Michael Fassbender & Characters One-Shots

Dream Catcher, Part Two

Summary: After you thought you were helping Erik, he storms out on you, and you don't know what you did wrong...

Warnings: None!

A/N: Soooo I ended up splitting this into two parts. I'll post Part Three tomorrow.

Words: 4116

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You aren't sure what you did wrong. You helped him, didn't you? The nightmare was an absolute beast, an ancient one at that, and you tore it from his mind. Other, smaller evils may plague his sleep but the ring-leader certainly won't. You sigh, curling your fingers around the jar encasing Erik's worst nightmare, wondering, racking your memory for some flaw, some horrible thing you said or did that could've driven Erik out of the room like that. He seemed so angry. Upset. Like you'd hurt his feelings or...or maybe hurt him? Could you have hurt him? Extracting nightmares shouldn't hurt. All of the foster siblings you had never woken when you removed their bad dreams. If they could sleep through it...it can't be too painful. Uncomfortable, perhaps. Anything being pulled out your nose or ears would feel strange, and Erik certainly didn't enjoy watching the black ropes coming out his nostrils.

Is that why he ran?

If he just needed some space, you would've gladly granted it.

Space can be nice.

But Erik didn't just need time alone.

He's avoided you.

He hasn't returned for the rest of his nightmares to be extracted.

You're beginning to worry.

One, Charles is breathing down your neck, asking if you've found someone to practice with. Yes. Praying he hasn't already read your mind – or Erik's – you lie to his face. No. No you haven't found someone but you're still looking.

Lying to your only friend sucks.

You hold onto hope that Erik will return, and you can get rid of all the nightmares, and then, maybe convince Erik to tell Charles your accomplishment.

Then, you'll have killed three birds with one stone.

Practice, help Erik, prove yourself to Charles.

"...make a friend."

There's the trickiest bit of all. To truly prove yourself to Charles, you need to befriend whoever you practice on. That now translates to, befriend Erik Lehnsherr, the bitter, distant metal-manipulator who won't speak to you. Sighing once more, you flop backwards onto your bed, letting your arms fall at your sides, posed as a snow angel on your linens. The jar shifts in your hand as Erik's nightmare throws a fit, annoyed by being jostled. You bring him to your eye level, staring down the coils of coarse, almost sandy obsidian that weave in and out of each other, melting and reforming again, pressing against the sides of the jar like someone might ram their shoulder into a locked door, attempting to break free.

"Oh calm down you drama queen," You tell the nightmare. "You're a jerk and I don't know why but he stormed out and maybe it's because of you and I hate you."

"Talking to a jar?"

You shriek –

And roll off the bed.

You and the jar hit the floor. Luckily, neither of you are broken. You immediately scramble to your feet, snatching up the jar while tripping out of a blanket you dragged off the bed with you. Once you're free, you blow the unbrushed hair out of your face and meet a pair of blue eyes.