief and disaster. Erik sometimes managed to contain their destructive energy, but often he let them get away with the strangest ideas they could think of.

Charles was not used to this. He came from a much stricter background. But he soon discovered that playing practical jokes was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him. When Azazel and Janos drew him into their mad schemes, Charles forgot about his own problems, his mother’s alcoholism and the loneliness he felt at home. In those moments, he was just a kid having fun with the others and nothing more.

Little did anyone know that it was this proverbial desire to have fun, so typical of their peers, that would lead them to make the mistake that would change their lives forever and determine their fate.

Chapter Text

It was a particularly hot day.

The temperature was close to 37 degrees, and the glare from the searing asphalt only made it worse.

On days like this, the only solution was to stay wet.

Charles, Azazel and Janos had every intention of doing just that. The three of them lay on towels in bathing suits, pondering the best time to take their next bath.

But Erik, who had been nervous all morning, had a different opinion.

The boy stood, as if his body refused to relax, and looked down at the street below them, focused.

Despite the stifling heat, Hell’s Kitchen had not ceased its activities, and the street was filled with people as usual.

But it wasn’t the passersby that caught his attention.

“It’s been a while since we had a hot dog.”

Charles had raised his head, shielding himself with one hand from the merciless glare of the midday sun.

“You’re too Jewish to eat hot dogs.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. His mother was a very religious woman, and Erik was very fond of her, but that did not stop poverty from affecting his diet.

“Don’t change the subject. As long as she doesn’t see me, my mother has no objections.”

“I don’t feel like getting dressed. It’s too hot.”

“Then you’ll have to choose between hot dogs and air, because there’s no alternative.”

Hunger had always been a good incentive for all four of them. None of them had families who could afford to send them a decent lunch. Charles’s mother was an exception, but she was perpetually drunk, so she never worried about whether the pantry was full or not. Charles had grown accustomed to eating only once a day, thanks to the Lehnsherrs’ hospitality, because Erik’s mother, Edie, would never accept a hungry little boy. In fact, Erik was the only one who came with a packed lunch, but he had already shared it with them at breakfast that day and now there was nothing left.

Charles did not want to deny all the times his stomach had been filled by the Lehnsherrs, so he could not leave Erik without lunch. This thought was enough to overcome his laziness.

“All right. Whose turn is it this time?”

Erik tossed him a T-shirt that fell over his eyes, blocking out the sunlight for a few seconds.

“You, Charles.”

Janos and Azazel rushed to get dressed, giggling.

“Oh, you’ll find you’re up to the task. Dollface.”

The plan was quite simple.

One of them would approach the hot dog cart and order a sandwich. The others would wait on the street corner, trying not to be seen.

The man selling the hot dogs had been robbed before and was naturally wary of kids approaching his wares, but the desire to make a profit was stronger than anything, and in the end he never turned down a customer, convinced that this time he would not be fooled.

Once the sandwich was ready, the chosen one would have to take it and run away without paying, leaving the vendor to choose between chasing the thief and abandoning the cart, or staying where he was and giving up the loot.

Either way, they would eat. The only variable was how much they would eat.

Charles was quite good at baiting. His big blue eyes and young age made him more harmless than the others. In addition, although Charles was the smallest of the group, he had exceptionally fast legs and lungs that allowed him to run for long periods of time without stopping.

That day the salesman decided to go in pursuit, but there were two changes that turned a trivial prank into a tragedy.

First, Charles could not get as far away from the salesman as he would have liked and was forced to turn back because he could not keep up and would soon be caught, as it did not seem real to the man that he could finally make a punk pay for making his working life difficult.

Second, the boys, not satisfied with what they had managed to steal, decided to steal the whole wagon.

When Charles went back to join the others, with the salesman at his heels, he found them trying to push the cart down the dusty road.

“Why on earth did you steal the cart? You just needed to eat, for God’s sake!”

They could not have gotten away with the cart. The man was too close.

Abandoning the ship was the only solution.

Erik maneuvered the wheels in the direction of the nearby subway station. The new plan was for them to approach the stairs and place the front wheels on the first step. Then they would wait for the man to approach until he almost reached them, then let go and drop everything from the ladder so that the man would have to deal with the cart by force and they would take the opportunity to disappear into the narrow streets of the neighborhood.

It was a good plan.

Until it wasn’t.

“Hold it! Hold him!”

“I can’t do it!”

The fatal mistake was not calculating the weight of the cart or considering the sweat dripping down their hands.

Charles could feel the handles of the cart slipping from his fingers and his feet dragging him toward the stairs, unable to resist the force of gravity. Where was that damn man?

“I can’t hold on much longer!”

Erik, who was standing next to him, pressed his heels even harder against the asphalt, trying to ease Charles’s arms. But soon Erik’s feet began to crawl toward the stairs as well, and Charles felt his arms ache more and more until his fingers could no longer wrap around the iron handle.

The tearing was almost loud because of its suddenness.

The cart swayed on its left side as Charles fell to the floor.

Erik tried to keep his balance by abruptly pulling his shoulders back, but even he could not compensate for the sudden increase in weight.

Charles would remember this moment for the rest of his life.

The screams of Janos and Azazel ordering him to get off his white ass and help them.

Erik’s increasingly labored panting.

The cart tipped over on its left side and slipped on the first step. The wheel seemed to catch for a moment, preventing the fall. Behind them, the cart man shouted curses and threats, but Charles could not turn his head, almost hypnotized by the sight of the cart stuck on the steps.

It seemed unreal, as if he were watching a movie on the big screen at the city theater.

Then the right side of the cart was defeated by gravity and aligned with the other wheel, which was already engaged on the first step.

Erik’s voice was still urging his companions to hold on.

“Keep pulling. Everybody this way. Come on!”

But even Janos and Azazel were too tired to obey.

Once both wheels found their axles again, the cart began to slide toward the entrance of the subway. Slowly at first, like a dying elephant, then faster and faster, accompanied by the screams of its owner.

But the worst was yet to come.

When the cart was halfway down the stairs, a man stepped out of the subway door in a swarm of handkerchiefs and flying glasses, and placed himself squarely in the path of the metal avalanche.

“Look out!”

“Get out of the way! Move!”

The man, a middle-aged gentleman wearing an accountant’s hat and carrying a briefcase, stood and stared at the mass coming toward him with the astonishment of a frightened beast.

The cart struck him in the stomach, threw him against the wall and crushed him with a muffled sound that had the power to chill the blood of all who witnessed it.

When it was all over, the pieces of the cart were scattered around the stairs, along with the man’s hat, a pile of sheet metal deformed by the impact, and a lifeless body covered in blood and ketchup on the tiled floor of the subway.

It had to be a joke.

They had done it a billion times.

It was supposed to be a way to fill their bellies and then go back to enjoying their summer vacations.

Instead, it was the engine of what would forever destroy their lives, erase their childhoods, and extinguish their laughter.

The man fortunately did not die, but was seriously injured.

The trial was extremely short.

Erik, Azazel and Janos, who were already fourteen, were sentenced to eighteen months. Charles, who was thirteen, received twelve.

The doors of Hellfire Reformatory opened for them.

The D.A.’s building was just like the other buildings around it: old and discolored.

Erik had felt a chill the first time he crossed the threshold of his office.

No one remembered him, of course.

He was just a kid when his case had filled the news pages. In Hell’s Kitchen, juvenile crime did not make the news much, as the population was made up of very young people who had no other purpose in life than trying to survive bad streets and dysfunctional families.

Moreover, his appearance had changed considerably since the time of the trial. At the time of the events, he was only 14 years old. Twelve years had passed. That little boy was practically gone.

When he had enrolled in law school, he had discovered that such a minor juvenile offense did not appear on his record, so there was nothing to prevent him from pursuing a career as a prosecutor. Maybe that was when the plan began to form in his head. Erik was not sure.

He had always wanted revenge and had always been sure that he would get it, one way or another.

Charles, had he been able to be with him again without arousing suspicion, would have laughed, remembering how Erik had been the proudest advocate of the futility of complaining about what they had suffered in prison.

The boy who had no faith in the law or institutions had become their proud supporter. The whole thing was really quite ridiculous.

From Erik’s point of view, however, being part of a system meant having the chance, which he did not have at 14, to bend it to his will once he had discovered and studied all its workings.

His mother would not have approved.

Edie had always been convinced that Erik was a good boy and that following the rules was the only way he could live a decent and honorable life.

Erik fumbled with the chain he wore around his neck. Inside was a fragment of the old mezuzah that had been on the door of his childhood home in Hell’s Kitchen. His mother had sent it to him when he was imprisoned so that he would feel a little closer to home. That gesture, made in absolute good faith and dripping with motherly love, had been the pretext for one of the most vicious episodes Erik had been the victim of.

Of course, Edie had no way of knowing, and Erik had never told her.

Besides, his mother had died of pneumonia during his imprisonment, and she had never really known what had happened to her son. Since then, Erik had stopped believing in any God.

Like the day the hot dogs were stolen, what Edie did not know could not hurt her.

His office was filled with heavy folders, but the only one that really interested Erik was wrapped in a bottle-green plastic cover.

Unlike the others, it was thin and light. Erik had not yet been able to work with it properly, but he knew it would soon become as heavy and complex as the story he was about to tell.

“Lehnsherr!” Oliver Hutton was the other assistant district prosecutor. As young as Erik and just as ambitious, he had taken the arrival of another young man in the DA’s office quite personally. His attention to Erik’s cases had always been very high, as if he felt threatened. Erik had learned from sources inside the office that Hutton had gone out of his way to get this case assigned to him. In theory, it was an easy case. There were the guns. There were the witnesses. And two defendants from modest backgrounds who could only afford a public defender who would do nothing for them, too overworked to do his job gracefully. “I see you like to win easy!”

Erik looked at the other boy, completely impassive, and wondered what law of men had allowed the barber to decorate the boy’s hair as if it were a cache of fireworks ready to explode.

Unfortunately for his colleague, he had to concentrate that morning and could not afford to waste time with idle chatter.

“I would have liked to handle the Alladin case myself. You obviously have saints in heaven.”

The guy’s nasal voice was really irritating, too.

“Or maybe I’m just smarter than you, Hutton.”

The other man’s fake smile remained glued to his lips, as if someone had frozen it. Erik loved moments like this. He had long since learned that arrogance, if used wisely, could bring undeniable benefits, and environments where hypocrisy reigned supreme, like this one, were ideal for immediate effects, like this one.

Fortunately, a cough revealed the presence of another person, forcing the nuisance to leave.

The newcomer was a middle-aged man with greasy hair, styled with so much Brylcreem that it seemed to stick to his thick skull like rusty strands of metal. His nose, bright red and watery eyes revealed that the man had a hobby of frequenting taverns and bars more than courtrooms. The rest of his clothes, pompous but certainly from another era, gave a general impression of sloppiness that Erik found hard to tolerate.

Erik had studied his file carefully.

Edward Toad had been an average lawyer since he graduated from law school.

His work had never shone, driven by the man’s lack of ambition, which had soon led him to seek satisfaction in gambling, squandering his already precarious financial situation.

He was certainly not the best person Erik had ever worked with, but to take too much interest in the nature of the defender who was supposed to be his opponent could raise too many questions that Erik was determined to avoid.

Edward Toad was definitely the weakest link in their plan.

“Prosecutor Lehnsherr, good morning.” The man took a seat on the only chair in the room, causing it to wobble under his weight. “I am here to mediate the Romanov case. It won’t take long.”

“Please.” Erik pretended to look for the file, even though he knew every comma in it by heart. “Have you spoken to your assistants?”

“Yes, but they are quite extravagant. They want me to declare them innocent, what a crazy idea.”

Erik raised an eyebrow, but tried to hide the dislike the man caused him.

“It’s within their rights.”

Toad burst out laughing.

“Of course it is. A right that will lead them to the electric chair, but I don’t have to play too many cards with you, prosecutor. We both know these guys have no chance of getting off. There is one eyewitness and no alibi. So I’d go ahead and plead them guilty if you want to change the manslaughter charge to drug-induced manslaughter. They weren’t themselves that night, they fired a few shots in the air, and some poor guy took the brunt of it. Fifteen years without parole. That’s a generous offer.”

It was a ridiculous offer.

“There is no record of your clients being drunk or under the influence of any substances at the time of the incident. The medical reports do not support your theory, attorney.”

“Oh, it will be enough not to bring those records to the trial. In fact, I would avoid the hearing altogether. It will save time for both of us. Don’t you think?”

Pompous idiot.

“Don’t you think your clients are entitled to a defense that respects their wishes?”

Erik’s voice was so harsh and determined that the man’s mood immediately soured.

Erik bit the inside of his cheek. He had exposed himself too much. He should not have taken an undue interest in the fate of two street thugs. He had to control himself somehow.

“Not when their desires are so at odds with their own lives. Let’s face it, prosecutor: these two have no chance of winning a trial. The only thing I can ethically advise them to do is to try to do damage control. And that’s what I intend to do, with all conviction.”

There was not much to discuss. The man was right. If the situation had been reversed, Erik himself would have advised the same course of action.

But unfortunately, someone had decided otherwise, and the man had to be included in their plan without causing too much trouble. They just had to find a way, legal or illegal, to get him to cooperate.

They should attend the court hearing.

Erik tried to smile, as if he was glad not to have to waste time on this.

“I must ask you to give me some time to consider your proposal, attorney. A few days should be enough.”

Edward was in the mood to keep his good mood.

“Certainly! Take your time, prosecutor. The trial is in ten days. We can even close the deal the night before, as far as I’m concerned. There’s no hurry.”

Erik pretended to write the proposal on a piece of paper and gave Toad one of his rare smiles.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

“Have a good day.”

As soon as the man had closed the door and Erik was alone again, he took the paper, crumpled it up with a dry, angry gesture, and threw it into the wastebasket.

How could he have missed a detail of this gravity?

Erik rubbed his temples. They needed a plan B.

Charles had spent the day ignoring Moira’s calls.

His article was not going anywhere. There was no news, and Charles doubted there would be any until the following Monday, when the first hearing would be held.

Charles would have to endure four more days of silence, and then he could give Moira something to justify her salary.

Charles imagined that Moira would have no problem waiting, but he feared that his resolve might waver if given the chance to back out.

He was still trying to convince himself that he had a choice.

The past few days had not been idle. Charles had often found himself drawn to his basement and the windowless room. He had flipped through the names on the lists, back and forth, realizing that he had never really strayed from the story behind those pages and photographs.

He had often wondered if he should send the data he had collected over the years to Erik. The friend would certainly have expected it of him.

He had not seen Erik since the night of the murder.

The fact that Erik had expected Charles to do what he had asked him to do, without having to plead his case again, reminded him of how convinced he had always been that Charles had supported him when they were children, and of his dissatisfaction when they discussed subjects on which they would never agree, as if Charles were betraying some unwritten code they had both agreed to in the course of their friendship.

Yet they had had many controversial topics.

Like Erik’s membership in the En Saba Nur clan.

Or his willingness to denounce the violence he had suffered when they had left Hellfire.

Janos and Azazel were a needle in the balance, always leaning on Erik’s side. He had always been the natural leader of their group.

The situation they were in now was proof of that.

Charles was convinced that Janos and Azazel had killed a man on Erik’s orders, believing that he would then do anything to protect them from the consequences of that event.

Charles felt vaguely guilty that he did not feel the same trust, but he had always been more rational than Janos and Azazel, and that was the main reason why Erik had always sought confrontation with him, as if arguments would make them both grow and improve.

Charles realized that he had missed Erik all these years.

That summer, before a cart full of hot dogs crashed down on an unsuspecting man and sealed their fate forever, Charles had realized that his feelings for Erik went beyond simple brotherly friendship. It had been a long and difficult journey because society was not open to men who loved other men.

Perhaps, in time, Charles would find the courage to confess his feelings to Erik. If they could have gone to high school together, those feelings might have developed into something else.

Instead, they had ended up in prison, and then those feelings had been tainted by violence and blood.

Charles ran his hand over his sore eyes and grabbed another can of beer.

He was drunk. Terribly drunk.

The alcohol that had caused his mother’s untimely death was not doing him any good. It awakened a melancholy, romantic side of his personality that made him feel terrible self-loathing.

A shadow stood out on the sidewalk in front of his porch.

“Charles…”

Charles was so drunk that he thought it was a hallucination brought on by his feelings for Erik.

But unfortunately it was not.

“I find your timing frankly irritating, Erik.”

Erik moved to sit on the wooden steps of the porch and Charles kicked a can of beer at him. At least he wouldn’t have to drink alone.

“We have a problem.”

“We?”

Erik let out an irritated grunt, but apparently decided to ignore Charles’s defeatist tone.

“Janos’s and Azazel’s lawyer doesn’t want to go to trial. He has proposed a plea bargain. Fifteen years without parole. I haven’t found a good reason to dissuade him.”

Erik had always been so focused on his goals that he would not allow anyone to change the subject or distract him from what he wanted to do.

He had always been that way throughout their childhood.

The bad part, the part that Charles had always taken little pride in, had whispered in his ear more than a few times that it was Erik’s fault what had happened, because he had come up with the idea for the cart that day and he had not wanted to hear reason, just like he was doing at that moment.

It was a bad thought. Erik was obviously not to blame for what others had done, and even if he had made a stupid, childish mistake, he had paid dearly for it. Still, as fear squeezed his chest and his lungs seemed unable to expand to let him breathe, Charles found himself thinking that Erik’s plans were as dangerous and unreliable as his supposed promises.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I need a favor. Something I cannot do myself because it would expose me too much.” Erik opened the lapel of the jacket he was wearing and pulled out a note, carefully folded into four parts, and handed it to him, pretending not to notice Charles’s defensive posture.

Charles looked at him for a long time. If he had accepted it, he would have agreed to go with Erik. Was that what he really wanted?

“The defense attorney’s name is Edward Toad. He likes to gamble. I found out that his biggest creditor is the underground gambling den on Neibolt Street, owned by…”

“En Saba Nur.”

Charles finished the sentence for him, and Erik just nodded. The man had been the main topic of their arguments as children. Charles had never been able to stand him, even later, because he reminded him of all the time he had stolen from him when he and Erik were still friends.

“I need you to go to him and ask him to collect his debt from Toad unless he decides to declare Azazel and Janos innocent at the trial on Monday. I need that trial to take place in the courtroom.”

“You asked him to kill Shaw, didn’t you?”

It was a question that had lingered in his mind ever since he had deepened his knowledge of the crime. Azazel and Janos were two latecomers, but they could hardly have done such a thing without cunning. Anyone with a modicum of intelligence who had bothered to study the case would have come to the same conclusion. This crime was a message to someone.

Erik gritted his teeth.

“Yes.”

“You were the one who was most against it when I suggested you report it. It was the best thing to do, but you decided against it and managed to convince others of your idea as well. And now they are the ones who risk the electric chair, while you can stay in your office, among your papers, with your salary and your career secured.”

Erik’s eyes flashed.

“What are you saying, Charles?”

“You know, Erik. It’s easy to serve a purpose when others pay the price.”

This was not true. Charles was aware of that. Erik had paid for his mistakes, perhaps more than anyone else. But at that moment he was drunk and his mind was struggling to contain all the anger that had been simmering inside him for years.

Why were they having this conversation right now? Why had no one bothered to warn Charles before it all started, to ask him if he was still on board?

“I was against it then and I would be against it now, because the rules of the game haven’t changed. Nobody would have believed it, and the laws of justice that you proclaim so much are what got us into this hell.”

Charles thought Erik would just be angry at his insinuation.

The Erik he knew was impulsive and prone to violence.

The Erik sitting on his porch was passionate and rational. When had life made him like this? Charles wished he had not wasted all those years. Perhaps the fact that Erik had only contacted him after things had gotten going had hurt him, more for what he lacked — the complicity they once had — than for what he had just said.

“What’s different?”

“Now I know the rules and can use them to my advantage. I am now a player in this game, and I can win it because I am smarter than my opponent. Victory is revenge.”

“You should have killed Shaw.”

Erik did not look at him, but nodded conspicuously.

“I would have wanted to do that more than anything. But then I wouldn’t have gotten everything I wanted. I had to give up to get the final victory.”

Charles took a long drink. Suddenly his mouth was dry.

“Make me understand why I should do this.”

Erik turned his full face to him. His eyes were dark pools in the night. Charles thought Erik had touched him and did not know whether to be frightened or excited by the idea.

Erik’s question caught him completely off guard.

“Do you still sleep with the light on?”

“You know I do.”

“That’s why you should. To turn off the light.”

Chapter Text

The day of departure came quickly.

The main reason was that they were minors and could not be held in the local jail with other adults. The court that had sentenced them had decided that the boys needed a place of re-education appropriate to their age.

If it hadn't been for the deep numbness he had fallen into, Erik would have found this very funny.

Father Logan had insisted on meeting them all before they boarded the bus that would take them to the reformatory. After that, none of their relatives would have enough money to make the trip to Connecticut, so they would be mostly on their own for the time of their incarceration.

Erik had ignored the priest, but he couldn't do the same with his mother. Edie had tears in her eyes and had stroked him for a long time, unable to say anything other than "everything will be all right." Erik had just nodded, more to comfort his mother than out of any real personal conviction.

Edie had always been a good person and loved him very much. Erik never wanted to put her through this pain. If he deserved to go to jail, his mother was completely innocent.

In that moment, as his mother's wrinkled hands stroked his cheeks, Erik decided that nothing that awaited him would ever reach Edie's ears.

Charles' mother was not there. On the other hand, there was his younger sister, Raven, who kept staring at Erik with angry eyes.

It was clear that the young girl felt that Erik was the only one to blame for what was happening to her brother. Like Edie, Raven was an innocent victim of circumstance. She was forced to stay at home with an alcoholic mother, without even the comfort of an older brother to look after her.

Raven's anger was completely justified.

Erik himself believed that the blame was all his.

So when an officer came to pick them up and put them on the bus, Erik tried to appear determined and calm to his mother, avoiding eye contact with Raven.

The only way he could atone for his guilt was to make sure he defended Charles from whatever awaited them.

His resolve lasted only as long as their journey.

Hellfire Reformatory seemed to have been built for the sole purpose of instilling fear in those who entered. Each room was grim, dark, and vast, with acres of damp, hard-packed earth outside and an endless maze of doors and corridors inside.

The place seemed very old, with heavy bars on the windows to keep out the sunlight and a lingering smell of mold.

Erik was not a high-ranking or pampered person, but the thought of breathing this air for eighteen months made him sink into deep anguish.

He kept telling himself that he would get used to it. The first few days would be hard, but if he resisted with discipline and determination, he would get so used to it that he wouldn't even notice the smell.

He was the oldest of the group, if only by a few months. He needed to set a good example.

His determination faltered when he realized they were about to be separated.

There were four guards in the room where they had been taken. One for each of them.

His companions were taken away first. Charles was the last to go, and before he walked through the door that would take him to who knows where, he gave him a lost look that made Erik fight the desire, or rather the need, to stand up and hold on to him and tell all the guards in the world to try to separate them.

Being separated from Charles was a bad thing.

Erik had sworn to protect him because Charles was not capable of taking care of himself in a place like this. Charles was used to a different environment and had no inclination to violence. This made him the perfect victim for a youth prison. Charles was the youngest of the group and had always been protected by the others. Charles couldn't even defend himself. He had always hated it when Erik was in a fight. Charles preferred to argue with everyone and couldn't see any danger. That was why Erik felt the need to take care of him.

Now, however, someone had taken Charles away from him and Erik could no longer personally check that he was okay and that no one was hurting him.

The guard assigned to him tugged at him, tired of waiting for his reaction.

"Walk."

Erik could react and run towards the door through which Charles had disappeared.

But what chance did he have, alone, to rebel against the system?

None.

That would only lead to a punishment on his first day and thus to a further distancing from the others.

The only possible reaction was not to react at all.

His guard nudged him with the shiny black truncheon he held in his right hand.

Erik tried to concentrate and remain calm. He couldn't do anything else.

Once through the door, Erik managed to distract himself from the fate of his friends. His survival depended on his ability to observe. Life on the streets had taught him to notice the details of his surroundings.

The guard who accompanied him, for example, was a strange fellow.

His face was square and pale, with two intensely blue eyes that had none of the warmth of Charles'. The guard's features weren't exactly ugly, but overall he gave off an unpleasant feeling that Erik couldn't quite define. His face was slanting, sinister, like that of a snake.

Erik didn't have time to study it further, because the man forced him to walk in front of him, showing him the way with the sting of his truncheon on his back. One stroke meant right, two meant left. When he didn't need it to lead him like a lost sheep to his own fence, he made it spin at his side like a trained juggler.

Their short, silent walk ended in front of a heavy wrought-iron door with a small square opening at face level, fitted with sturdy bars.

The door creaked open to reveal a low bed with coarse brown blankets and a not-too-sturdy looking chair. Erik hurried inside. He didn't want to be pushed in, he wanted to show that it was his choice, not the imposition of a system he had always despised. Somehow his body was telling him that it would be better if this man didn't touch him any more than necessary.

The door closed with a thud.

Erik moved slowly, reached the bed and sat down heavily on it. For the next eighteen months, this bed and this chair would be his world. Was Charles in a similar place? Maybe he was in one of the other doors they had just passed through. And Azazel? And Janos?

They hadn't spoken since they got off that damn bus.

A decisive touch caught his attention. The guard hadn't left. He was still there, watching him through the bars of his cage.

Had Erik forgotten something?

The pungent odor of tobacco reached his nostrils. The guard had lit a cigarette.

"Your clothes. Throw them on the floor."

Erik got up and walked to the door. He was still wearing the clothes his mother had picked out for him that morning. Of course, the place should have provided a uniform, but why hadn't they worn it before entering the cell?

"Here?"

The man smiled, amused, and took a long drag on his cigarette.

"We don't have a proper locker room here. So... the clothes. Take them off and throw them on the floor."

Not at all reassured, Erik slowly unbuttoned his shirt. A feeling of inadequacy was gripping his stomach. He was changing from his civilian clothes to his prison uniform. It wasn't unusual. But he couldn't help feeling uncomfortable. He didn't like the man or the situation, but he couldn't explain why.

The shirt slipped off his shoulders and he tried to concentrate on unbuttoning his pants. Even without seeing him, he could feel the guard's eyes on him and his every move.

He forced himself to look down. So he didn't see the man raise his head when his undershirt was also removed and he was standing in the middle of the room in his underwear, and the man's eyes running over his body, regarding it, but the weight of his gaze still reached him.

The guard took another drag on his cigarette, but again he waited. What the hell did he want now?

"What's that around your neck?"

Erik reached out to touch his necklace. His mother had given it to him that morning, just before he got on the bus. It was a fragment of the family mezuzah. Edie wanted Erik to take a piece of home with him. He was supposed to hang it on the door of his cell, but it was a rather intimate gesture and he needed to be alone to do it.

Were necklaces forbidden in this shithole?

Why hadn't anyone told him before? He could have at least tried to hide it.

"It's a mezuzah." The guard's smile widened. Erik didn't feel like giving a Hebrew lesson to non-believers. "A souvenir from home. My mother gave it to me."

"You can't keep that in here. Take it away. Your mother must be especially stupid not to know that."

Erik gritted his teeth. Without the metal barrier he would have jumped on the idiot. No one could talk about his mother like that. Nobody.

"Well? I don't have all day. Take it all off and let's get it over with."

"All of it?"

He hadn't expected that. The man's eyes lit up again with a malicious glee. This bastard was having too much fun for Erik.

"Are you deaf? Or are you as dumb as your mother? I said, 'Take everything off.' Quickly! Quickly!"

He couldn't argue at that moment.

Erik wondered what would happen if he just refused to obey and stayed where he was. The man would probably open the cell door and come in.

Erik slipped his thumbs into the elastic of his underwear. It was just a change of clothes. Maybe it was just his idea and there was nothing unusual about his wishes.

He sighed and pushed them down.

The first thing he felt was the cold, then the impulse to cover himself with his hands.

The club the guard had been swinging at his side stopped in mid-air. The man, leaning limply against the door of his cell, studied his body, lingering on his groin with what seemed to be genuine interest.

"Spare clothes?"

The man's eyes finally met his, but now they were clearly amused.

"I must have left them at the guardhouse. So you can get dressed with them again."

That night, Erik had a hard time getting to sleep. When he finally did, he dreamed of a pair of blue eyes that scanned his bare skin like burning coals.

The Hell's Kitchen cemetery was bathed in a spring rain that filled the air with the smell of grass and loose earth.

With that downpour, the graveyard was almost deserted, except for four figures in dark clothing surrounding a grave.

The fresh earth around the gravestone indicated that the burial was recent.

Of the four figures, only three were carrying umbrellas.

Erik, his hair wet and clinging to his forehead, stared darkly at the name engraved in flowing cursive.

They should have gone there as soon as they left the reformatory, but for all of them the return home had brought unexpected surprises.

Charles had discovered that his mother had died suddenly one morning in March, while he was still in jail. His sister, Raven, had found her when she returned home from school to find the house silent. Apparently, no one had bothered to inform him. No social worker had cared for the fourteen-year-old boy who, upon returning home, found himself alone with nothing but emptiness around him. He was now a lost boy on whom no one would waste their work or commitment.

Raven, on the other hand, had attracted the attention of social workers from the moment the hospital itself had reported her while caring for her deceased mother. So she had been taken and placed with another family. Charles was left with no mother, no sister, and no news. He didn't even know if Raven was still in the same state.

When Charles was released from prison, the State of New York realized that there was another minor not entrusted to the Xavier family, but they found nothing for him but a place in the neighborhood orphanage, with overcrowded rooms and bunk beds instead of a solitary cell. At least there was no screaming at night.

When the gates of Hellfire opened for him, Erik had the same problem as Charles. His mother couldn't bear the pain of knowing her son was in prison, and she died of a broken heart two months before Erik's release. In his case, unlike Charles, the Jewish community of Hell's Kitchen had taken him in and Father Logan had interceded with the juvenile court so that he wouldn't suffer the same fate as Charles. So Erik, overwhelmed by events, had been unavailable for days, too absorbed in his grief to function as a human being.

So the weeks went by until Charles, taking on a task for which he would hate himself in later years, reminded everyone of what they had promised to do before their release.

And here they were, all gathered at the grave of Darwin, the innocent boy who had only been guilty of trusting them and had been punished in the worst possible way.

Charles had often wondered if the fact that they had been allowed to live had something to do with the color of their skin or something else. But it wasn't very helpful to keep asking himself that.

"His family is convinced he died of pneumonia. No one will ever ask questions and they will go unpunished."

Charles had managed to talk to Darwin's younger sister. She was a lovely girl, just like her brother. Several times Charles had to bite his lips to keep from shouting that Darwin's lungs had been perfectly healthy the last time he had seen him. But he couldn't expose himself without consulting the other three. The prison experience had created an unbreakable bond between the four of them, a secret that would stay with them for the rest of their lives.

Charles was convinced that what he had said was so undeniable that none of the other three would object.

Obviously, things were not going to work out that way.

"And what do you suggest, Charles?"

Erik still had his eyes glued to Darwin's tombstone. Armando Eduardo Muñoz was such a pompous name. None of them would be able to associate it with their only friend in prison.

"To report everything, of course!" Erik didn't move. Azazel and Janos also remained motionless, their eyes darting from one to the other as if watching a game of ping-pong. Charles knew immediately whom he would have to fight to support his idea. And yet he had always thought all of them would agree. "What the hell is wrong with all of you? We said they'd pay for what they did! We all agreed!"

"Do you really think anyone will believe a word we say? You're more naive than I thought, Charles. We're children. We're petty criminals. They are an institution. No one will listen to us. Dog doesn't bite dog. Everybody knows it. We have to do more than just report them. We have to find a way to get revenge."

The silence of Janos and Azazel suggested to Charles that this wasn't the first time the three of them had discussed the matter. This filled him with a sense of deep betrayal he had never felt before, not even in prison. They were his only friends. Charles would have put his life in their hands without hesitation. But now a doubt, which he did not need at all, had penetrated him.

"You've already decided everything, haven't you? Did I ever have a chance, Erik? Could I at least know what you're going to do?"

Erik turned around. The rain was running down his face, but his eyes were so bright and wild that Charles was afraid of him for a moment.

"I don't want to see them in jail. I want their lives destroyed the way they destroyed ours. I want them to die knowing why, and I want everyone to know what they did to kids like us in that shithole. Only then will I be able to say that I've had my revenge. I want them to regret being born."

"Do you agree?"

Janos and Azazel exchanged glances before nodding.

It was obvious that they agreed. What a stupid question. Charles felt deeply deceived and betrayed.

"Is this why you brought me here? I never expected this from you, Erik."

Erik looked at him for a long time and then went back to staring at the grave.

"They deserve to suffer, Charles. Do you remember the law of Hell's Kitchen? None of its children can be touched without consequences. I'm only asking you to respect another kind of law."

Charles wanted to turn around and leave. But Erik, who knew exactly what he was doing, was standing right in front of Darwin's grave, and as he looked at it, Charles was forced to think of the boy lying under that fresh earth, doomed to be sixteen years old, forever. They were also to blame for Darwin's death. If they hadn't involved him in their plans, Darwin could have run into his mother's arms and played ball with his sister again.

"We promise. Here and now. All together."

Charles looked at Erik's hand, open and outstretched over the gravestone, and realized that the bond Hellfire had created between them was stronger than any moral dilemma he could have.

His hand moved to rest on Erik's. It all seemed so inevitable. His mind might be rebelling, but his muscles were loyal to his past and to what he considered the most important bond of his life.

"I promise."

And so the promise that would keep them apart for 15 years was made on the still fresh grave of Armando Muñoz, known as Darwin.

"Charles!"

The Hellfire canteen hall was huge, filled with long wooden tables and teeming with hungry teenagers.

But even in that organized chaos, it took Erik only a few seconds to find Charles, Azazel, and Janos.

His friends were as happy as he was, and soon the group had gathered around a single table, so happy to see each other that they even forgot to fill their trays.

Eating was definitely not a priority for them.

"Are you okay?"

They all nodded.

Obviously, none of them were. The week of isolation had been very long for all of them.

Erik had been so upset that he barely ate the food his usual guard brought him. Sometimes he tried to listen, hoping to hear his friends' voices so he could at least figure out what part of the maze they were in. But most of the time, silence was his prison companion.

When the blond guard had opened the cell that morning, Erik had feared that his strange behavior would take on even more unpleasant characteristics.

During those seven days, the man had not acted strangely again, nor had he asked to undress again. However, he continued to look at him for long periods of time when he was eating or staring at the window. Erik always found it disturbing, but he could put up with it as long as he didn't get too close.

But now he was with his friends, who were well, and he could see them every day. It wasn't enough to make this place paradise, but it made it more bearable.

Too excited to see each other again, none of them noticed the silence that fell over the room until the first chicken bone landed with a sticky thud in Charles' hair.

There was a scattering of giggles.

A group of young men with Latin features were louder than the others, especially when Erik looked in their direction.

They were all the same height and build, and had the same haircuts: shaved on the sides, with unkempt, embarrassing tufts of hair in the middle of their heads. Erik swore he could see a metallic gleam in their teeth as they grinned at each other.

They were the classic gang of little thugs he'd already encountered, at school or on the street.

That, and the fact that every eye in the room seemed to be on them, convinced him that this was a test. If none of them reacted, they would find themselves with giant signs on their backs inviting anyone to have fun with them as the lowest link in the prison food chain.

It was an inescapable social law that determined who would eat and who would be eaten.

Erik had always tried to be at the top of the hierarchy, and prison was not going to change that.

"Erik..."

Charles had removed the chicken bone from his hair and was now wiping away the remaining grease, but he hadn't missed the look on his friend's face. Erik knew Charles wouldn't approve. He was a man of words, not deeds, and firmly believed that communication could solve all their problems. Erik obviously thought differently, and his life experience had taught him that his way was definitely the best.

He checked the position of the guards assigned to supervise the cafeteria. They were the four guards who had escorted them there from their cells and they didn't seem to have noticed anything. The blond assigned to Erik was reading a newspaper. Two others were talking to each other, their backs to the tables so they couldn't see what was going on. The last one was near the front door, but something in the hallway must have been of great interest to him, because it had his full attention.

It was a good moment.

Erik grabbed the chicken bone and, after freeing himself from Charles' arm, walked over to the other table without disturbing the good humor of its occupants.

There were six of them, but Erik had learned that once you identified the leader of the group, it was enough to hit just one person to ensure the respect of the others.

"You dropped something."

The group turned to him as one.

"I don't think so, brat. I think it's stuck in your friend's hair... They're so long." The boy broke into a broad smile. The idea he had come up with must have made him especially proud. "Or should I say your little whore..."

If Charles had been there, he would have been ashamed to the tips of his hair. Erik, on the other hand, was overcome with such fierce anger that his brain was completely disconnected from the rest of the room.

He saw his foot rise from the floor in slow motion and sink into the sternum of his completely surprised opponent, who let out a hoarse groan and collapsed to the floor, hitting the stained linoleum floor with his knees.

A second later, Erik was on top of him in a whirlwind of punches.

Somewhere around him, Azazel's laughter and Janos' curses in Spanish let him know that his friends hadn't left him alone, but had jumped into the fray.

Soon all he could hear were screams of pain and anger and the feeling of being surrounded by many legs that completely blocked his view. Erik didn't know who they were. All around him there were only random bodies. Random legs. Random feet.

Until a whistle rose above the screams, signaling the end of the fight.

Erik tried to fight again, but soon realized that no one was returning his blows. Everyone was motionless, facing in the direction of the whistle.

Charles appeared above him and helped him to his feet. Only then did Erik see the blond guard, his blond guard, standing still in front of the crowd, the whistle still between his thin lips.

Years later, Erik would remember his look. Not angry. Not surprised. But with an amused light in his eyes, as if he found something funny in all the chaos.

"Go back to your places and finish your food. In silence."

The man's voice was low and calm, but perfectly audible in this absolute silence, and he had the composure of someone who expects his words to be obeyed immediately.

Apparently, his certainty was well-founded, for the crowd immediately moved to their chairs without hesitation.

"What should I do?"

The boy Erik had fought stood next to them. Erik was almost convinced that the big guy was shaking, but he tried to keep his attention on his own shoes and the leftover food scattered on the floor.

"You have to go back to your place, like everyone else."

The boy gave Erik and his friends a long, sad look, as if he were sorry, and then turned to go back to his table, like everyone else.

"So... you're the Hell's Kitchen guys..." Erik noticed that they were the only ones still standing in the refectory, but all eyes were glued to their backs. He wanted to pay attention to the guard's words, but he was too confused by all the attention. "I see the first day didn't start very well."

Erik stared at the guard. The man smiled, but Erik didn't think he looked pleased. He still hadn't figured out what it was about the man that made him uneasy, but the feeling was there, defying all logic.

"Looks like we have some cleaning up to do..."

The man burst out laughing.

"A little cleaning... yes..."

The other three had gathered behind him and Erik was unsure what to do. The man seemed to want to just stand there without giving any hint, as if the decision had to be made independently by them.

Was it a test?

Erik looked around for a moment. Everybody else was sitting down to eat.

Despite the feeling of inadequacy that whispered in his ear, Erik turned and walked to the center of the room to sit at his table.

"Where are you going?"

The man's tone had totally changed.

He heard the footsteps of his friends behind his shoulders, as if they wanted to hide.

"To finish our lunch..."

"Oh no, you won't finish your lunch, because your lunch is right here where you are standing. You can clean it with your mouths."

Erik wasn't sure if he understood correctly, but the man held out a shiny shoe and crushed what was left of a broccoli. He couldn't really mean it...

"I'm not hungry."

The blond began to laugh, again.

"I don't give a shit if you're hungry or not. You eat because I said so."

Erik swallowed. Did he really want him to get down on all fours and scrape the rotten food off the floor?

He tried with all his might to catch a gesture, some movement in the man's face that would indicate he was joking.

No trace.

"I'm still not hungry."

He had barely finished the sentence when he saw the man raising the hand armed with the baton.

The first blow hit him in the stomach. Erik was so stunned that he didn't even have time to scream. The second blow, which came immediately after the first, hit him on the knee with surgical precision, so much so that Erik seriously feared that he had broken the bone. So there he was, on the ground, not quite sure how he got there, with blood staining his face and shirt, and an acute, throbbing pain in his right leg.

He was so shocked he didn't know what to do. So he relied on pure instinct and stayed curled up on the ground, trying to figure out how to protect himself from the storm.

"I bet you're hungry by now. Eat." Erik thought another blow was coming, but the man seemed interested in something else. His friends were seized by the same horrified stupor that was preventing Erik from moving from where he was. "And you? What are you looking at? Come on! On your fucking knees! Right now! And eat! There is delicious cauliflower and broccoli... perhaps too delicious for you sewer rats! What you lack is manners! Respect for the rules! Did you make a mess? Now clean it up! Come on, I want everything as shiny as my shoes!"

Erik still hadn't moved.

His three friends, on the other hand, were on their knees, eyes filled with terror and dirty fingers, busy cleaning up the mess on the floor. Erik noticed that Charles was looking at him and his eyes expressed a silent plea. Do what he wants, Erik. Please. Don't make it worse, please.

Erik wished he was wise enough to follow his friend's unspoken advice.

Just in that moment, the guard realized that Erik was the only one who had not yet carried out his orders. The truncheon rose again and Erik closed his eyes. He knew himself so well that he knew he would not eat. He would not follow Charles' advice. A part of him felt sorry for what had happened to his friends, but his mind was too inflamed with rage for this completely unjustified aggression, and it was practically impossible for him to even consider surrendering to this piece of shit.

He could hit him all he wanted. He didn't give a fuck!

He curled up, protecting his stomach and genitals, and waited for the next blow, clenching his teeth in a desperate attempt not to scream.

"Shaw!"

The truncheon remained in the air.

Another guard had appeared right beside them. No one had noticed his appearance as they were all busy protecting themselves from the violence, but now he seemed to be the only man in the world.

"Your shift is over, Sebastian. I'll take over."

The guard called Sebastian slowly lowered his baton and turned to his colleague. It was clear that he didn't appreciate the interruption.

"I have to finish cleaning up this mess, Orson."

The other man didn't seem to be bothered by the annoyance that was clearly visible on the blond's face. His expression remained completely impassive.

"There's no need for that. I'll do it. You'd better go. Now, Sebastian."

The smile that creased Sebastian's lips was pure poison. Erik watched him slowly compose himself and think about the options available to him.

The other three guards and everyone in the dining room were watching the scene closely.

Erik realized that this was a power struggle to which he and his friends could only be witnesses.

After a long moment of stalemate, the blond guy slowly looked them all in the eye, as if he wanted to memorize their features, he holstered his club and walked away with that gangly, dance-like walk that Erik and the others would learn to hate in the months to come.

At that moment, Erik knew for sure that he had made a dangerous enemy.

What Erik didn't know, in his sixteen-year-old mind, was that the danger Sebastian Shaw represented would transcend boundaries he hadn't even thought existed before he entered Hellfire, and it would profoundly affect his entire life.

Chapter Text

There are dates that represent turning points in people's lives.

For Charles, one such watershed moment was the day his father died.

That day, his mother's heart seemed to stop. That day was the beginning of a chain of events that would lead Charles to Hell's Kitchen and to meeting Erik.

But his father's death was not the only watershed moment in Charles' life.

Another was definitely the night of the fight in the cafeteria. It was his fourteenth birthday. After that night, Charles would never feel like a child again.

He was in his bed when the door to his cell opened.

The man who entered was his usual guard, but the hour set off alarm bells in Charles's head.

He didn't like that man, but no one he’d met since entering prison inspired the slightest confidence.

That man had been his guard from the moment he first set foot inside.

He was imposing and ungainly,with small, piggy black eyes and a flat nose that made him look very much like a pig or a Rottweiler.

Charles knew the world, even though Erik was perpetually convinced otherwise. He knew very well how to avoid conflict and trouble. Getting into a fight with someone built like a closet wasn’t good for your health in a place like that. Being stubborn and rebellious didn’t help either.

So Charles had tried to be calm and cooperative and not respond to the idiotic comments of that man, who seemed obsessed with Charles’s eyes and lips.

They weren't pleasant comments, but Charles had learned to ignore unkind words when he couldn't win.

“Get up. Time for a walk.”

It wasn't an appealing idea. It was nighttime. No one took walks, not at night, not in prison. Charles might be a newcomer, but even he found this unpleasantly strange.

Outside the door, another surprise awaited him.

There were Azazel and Janos, in their pajamas, like Charles, accompanied by their guards.

Erik was missing, but the cafeteria guard was present, without his favorite inmate, and looked at them with obvious satisfaction. Charles had a question on the tip of his tongue, but the looks on his friends' faces convinced him to keep it to himself. At best, he would not receive an answer. At worst... the cafeteria episode had taught Charles that the consequences of his actions could take on a gravity unknown in the free world.

The piggish guard roughly squeezed Charles' shoulder, and he began to walk, with an irresistible urge to stay as far away from them as possible.

Janos and Azazel followed his example, and their walk took them, in heavy silence, to another corridor with doors on both sides, until they reached the last one, where the blond guard, Sebastian they had called him, and Charles had a good memory for names, started pounding his baton against the cell bars.

Charles had little doubt about who was inside.

This was the first time seeing Erik again felt worrying, even sinister.

He would soon understand why.

“Rules are the only thing that separate men from animals.” The blond guard's voice was almost excited as he led them through the darkness to an unknown destination. Erik was at his side, but his step was less sure than usual. Charles wished he could look his friend in the eye, but the guards' arrangement, each one beside his own prisoner, seemed designed to prevent the boys from communicating with each other, even by a glance. “The rules, my boys! Every newcomer goes through what you are going through. My colleagues and I have seen many boys like you cross the borders of Hellfire. The early days are always difficult, but as soon as it becomes clear to everyone what their place is in the world, things get better and living together becomes easier. Right, comrades?”

Charles’s guard nodded vigorously, but something extremely amusing made his lips curl into a sardonic smile that made the boy uneasy.

Everything was wrong.

Charles had never been to prison, but he had known people who had.

Many in Hell's Kitchen used to ended up in local jails. It was almost a rite of passage for some street kids. Stories about what happened in prison were commonplace in bars and on the streets. Charles had always thought that much of what was said was pure fantasy. But no one had ever mentioned midnight walks like the one they were taking now.

And the guards, strangely, were in an exceptionally good mood.

Charles was fairly certain that this couldn’t mean anything good for them, but he had no idea what to do about it. Resisting them would trigger a reaction like the one in the cafeteria. On the other hand, doing nothing condemned them to follow a path that could be dangerous.

In other similar cases, Charles would have sought Erik's eyes. But his friend was held tightly by the blond guard and seemed completely inaccessible.

Eventually, the guards led them to a damp, smelly basement, which must have been right under the cell block. The temperature dropped a few degrees and the boys found themselves shivering in their thin prison sleepwear.

The place had no windows, and the light came from small fluorescent tube arranged in a row in the center of the dripping ceiling.

“I would have liked to finish my lesson this afternoon.” The blond guard opened an iron door leading to an even narrower corridor. "But unfortunately, we were interrupted before you could learn the proper kind of discipline. So... I forced my colleagues to work some overtime. But I promised them it would be worth it. No one will interrupt us here."

Charles felt his guard grab him roughly by the collar of his pajama top and drag him inside, until he found himself with his back to the bars and the man’s massive body blocking any chance of movement.

Janos and Azazel were in the same position.

Erik, on the other hand...

The guards drew their batons and stood waiting, smiling in a way Charles couldn’t tell was obscene or cruel. One thing didn't rule out the other, after all.

“You made a big mistake today, kid. I don't know if you realize it. But we're willing to be lenient with you and teach you everything you need to know. Right, guys?”

The group burst out laughing, as if the blond guard had cracked a joke.

Charles noticed that Erik was looking at him. He knew him so well that he was sure his friend's mind was consumed by guilt. Erik was honest enough to admit when he made a mistake, and there was no doubt that his behavior was the cause of what was happening to them.

Charles’s lips tightened into a faint smile.

It wasn't Erik's fault. Charles wanted to shout it out loud. They were kids. Charles was still convinced he’d slipped backinto his childhood. But they were.. kids. They made mistakes, but they didn't deserve any of what was happening to them.

They were right. The world around them was not.

A cough caught his attention.

The blond guard was staring at them.

His face had changed, just as it had in the cafeteria.

Before, he had been smiling and almost jovial. Now he was deadly serious.

Charles knew that from that moment on, things would stop being merely disturbing, and that was no good sign.

“I see you still don't understand. You're stupider than I thought.” Why was he so angry at Erik? Was it because he had challenged him? Charles was so afraid that his stomach hurt. “Let's see if I can remember where we left off... Oh, right... we were at the point where you had to kneel down.”

Erik hesitated.

Charles never knew what would have happened if Erik had obeyed immediately, because his guard's baton brutally rammed into the pit of his stomach.

His throat filled with bile and he began to cough, slumping forward and stifling a groan. But his knees never hit the floor, because the man in front of him caught him, stepped forward, and shoved him back against the bars. The smile on the man's face had become, if possible, even wider than it had been before. A smile that made it clear how much he was enjoying himself.

“What the hell...”

Erik's voice was filled with disbelief.

The guard to Charles's right moved suddenly, without making a sound. Charles saw the shiny baton rise into the air and crash down hard on Janos's knee. The boy let out a loud yell, and Charles thought he could clearly hear the sound of a bone crunching.

Janos fell to the ground on his side, clutching his leg and continuing to moan, amid the complete indifference of the four men in uniform.

"Well! What are you waiting for? Do you need me to break every single bone in these babies who think you’re their friend?? On your knees! Now! Come on! Do you need me to spell it out for you? On your knees! Now! Come on! Come on!"

Erik came to his senses instantly. His body jerked as if hit by an electric shock.

His knees bent slowly and then locked again. Charles was overwhelmed by a sense of admiration and irritation at the same time. Erik had always been the proudest and most stubborn person Charles knew. Many of his actions were essentially driven by a rage that Charles envied. Not at that moment, though. Now Erik's pride could only lead to more violent retaliation. How could Erik not understand that?

“On your knees!”

The blond guard's patience had clearly reached its limited limit. The man moved his free hand from the baton and, pressing hard on Erik's shoulder, threw him to the ground. The sound of his knees hitting the rough concrete floor was so loud that it drowned out all other sounds.

Erik remained very still, his legs stiff, but Charles could clearly see the fear in his eyes.

The other guards' batons swung lazily in their hands, ready to strike them again.

Janos was still holding his injured leg with both hands. Charles, in his child's mind, expected someone to move to make sure he was okay at any moment, because that's what adults did with children. They threatened them, but they didn't really want anyone to get hurt, right?

No one, however, was really paying attention to Janos's pain.

Everyone's attention was focused on Erik, still kneeling stiffly in front of the blond guard, who decided at that moment to put his baton back into the holster on his belt.

“Very good. See... it wasn't that difficult after all...”

Charles stared in disbelief at the blond guard's movements as he now lazily caressed the buckle of his belt with his fingertips. What else could happen? Erik was still kneeling, but his muscles were rigid and tense, like a spring ready to snap at the first opportunity. Charles couldn't understand what these men wanted, but there was something extremely sick about the way they all smiled, their eyes fixed on Erik and his captor, as if they were in a movie theater, waiting for the show to start.

Then the blond guard moved, and Charles's eyes froze in horror.

The man, continuing to look Erik in the eyes, almost challenging him to look away, began to unbuckle his belt with the same lazy movements with which he had caressed it a moment before. Charles tried to convince himself that he was misinterpreting the situation. Perhaps the man simply wanted to use the belt to beat his friend. Maybe he found it more satisfying than the baton, or had some other reason to use it instead. Erik seemed to be thinking the same thing because his eyes were fixed on that piece of leather, and Charles could see Erik's eyelashes fluttering, as if the boy had a great desire to close his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch the last part of his humiliation but didn't have the courage to do so. The man's hands did not stop once the buckle was undone, however, but continued on to the first button of his canvas trousers and continued with the others until the pants were completely open and the obvious bulge stretching the fabric of his white underwear was fully exposed.

Charles heard a chuckle and realized it was coming from his guard, who was now watching him with great amusement.

“Sebastian... it seems your show has found an admirer...” The man held his baton under Charles's chin, forcing him to look up at him. The man's smile was nothing short of obscene, and Charles couldn't help but swallow hard, which he could tell was completely misinterpreted. “We have someone here who drools at the mere sight... promising...”

Sebastian smiled just as obscenely and, after pulling his underwear down further, took out his cock and began to stroke it lazily. It was red and thick, and its head looked like a huge worm with a single eye. Of course, Charles had seen other cocks in his life. He hung out with his peers at school and at summer camp. Azazel and Janos had long since begun measuring their members in a contest of virility that Charles found rather stupid, but he had never seen an adult man's fully erect penis. It was frightening, especially when combined with the words that followed.

“Greedy little boy... I figured someone with a face like yours would enjoy the experience... But unfortunately for you, today you can only watch...” ."

Charles turned back to stare at Erik, who now had an absolutely icy expression on his face. To someone who didn't know him, he might have looked terrified, but Charles, who knew him well, knew that expression only meant that his friend's anger was rising and that he would soon do something he had no control over.

“Are you sure, Sebastian?” The voice of the guard holding Azazel didn't sound as amused as his colleagues', but rather concerned. “That kid gives me the impression he likes to bite...”

Sebastian's eyes returned to Erik, whose expression seemed to confirm those words. Charles had no idea what was expected of them, but he was pretty sure Erik would definitely meet expectations. His friend had always been someone who didn't like taking orders and reacted rather abruptly whenever his will was forced. That was why En Saba Nur had chosen him to be one of his own, despite his young age, and why he rarely had trouble walking around the neighborhood alone.

Charles was pretty sure that Erik would soon react and that their situation would get worse.

“Is that so?” Sebastian reached out with his free hand and touched Erik's cheek. Erik clenched his jaw so tightly that Charles could have sworn he could hear his teeth grinding. “I guess Victor is right. But I can assure you that I am willing to break every bone in your friends' bodies for each act of rebellion you commit. If I feel even the slightest pressure from a tooth, I will let your doll-eyed friend take your place until he chokes on our cocks.”

Erik's eyes lowered to the man's cock, which was still furiously erect and now only a few inches from his lips. Despite everything, Charles still hoped that Erik would rebel and show some of the madness he had become accustomed to over the years. But then Erik shifted his gaze to meet his. Charles understood, with the unfailing certainty with which he had always read his best friend, that it wasn't going to happen this time because Erik felt deeply guilty. Guilty for devising the plan that had landed them all in this hell on earth. Guilty for starting the fight in the cafeteria that had brought them to this dark, stinking basement. Guilty for Janos's knee. Guilty for whatever had happened to his friends.

Oh no. Charles felt a sudden emptiness in his stomach. Everything was completely wrong. It wasn't Erik's fault. He had never thought otherwise, and he was pretty sure that none of the others would either, not even Azazel or Janos. At that moment, they weren't the bad guys. Nothing Erik had done could justify what was happening.

Charles opened his mouth to scream or speak — he wasn't sure which. But the huge guard holding him was faster and covered his lips with one hand.

Charles felt no pain; the gesture was not intended to hurt him, only to silence him. However, Erik must have interpreted it as an attack, because his knees suddenly buckled and his hands fell to his sides, his gaze lost. Charles had never seen his friend so young and vulnerable.

It was clearly what Sebastian had been waiting for. The man reached out his hand and held it in midair, waiting. After a few seconds, Erik seemed to regain control of his arms, because he raised his hand, almost shyly, and allowed the man to clasp it between his fingers.

Sebastian jerked him abruptly, forcing the boy to crawl on his knees, and brought him closer to his pants.

“Come on, don't be shy...” Sebastian took Erik's fingers one by one and carefully placed them around the base of his penis. The soft curve of thumb and forefinger completely surrounded his member. He appreciated the sensation so much that it jerked in a way that Charles found unpleasant. “You don't know how to do it? Of course you do.” The man pressed down on the boy's hand, forcing it to slide up and down mechanically. He was so focused and smug that his face expressed only violent excitement. No pleasure. It wasn't time to let go yet. Or maybe that moment would never come. 'Don't you want to help your friends?' They're all here for you. You know that, don't you? Now make me happy and no one else will get hurt."

Slowly, the man removed his hand from Erik's. Erik stopped, but left his hand where it was. Charles thought his friend was too scared to do it, and he felt the urge to get up and stand between them. Erik had always protected him, ever since they were children. 

It seemed as if his guard had guessed what he was thinking because he took a threatening step forward, positioning himself between Charles and Erik. He was close enough to intercept any possible movement, but he didn't take his eyes off what was happening.

That movement caught Erik's attention. He must have considered it a threat to Charles because his hand began to move independently again. Sebastian's smile widened obscenely, and he placed his hands on his hips as though he were a master observing his triumphant victory.

Charles felt his eyes fill with tears. He really wanted to help Erik, but didn't know how.

"Faster..."

Erik's hand increased its pace. Charles saw his friend's eyelashes flutter as if he wanted to close his eyes and escape the humiliation, if only in his mind.

"Look at me..."

Erik looked up, and Sebastian smiled again.

Charles felt a tear roll down his cheek. It was the pain that Erik couldn't express, but which he felt throbbing between his ribs as if his heart wanted to escape his body and avoid witnessing this terrible spectacle any longer.

Then the man reached out with both hands and wrapped his fingers around Erik's temples. Erik flinched at the touch, but did not pull away.

Charles wanted to scream. He wanted to tell Erik to fight back. His anger and fear built up, forming big, fat tears that streamed from his eyes in warm rivers and dripped from his jaw onto his neck.

'Don't do it. Don't do it. Please, don't do it.

But Erik's ears were not ready to hear his mental plea. 

To Charles' horror, he saw Sebastian's penis meet Erik's lips without waiting for him to open his mouth and break through their barrier with a violent thrust. Erik let out a dying gurgle and tried to pull away, more out of hunger for air than actual rejection. However, the guard held him steady with his hands while he choked and gagged, his body trembling. Finally, he managed to breathe through his nose with a loud slurp.

The massive guard let out a raucous chuckle, but Charles didn't have the strength to look up because he was mesmerised by what was happening in front of him.

Sebastian held Erik still until he stopped struggling again. Then he began to move his hips. His thrusts were long and always followed by Erik's pained roar. True to his word, Erik did not move. He did not rebel. He did nothing but moan weakly whenever the pain made it impossible for him to remain silent.

Sebastian had now become louder.

Each thrust was accompanied by a hungry grunt. An animalistic moan. It was something too obscene to describe, but Charles was sure it would remain in his memory forever.

Sebastian's thrusts continued to increase in intensity until he let out a louder-than-usual moan, stopping at the end of a thrust and holding Erik's head firmly against his groin to prevent him from pulling away.

"Swallow." Charles felt a tug on his hair. Charles wanted to scream. Stop! Please! Don't do this to me! Stop! Stop! Stop! "Good boy."

When the man moved away after adjusting his trousers with precise, careful movements, Charles could see Erik's face again. His eyes were completely empty, and his complexion was greenish, as if he were about to vomit.

'Gentlemen...' Sebastian was in high spirits, but the visual result was slimy and disturbing. 'I think they've learned their lesson. We can go back now, can't we?'

Charles felt a pair of large hands grab him by the armpits and line him up in the same position as when they arrived. Then the group moved off. Janos limped conspicuously. Azazel was stiff and strutting. Erik... Erik walked as if he had turned into a ghost. 

Charles wanted to hug him, but he knew that such a gesture would surely be seen as another sign of rebellion. 

So he walked alongside his guard towards their cells.

He couldn't even exchange a glance with Erik. Erik was sent to his cell before anyone else.

Charles cried all the way there and continued until exhaustion made him pass out in his bed.

He would never forget that night for the rest of his life.