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It's the enveloping sort of unconsciousness that's a bit like sleeping. It's comfortable, in his mind, just darkness and that blissful feeling of sleep, of nothing, really. No worries, no thoughts, no dreams, just sleep.

He comes to with his face pressed against the metal diamond tread flooring, and screaming in his ear.

Why am I on the floor? is his initial thought. The voice yelling he recognizes and he decides it's time to open his eyes.

Erik is on his knees beside him, not touching him, but calling his name, over and over, not sure of what to do. Concern is painted on his face and he breathes a sigh of relief when Charles finally opens his eyes.

"Charles," he breathes, "are you alright?"

"'Haven't decided yet," he mutters truthfully. With shaking arms, he carefully lifts himself onto his elbows. He wipes what he thinks is sweat off his forehead; his hand comes away red.

"Mein gott," Erik whispers. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a white handkerchief. He goes to press it against Charles's forehead, but hands him the piece of fabric instead. Charles takes it and sits up.

"That would probably explain this bloody headache," he says, trying to stem the flow. "What the hell happened?" He winces.

"You damn passed out again, that's what happened. Eyes rolled back and everything. It was terrifying, mate."

He groans internally. Of course. "Where'd Hank get to?"

"To get help, of course. You'd think we'd just leave you there?"

"I'm fine-"

"You have a goddamn head wound-"

"It's a scratch, man. My brains aren't spilling out and there aren't shards of my skull littering the damn ground."

"You might have a concussion, Charles, now stop arguing, goddamn it, and if you think about getting up I'll magnetize you to the damn floor."

Charles puts his head in his hands and starts thinking, something he does best. Fainting is caused by numerous things, this episode wasn't because of low blood sugar, but maybe blood pressure? Not enough blood getting to the brain? But it's not like he had been running a marathon or anything, just using Cerebro.

Cerebro.

The blasted machine. Of course.

His train of thought is interrupted. "Charles?"

A drop of blood makes it's way down his wrist; the handkerchief thoroughly soaked.

He looks up. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'd literally kill for some Tylenol but other than that I'm quite fine. How are you, Erik?"

"Wondering where the hell Hank is."

"Oh, I hope he didn't call an ambulance."

"He better have."

Charles shakes his head (not the best idea) and sighs. He mumbles something, but Erik only catches "...so embarrassing..."

A moment later, Hank rushes in, panting, with several paramedics and the CIA agent whose name Erik can't even remember at the moment, no, not the lady, the other one.

Charles lets the damned medics poke him and prod him. He let's them stitch his forehead up and put a bandage on it that screams "Hello! I'm injured!". He lets them ask their silly questions, he does not let them take him to the hospital for a CT scan, yes, he knows he might have a concussion, no, his judgement is just fine, thank you. He'd like a word with Hank afterwards and he ignores Erik's glare.

Charles, Hank, and Erik stride across the courtyard together after the medics leave.

"I-I'm so sorry, Charles, I thought the adjustments I made would fix the problem-"

"I know what the problem is."

"Oh, do you, Erik?" Charles sounds slightly annoyed yet curious. "Please share."

"You're not used to using your powers this much. All those minds are too overwhelming. It's like-too much psychic feedback."

"Which makes me pass out?"

Erik shrugs, but it's the best theory anyone has.

Charles bids Hank good-bye once they reach the building, and Erik follows him up to his room.

"You didn't have to accompany me," Charles says when they get to his door, but he lets them both in anyway. "I can find my way around, thank you very much."

"I wanted to make sure you got up alright, without passing out on the stairs."

"You're funny, Erik." Charles immediately starts for his drawers, where the bottle of Tylenol resides. He takes a few pills and falls onto the bed without even taking his shoes off.

Erik stands by the door.

"You can come in if you want," Charles's voice is muffled by the pillow. "Or you could just stand there. Suit yourself."

"You don't need me to stay?"

Charles rolls over to face him. "I'm a grown man, Erik, I can take care of myself."

The metalbender just shrugs and takes the seat by the window. It's late afternoon now, the gold light touching everything and filling the room. Charles mumbles something into the pillow.

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't tell Raven about this," he pleads.

"You can't hide from her forever, you know."

Charles doesn't respond.

Erik's not sure if one is supposed to sleep with a concussion, but he doesn't say anything. He just sits and reflects. It's about an hour later that Erik decides he's over stayed his welcome. He's halfway to the door when Charles stirs.

TBC, shortly


A/N: What a derpy place to leave off but whatever this chapter has gone for long enough (longest chapter yet what up what up), le sigh. I really need to see the movie again because I feel like a lot of this is inaccurate. Also, that CIA agent is never given a name. WTF man.

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