agoodyarn | For bloodbymetal: First Impressions

For bloodbymetal: First Impressions

His first thought, upon returning to Earth, is to check on the President but it seems that that situation is in hand; those who would be dead are dead and those who are alive don't require medical assistance other than a young man who was already being pulled out of the metal mangle that had fallen on him. But his focus must be, can't be anything but, the man floating away through the air.

It's rare he shares the sky. And having heard of this man, having heard of what he can do and seeing the results of it around the destruction, he decides that the best thing he can do is go after him.

But he's heard enough that he doesn't immediately go for the conflict, the attack. Instead, he follows at a distance too far for any normal human to be able to sense, keeping track of the other man with his own enhanced senses. When he sees him start to descend, when he heads for an actual location, that's when Clark sweeps in, silent and slow, not from behind but from the front. Head on.

"I think we need to talk."

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Staring down at the offered hand, Erik blinked, and then blinked again, bluntly. Magneto didn't trust anyone, meanwhile Erik could be persuaded, depending on the situation.

He weighed his options, mostly confused why someone like Superman would want to aid his wounds. Erik lived in a world where he was constantly in a they vs us mentality. Erik clearly wasn't one of the good guys.

"I'm only taking your help because I am no fool," he stated while outstretching his hand and reluctantly but easily placing his palm over his. He tried to ignore the throbbing pain of his neck. It was impossible. Even Magneto had his limits.

Clark gave the hand a faint squeeze before moving in to scoop Magneto up. The medical professional which he knew, which he trusted, could be reached much faster if he flew the other man. Especially since the other man was starting to feel the blood loss.

"This way is faster. I'm not taking you to any police facility. Just a doctor I know who knows how to be discreet."

And Batman might not be pleased that he'd been in Gotham, but there was only one doctor that he trusted to work on this patient. Hopefully, she hadn't seen the news.

"I don't appreciate being carried like a damsel," he spoke up, and then quickly mumbled to himself as the sting of his wound heightened. "Azazel would laugh." His people. Icy Queen Emma, the red devil, particular Janos, all his young mutants like feisty Angel, even Mystique who had undoubtedly betrayed him. For a moment he could forget The Brotherhood had long either been wiped out or simply are gone.

The loss of blood made him more vulnerable to being hazy. He closed his eyes, letting the mellow wind calm him down, and had to hold onto Superman. Erik allowed himself to lay his head on the shoulder before him. The tiredness was settling in too quickly. He would make sure it would be the last he was in such a weak state in front of those he wasn't suppose to interact with on friendly terms.

"Nobody will laugh," he assured him quietly, "and this is the best way to carry you that doesn't rely on you to hold on. That could be a problem, given your bloodloss."

His voice is kind, soft, and matter-of-fact; he's certainly not making fun of Erik. It's clear enough from his tone that the idea hadn't even occurred to him.

Then they were on the way to Gotham, to Leslie Thompkins clinic, glad that he can hear her heartbeat in the office he knows is hers. That way he can head to the window and avoid being seen with a man that the national news had shown as lifting a stadium and dropping it around the President.

Leslie knows, it shows on her face as Clark puts Erik down on the cot for her to take a look, but she's a doctor and she takes her vows seriously and so she gets to working on him with as much care and consideration as she's ever given to one of her patients.

If he could quirk an eyebrow, Erik would be doing that at the exact moment he heard Superman's serious tone. He had not intended to even consider his comment in a serious light. It was a sort of reminiscence to what he once had. Honestly, he was still trying to figure out the fella himself.

The cot was soft, and the ache in his neck reduced by the threads working their way by a needle. The woman. He barley paid heed to her. Despite popular belief, he could put his differences aside and be at least a not too terrible company to a human. Some at most were tolerable, and others sometimes on rare occasions, likable. He'll never admit it out loud.

Mere presence of the metal needle, no stranger to the workings of the woman, sedated him in a way. At the moment, he doesn't care where he's at or who is involved. He does want a proper why, but that will have to wait. Erik just stays silent, watching the hands of the woman work until she's finished. He realized then that whatever was occurring, it was much better than what the government would have done if Charles had let them take him. It would have been worst than the ten years he spent in prison. Erik would probably be dead by now.

Leslie gave Superman a look (she regularly worked on Batman, so her awe over caped heroes was nonexistant) before nodding to the both of them and making her way out of the small, private clinic room. Clark watched her go, watched the door close, before turning back to Erik.

"You should get some rest. Then we'll talk."

He sat back in the chair.

"Don't worry. We've got the room for a few hours. Enough time for you to at least take a nap. The fluids and the blood she put in out to have you feeling much better soon enough."

Erik kept silent, mostly assessing the situation. It is taking a lot of trust to even consider falling asleep in the place he was taken or with the knowledge that Superman was there. Even if he left, he still knew Magneto's location—Erik's location. Then he considered the wary feeling and too tired mind to even care.

"You're confusing," he stated before glossing his eyes over Superman and then turning on the couch. It wasn't terribly uncomfortable and his eyes were growing heavy. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep, clad in his costume. His cape, shaped particular, laid half over his stomach as he had dragged it over him when turning around.

He didn't have trust established with Superman, nor did he think he ever could, considering his issues with willing to trust anyone. It came rare on its own, but he was taking the leap at the moment to give some amount of trust. Erik had no choice.

Superman crossed his arms over his chest and looked over at Erik, clearly confused as to the... compliment? Insult? He wasn't sure how he was supposed to take that.

"How so?" though he couldn't help a faint teasing note to his voice as he asked.

Sleep wasn't being kind to Erik. He was used to it. Not bothering to shift his body, he allowed his deep voice full of German undertones to be heard. Staying quiet wasn't a strength of his unless he deemed it necessary.

"Heroes don't help supposed villains," he almost added a snort to his answer but resisted while closing his eyes once again.

"Heroes help those who need it," he said, and his voice was... gentle. If Erik was surprised by Superman than Clark was being surprised somewhat by Magneto in turn. He'd been expecting grandiose, overblown, volatile and violent. What he'd gotten was a man who seemed more beaten down in some ways than anything, tired and defensive and sad, in need of an ear and possibly more.

It was a reminder that what he did and how he did it was important, deeply important. That every 'villain' had a reason, a story, and that as much as he was Clark underneath the S, so to was there a mix of good and evil in everyone. And that his biggest priority should be in helping the good parts.

Everyone deserved a place in the light.

He stilled. Erik had become a "villain" for the sake of revenge. His actions shouldn't ever be justified, and he doesn't regret them. Not all of them at least. Turning around, Erik gives the hero a benefit of at least seeing his face when he honestly states tiredly.

"You remind me of an old friend," before adding, "Thank you. For helping me." There's remorse, regret, and longing edged under his tone, but it's only subtle. Erik's not sure he can even sleep properly. Usually the strong Magneto, vibrant at the front and looming is now put on the back burner. Erik is wearing Magneto but he's not present. Magneto doesn't care. He's solid and cold, to the point. Erik is less.

Max, his former self, is only a weakness that doesn't exist anymore. All that remains after what he tried pulling at D.C, is Erik. A broken, vulnerable Erik. Superman doesn't know that. Erik won't let him see anything but Magneto.

"You're welcome," and for now, he was content to leave it at that. He could hear the mixed jumble of emotions in the other man's voice, catch the subtle changes in his breathing and his heartrate.

He'd known some of what had happened to him. He was, after all, a reporter in his daylight hours. Anyone with any kind of in at any of the American intelligence agencies knew about the incident down near Cuba. And then there'd been rumors during the assassination of President Kennedy, but no one had been able to substantiate anything. Lois had tried her best but... to no avail.

All in all, it meant that he knew that the man in the bed was a much more complex riddle than he outwardly appeared, and the quiet thanks only added to the solution that Clark had been coming to since he'd set out to apprehend him: that there was a great deal more to this issue than he knew.

And that was why he was here, why he intended to wait, why he wanted to talk. Hurt like his, fatigue like his, spoke of injustice of the highest tier. And whether the man had taken the best route to addressing it or not didn't make it any less worthy of his attention.

Dozing off was much easier after he acknowledged his thanks, and bothered to even give into needed sleep. Maybe he'll be able to have a clearer mind with healing wounds.

Erik is a dangerous man, and it wasn't something to be dismissed. He had obtained secrets, of mutants hiding their identity, many of which were in high positions. Humans passing wasn't hard to do unless a mutation was visible or they were a shifter. He wasn't sure what Superman's intentions were, but there were blanks many people want filled that include what Magneto has done in the past. One of the most prominent ones is of the assassination of President Kennedy. Erik could possibly be compelled to tell Superman the truth of what had actually occurred, but it would take a lot to get him to be able to do it.

Waking up was another story. The sun too bright and Erik, although a morning person, had the desire to stay laying where he was. Two reasons held him back. One, he had a good few hours of sleep, and two, he was curious to what was next.

Groggily, he rubbed one eye, noting his same attire.

"I need a shower." It was of course not the first on his mind. He wasn't sure what his next step was going to be. Talking to Superman for one. He'll definitely lay low for a while and put Magneto away. Possibly go to Germany, Poland. Stay in the states... Somewhere he wouldn't be expected. He will have to use his birth namesake. Max Eisenhardt.

Clark hadn't really dozed so much as meditated while he was letting Erik sleep, as much ruminating on the possible issues around this particular situation was he was on the excuse he was going to give Perry as to why he had been out for a few days. Because it was going to take a few days, he had a feeling. He hated it, but he had a feeling that he'd be calling Bruce. Normally, he would never lean on that particular relationship that way, but this was of a caliber that it was required. And he didn't quite feel as if he could leave this one to anyone else.

"You've got a couple of options," he offered, keeping his voice low. "And I know which one your doctor would prefer. There's showers here... or where I wanted to take you to talk. It's up to you, though."

Running rough fingers through his hair, he could feel the unruliness. He had woken up with a case of bed hair. At least it was better than helmet hair. Which reminded him. His helmet. It had laid in the rubble. Charles didn’t allow him to take it. A part of him wanted to find a time to lure it back to him. It had become part of him for so long, although they had been separated for some time. There was something about the metal, imposing and powerful, that he liked to feel. Except, in catching sight of Superman still there, he realized it may not be the best to act on the impulse. His choices had been given, and he had taken freedom. There was no going back, yet.

“It’s rhetorical.” Erik bore his sight on Superman, expression closed off to giving away nothing. He often could unravel, but then close up right away. There was no middle ground when it came to Erik. The new choices he was given were not hard to pinpoint in what he wanted. Showers could wait. There were far more important matters. His curiosity dabbled too much.

“We can talk now.” A man of few words, Erik gave a curt nod.

Clark sat up a little bit and made sure to unfold his arms. There was no sense in starting with a closed off state of mind or a closed off posture.

"I suppose, when it boils down to it, I've really only got one question." He leaned a little closer, not looming or intimidating. If anything, his eyes seemed imploring, hopeful.

"Why?"

Why had he done what he'd done? What was going on with these 'mutants', these metahumans? What was he doing and why was he doing it and how could they accomplish things without terrifying or harming people?

One simple word, and yet it was more complex than anyone could singularly comprehend. Erik's aloof expression didn't waver, but there was a flicker of something profound. A blink and it will be missed moment.

"That's asking more from me than I can give you," and yet he wanted to tell the morally induced hero what he had been burying for a long time. He wasn't shy about his views, but it was only the surface of an iceberg. Underneath it all, there was more than what was being shown.

"Mutants are superior. You've heard it all from me."

In the silence that followed, Erik reflected and for once he tried to evaluate. Slowly, but surely, at the state he was in, if someone really wanted to get him to profess, they could if they poked hard enough.

"What more do you want me to say? That I regretted it? I was there on my own will. To everyone I am a bad man. They don't want people like me. I was making a stance. It was made clearly."

"And where do I stand in your ideology?" And there was genuine curiosity there, but there was also a desire to keep him talking, see what shook out of him as he did. As he'd said right from the start, there were answers that Erik would not give him but that didn't mean they weren't there. They were just covered or, reasonably, hidden from him, an outsider.

"I don't want you to say anything, though. And I haven't called you anything, bad or good. Your stance might be clear, but your feelings are what I'm interested in."

Because sometimes, people just needed the light to find their way. And when Clark had taken up his mantle, had stepped out in the very outfit he wore now, he'd sworn to himself to be that light... and not just when it was easy. Not just for those already predisposed towards it. It seemed to him that more than anything else, this man needed hope.

He would try.

Emitting a laugh, it only felt dry and void of any actual happiness; it was perfectly bitter. Magneto is a bad person. Misguided by revenge, but still not someone who will spare a life he didn’t deem necessary. He had no mercy or regard for peace. Yet, delving deeper into the complexity that formed Magneto, Erik gave off different volumes. Magneto will always be part of Erik, but the amount of Erik part of Magneto only drew in more complications.

He still talked, too tired of keeping it all bottled in as he usually did. Slowly, the tight hold he held onto the thread of burdens were unleashed. It was the similarities between Superman and Charles that pushed him. That sincere, pacifist naivety.

Charles will always be a broken point, and regretful yearning he will hold within.

“I am a bad person. I’ve done atrocious acts. I’ve killed with my bare hands,” Erik made sure he was keeping a strong stare on Superman, never wavering it. He was a broken man, but he won’t back into a weak corner. Not now, not ever. Yet, the fragility would seep in if he wasn’t careful.

“I don’t know what you are, or where to place you. All I know is what pertains to mutants and humans. A coexistence I believe is not possible. I am just…” Spent. Erik was walking a dangerous path, full of potential to grow into an even darker soul. His experiences shape him, and whether Superman would dent his straying destiny, it wasn’t clear quite yet. Unable to finish, he instead asked.

“Do you want to know what actually happened November 22nd of 1963?”

And Superman stared back, not with strength, not with hardness in his eyes, but with a well of compassion. Caring. Willingness to listen. Unwillingness to hate. Erik's words only made him believe his own theories more. Really bad people, he'd learned over the years, didn't think they were bad people. Didn't feel the blood on their hands. Didn't regret. And they definitely didn't try to warn off those who might try to help them.

As for November 22nd, 1963...

"I know it's not what the official report reads as," Clark said slowly.

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For bloodbymetal: First Impressions

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...sorry was out of state for a few days!

Totally fine! Always reply when you can, or feel da muse ~

much appreciated; it's been mildly crazy getting back to work

i'm hella lenient so no worries; if you want to continue all yee have to do is answer

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