[Cherik] Fair Trade


Disclaimer : Characters belong to their respectful owners. I only own the original character who is based on James McAvoy’s appearance.

Fandom : Town Creek/ Blood Creek (2009)

Rating : T

Pairing : Cherik/Mcfassy – Richard Wirth x OC

Genres : Fanfiction, slash

Characters : Victor Marshall, Evan Marshall, Richard Wirth, OC (based on James McAvoy)

Warnings : heavy spoilers for the ending of Town Creek/ Blood Creek (2009)

Summary :

“What is he to you, Wirth?” He restrained from using ‘monster’ to address the Nazi monster; he would not risk enraging Charles when he was unsure about the nature of their relationship.

<< My summer’s rain. My winter’s fire… >>

Victor was unimpressed with Charles’s declaration of romance.

<<My hunger’s feast. >>

Charles punctuated it with a smile that made Victor shudder.

A missing scene from the movie Town Creek/Blood Creek (2009) which explains Victor’s strange  behavior at the end and dedicates to Mcfassy pairing.

The fire had long died out.

The crisp wind carrying the remnants of scorched wood was bitter in his nostrils as he strode on the burned ground, imagining it was the ash of the Wollners beneath his soles. Evan probably had had them properly buried instead of letting their bodies cremated with their house – the boy always had a soft heart, even to the abductors and murderers. Then again they had been neither his captor nor murderer. It was not Evan whose two years of life they had brutally robbed. It was not Evan whose flesh they had cut open again and again in a fucking blood ritual served to feed the Nazi monster. Evan’s most grievous flaw was to have failed to see that the Wollners had been no different from Wirth, perhaps even worse because the Nazi monster had not tried to play the victim.

Victor’s fists clenched painfully, blunt nails digging crescent imprints into his palms at the thought of Wirth. Simultaneously cold sweats beaded on his temples as he recalled the event that night. Evan and he had killed the Nazi monster, using the oldest methods of killing in mankind history: poisoning and decapitation. They had succeeded; the monster’s unmoving body and the Wollners’ defeat at time’s hand being the truest proof. But Evan would never know that while the Wollners had truly gone, Wirth had not stayed dead. Victor knew. And he would never tell his brother he had had the chance to intervene and he had not.

The soil reeked of the pungent smell of Wirth’s blood, if the thick, inky fluid oozing out from his mutated body could qualify as blood.

Right after Wirth’s fall, Evan rushed to the house to check on the two remaining members of the Wollners. The boy clearly sympathized with them, deeming them the same victims of Wirth as much as the countless unfortunate bodies buried beneath the soil of this farm. Victor had none of his brother’s sympathy; the Wollners could burn in Hell for all he cared.

Victor found two gallons of gasoline in the back of the house, thanks God or whoever above. All he needed now was a spark of fire and his two-year nightmare was over.

Let fire cleanse this land off its sins, thought Victor as he soaked the ground with gasoline. Swiftly he glanced over his shoulders to regard Wirth’s mutated corpse before pouring the gasoline on the monster as well. Cold sweats damped his palms and he almost dropped the gallon twice. Part of Victor had not overcome the terror Wirth had cast upon him while squatting beside Victor’s helpless, wounded body and boring into the former soldier’s soul with those inhuman murky pupils of his.

You and I are no different.

No different my ass. Victor gritted his hard enough he could feel the sound pounding in his eardrums. He cursed loudly and dumped the remaining content of the gallon onto Wirth’s body.

Take this, freak.

Victor reached for the box of matches in his pocket and landed a kick to Wirth. He was about to light a match when he heard a soft-spoken voice.

<< Please, I would very much appreciate if you refrain from what you are about to do. >>

Similar to the first time he had felt Wirth’s tongue lapping at his open wounds and his ragged teeth digging into his flesh, Victor’s blood seemed to freeze and he forgot to breathe. The voice was a male’s, ambiguously young and very polite. It sounded benign, even well-meaning and Victor would have thought it was the voice of a cultured British student had it not spoken right into his head.


Victor tried to quench the rabid growing fear with a loud growl, his voice hoarse and bordering on the verge of trembling. His eyes searched the ominous darkness, finding no one and nothing.

A soft chuckle went into his head.

<< Behind you. >>

He hastily turned around and there he found, only a few feet away from him, the source of the voice. His eyes widened, mouth agape and Victor was planted on his spot like a statue.

The figure was clad in a suit as dark as the night surrounding them. Its style, if Victor’s poor knowledge of history and fashion was correct, had been much favored by the aristocrats in the Victorian era. He (that was a male, Victor could tell) was wearing a matching hat whose shadow had most of his face concealed save a pair of lips that were curving slightly in a half-smile. The obscurity of identity and the moonlit half-smile somehow exuded an air of mystique that played right into Victor’s subconscious primal desires. Grinding his teeth, Victor dug his nails into his sweaty palms, hoping the pain would help him put out those raging urges. The figure was not very tall and his posture was not the least intimidating; he sounded and looked as if he would not even harm an ant but Victor was not fooled. He slowly took a few steps back, hands slick with sweats and blood reaching out to grab the wires he had used to decapitate Wirth, eyes squinting cautiously at the figure.

Seeing Victor’s reaction, the figure lightly shook his head. With an elegant gesture, his gloved hand reached up to take off the hat. The object instantly vanished in his hand and the figure’s face was now fully revealed to Victor.

<< I would prefer a more proper introduction but as you can see, the situation does not seem to agree with me. >>

The man’s lips were unmoving and yet the voice was ringing in his mind as clear as a bell, his accent posh and undoubtedly British.

Now that he had removed the hat, Victor had the chance to study his countenance. He looked young, even younger than the voice had indicated, almost boyish with a dash of freckles on the bridge of his nose. His skin was pale, a stark contrast with his ruby-red lips, but it was not sickly and under the silvery moonlight, his face seemed to be glowing softly.

Victor let out a sharp breath, inwardly cursed himself for getting carried away by the young man’s look. This young man, whose every inch qualified as angelic, could be as sinister as the deceased Wirth. The fact that his impossibly blue eyes were gluing on the Nazi monster’s corpse spoke as much.

“What are you?”

The pair of blue gems blinked innocently, the lips preserving the ever half-smile.

<< Do I not look human enough to you? >>

Too human. Victor grunted under his breath. If this young man did not look so human while he was clearly not, perhaps Victor would feel much less disturbed.

“What do you want?”

<< What do I want? >>, echoed the young man. << What I want to ask is that you stop what you are about to do. >>

“Why should I?”

<< Because an unburnt body would reduce a great deal of effort for me and I would be deeply grateful for that. >>

“And if I refuse?”

His hands were shaking visibly. He clenched them hard, pretending the pain of crushing his bones would give him a little courage in front of this dark creature.

His half-smile was unwavering and his tone was calm as ever.

<< Violence would be my last resort and I would take no pleasure in it. And I am certain neither would you. Peace is always an option, my friend, and I advise you not to refuse my offer. >>

Victor restrained himself from spitting at the young man’s choice of word; he managed to quirk an eyebrow instead.

“What offer may I ask?” He smirked at his own mimic of the young man’s speech.

The pair of ruby lips seemed to curve up ever slightly.

<< My offer, or rather, my little compensation for what inconveniences Richard caused you, is that you will allow me to retrieve him peacefully. In return, I will give you the gift mankind has been desperately seeking since the dawn of humanity. >>

Yellow pages of Wirth’s journals and Liese’s explanation flashed through his mind. Realization hit him like a tidal wave.

“You mean…”

<< Immortality, that is. Or by chance I am wrong and you desire something else… >>

Somehow Victor could not summon the reason to prove the young man wrong.

That was the worst.

Seeing that Victor appeared to have taken the bait, the young man’s blue orbs shone even brighter.

The glove on his left hand vanished as mysteriously as the hat and the young man held his hand out to Victor. << Shall we make a deal? >>

The young man’s hand was pale and luminous as his face, the inked tattoo on its back starkly standing out. Victor raked his memory and did not find any religious symbols that looked half similar.

His fingers, lean and delicate, a pianist’s, seemed to be imbued with an enchanted spell. Before Victor realized he was striking a deal with the devil, he had already taken the young man’s hand in his.

The skin was cold, like touching steel dipped in snow.

<< Excellent! I have not taken you for anything less than a wise man, Victor Marshall. >>

For the first time the young man opened his pair of sinfully red lips and he beamed at Victor, his voice practically a purr.

The back of his mind was screaming at him but Victor knew it was already too late to pull himself out of the devil’s trap. An identical tattoo had etched into the back of his right hand’s skin.

Victor inwardly sighed. Who was he to resist the devil?

He let go of the young man’s hand and rolled down his tattered sleeve. It was better Evan did not learn of its existence.

<< No need to hide, my friend. None except us could see it. >>

Victor snorted. The young man resumed his perpetual half-smile.

<< Now that we have reached a new level of intimacy, I am terribly ashamed that I have not properly introduced my name. >>, the young man held out his hand again, this time, gloved. << Humans have dubbed me countless names but my personal preference would be “Charles”. So I am Charles, Charles Xavier, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Victor. >>

Charles’s overfriendly tone made Victor’s skin raise goosebumps and he almost hesitated to accept the handshake.

“What is he to you, Wirth?” He restrained from using ‘monster’ to address the Nazi monster; he would not risk enraging Charles when he was unsure about the nature of their relationship.

<< My summer’s rain. My winter’s fire… >>

Victor was unimpressed with Charles’s declaration of romance.

<<My hunger’s feast. >>

Charles punctuated it with a smile that made Victor shudder.

<< A human would not understand… >>

Charles’s murmur was barely audible when he kneeled down, not minding that he would soil his fancy outfit, beside Wirth’s body. In a loving gesture he lifted up Wirth’s merely decapitated head and cradled it in his arms. Victor watched with mild curiosity as moonlight illuminated hints of wetness on Charles’s cheeks.

The devil weeping for the monster. How fit.

<< Had you not left my side, Richard… Look what they have done to you… >>, Charles’s mumbling voice suddenly raised up in exclamation. << To mar beauty is the most monstrous crime! >>

Somehow Victor found the devil agreeable. He did not know how Wirth had originally looked like to be ‘beautiful’ in Charles’s eyes but it was no doubt the Wollners had not been innocent in his hideous transformation. Surely the Nazi occultist had not shown up at the farm’s entrance and expected to charm the Wollners looking like a damned creature from Hell.

His stray thought did not last long, replaced by shock, horror and utter disgust when he saw trickles of blood overflowed Charles’s lips. With a mouth full of blood as if he had just bitten off his tongue, Charles lowered his head and pressed his lips to Wirth’s.

A bloody French kiss. Victor could only stare at the uncanny display of affection, trying hard not to vomit on the spot.

When Charles finally pulled away after God-knew-how-long, his angelic illusion had dispersed; he looked every bit demonic with hellish glowing pupils, slightly open mouth revealing pointed fangs and lower jaw covered in blood. A droplet of blood strayed from Wirth’s mouth and Charles’s tongue darted out, licking it clean.

Wirth’s body, cradled in Charles’s arms, succumbed to a violent seizure. His muddy grey eyes shot open and his claws raked at Charles’s arms, ripping out shreds of fabric and skin with such ferocity Victor would felt pain for Charles if he did not know the young man was inhuman. From the depth of his severed throat came out the peculiar sounds akin to a horrendously tortured beast’s.

Chill ran down Victor’s spine. Even in his decapitation, Wirth had not made such appalling noises.

Charles calmly kept his firm hold on Wirth and mumbled in a tongue unfamiliar to Victor.

And there, he saw it.

Bones knitted, flesh renewed, wounds closed up and skin mended, Wirth’s body was under whatever work Charles’s magic had performed. He was being revived, Victor realized, and Charles’s bloody smile deepened as years of tortures and captivity were cleansed off.

Wirth was peaceful again once the process was done, body completely still save for the steady rhythm of his chest’s rising and falling. His eyes were tight shut and he only let out a soft whimper when Charles’s thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw.

<< Beautiful, isn’t he? >>

Charles looked enamored and he bent down to capture Wirth’s trembling lips again in a passionate kiss.

Victor grudgingly agreed. Wirth’s original look (he assumed it was) was as sinful as Charles’s. No wonder the Wollners had been compelled to destroy his look after learning of the monstrosity of his soul.

He caught a glimpse of Wirth’s right hand. A mark identical to Charles’s and his own.

How long had it been there, he wondered.

Charles scooped Wirth’s body in his arms with much ease and he stood facing Victor, blue eyes shining like electricity.

<< Once again I want to express my sincerest gratitude to your cooperation, Victor. As for our trade, I believe the humans were keeping the runestone in the barn. >>

Black smoke swirled around Charles’s form and Victor watched with wide eyes as he, still carrying Wirth in his arms, transformed into a creature far more sinister than any human’s nightmare.

The third eye slit his forehead and Charles bellowed. The ground shook and Victor, despite having his ears covered by his hands, could feel the sound thumping painfully against his eardrums. Fortunately the bellow was brief; had it continued only a little longer, Victor was certain he would have been killed.

Four blurred, semi-transparent figures were staggering toward Charles. Victor squinted his eyes and recognized them as the four members of the Wollners, or more exactly, their souls. It seemed Charles’s bellow had beckoned them and even though they were coming to him, they were wearing an agonized and horrified expression on their ghostly faces. The oldest and youngest of them started weeping and Victor swore he could hear their cries.

Not that he was bothered though.

On the back of their hands, there was an intricate tattoo.

He glanced at his own and Wirth’s.

The same.

Marked. All of them.

His breath clotted in his throat.

It was starting to make sense now!

The Wollners were mere farmers who had not know a thing about magic and rituals. And yet… And yet they had managed to invent a method capable of effectively restraining Wirth for decades.

He looked at Charles.

Charles was devouring them, the old and the young, the men and the women, with no discrimination. The air was filled with a sickening noise of bones being grounded. The palms of Victor’s hands sweated profusely.

Had he refused Charles’s offer, it would have been him…

Charles moaned with satisfaction and turned to Victor, smiling his amiable smile.

<< Please excuse my crude manners. I have been nearly starving in my long journey of searching for Richard and the ritual to restore him took what was left in me. On the other hand, sinned souls were just immensely tempting… >>

Shifting back to his immaculate human form, Charles put the hat on and began to walk leisurely toward the entrance of the farm. His figure started fading away.

<< It has been a pleasure to make a deal with you, Victor. I hope you will find our trade as satisfying as I did. >>

Victor exhaled lengthily, feeling all cold and worn out after Charles’s voice had left his head and the devil was nowhere in sight. Forget the deal, he was fortunate enough to leave with his life.

“What’s wrong Victor? You look horrible.”

He did not notice when Evan showed up behind him, gently tapping his shoulder. His face was wearing a forlorn expression.

“Just exhausted. How’re they?” He asked, despite knowing.

“Gone. The magic has died with Wirth,” he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I hope they’ll find peace.”

Victor snorted. Yeah, peace in a devil’s stomach.

“Did you hear any noises?”

“No. What do you mean?”


Evan did not seem to notice the absence of Wirth’s body either. Charles’s work, definitely.

“Let’s burn this fucking place down and leave.”

It was true to Charles’s words. No one was able to see the bizarre tattoo on Victor’s hand. Nor did anyone notice the changes in his behaviors. Not even Evan, who had gone through this nightmare with him.

His snickers crudely wiped away the ash to reveal a large slab of stone carved with ancient runes. Victor was not the least surprised by how smoothly the dead language rolled off his tongue. When the incantation finished, he exhaled sharply as a surge of energy penetrated through every nook and cranny of his body. His bones and muscles sang with strength and he felt as if he had been reborn. Blissfully he watched the wounds on his arms mended and the skin became good as new. He guessed by the time it was done, the net of scars on his back had already disappeared.

For the first time after years, Victor allowed himself a genuine smile, He thought about Barbara and the boys, how this runestone could do wonders to them. He thought about power and what he could do with it. He thought about endless possibilities.

At least the trade with the devil proved to be a fair one.


This idea has been around in my head since I recalled Michael Fassbender was in Blood Creek (2009), screaming at me to put it into words. So for the sake of writing this fic, I rewatched the movie despite it had sent me right to sleep after the first half a few years ago. This time I watched it more carefully and unfortunately the impression didn’t change one bit. Michael’s performance wasn’t disappointing simply because there was absolutely nothing to expect. He was a tall, dark, handsome Nazi occultist for the first five minutes and for the rest of the movie, he was a screaming and running vampire/zombie that was probably too dumb to live (Sorry Michael, that’s truth).

Since Richard Wirth can’t be paired with any of James’s roles, I decide to create my own character which draws a lot of elements from Charles Xavier – let’s say it’s like a dark, demonic Charles. And without the epilogue, it’s entirely fair to think that the whole encounter with “Charles Xavier” was the work of Charles’s telepathic power!

Anyway, thanks for reading. The picture is me messing with James’s eyes using ACDSee and Paint. As for the Victorian outfit, please use your imagination J

1. Original
1. Original

2. Paint
2. Paint

3. My friend's choice
3. My friend’s choice

4. My choice
4. My choice

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