Wolvie Fanfiction: The Meaning of Pain

[metal666]

I love this story
I'm sorry more people aren't posting about it, I like your writing style and can't wait to see how it turns out.

 

[Dark_Gambit]

I love this story
I'm sorry more people aren't posting about it, I like your writing style and can't wait to see how it turns out.

Ah good more people responding this story really deserves it.

I'm looking forward to how all the stories are going to fit together especially with the Avengers in the game now.

 

[sniktsnakt]

I love this story
I'm sorry more people aren't posting about it, I like your writing style and can't wait to see how it turns out.

!!!

Another reviewer! Thanks!

Sometimes I get a little melancholy about how much time I pour into this to get such little feedback; every time someone speaks out and says they're enjoying it, it makes all the time and effort worth it.

Thank you so very much! I hope you keep enjoying it!

 

[squeekness]

You have to measure feedback in different ways. I haven't gotten many typed responses on my own fic or even detailed critiques, but I've gotten many views here and lots of hits at fanfiction.net. Not everyone likes to write big reviews. Don't give up just because you don't actually hear from your readers. This is well written and too good to just let wither away.

 

[sniktsnakt]

Oh, I promise, it's not going to wither away. I started writing this for myself, and as much as I love responses, etc--that's how it is. It's my baby, and it's not going to stop growing.

I do pay attention to the number of hits as well as the number of responses, that's for sure. It's fun to watch the view count go up with each chapter.

Thanks for the encouragement!

 

[squeekness]

I write mine for me, too. I've been working on it, oh, about ten years or so now. I'm sure there are folks who have dropped me because it's so darn long (I do have it broken into series so no one HAS to read the whole thing to read the new stuff). It's just that like your Kaylee, I love my OCs and how they interact with the Xs to let them go. I dumped them on the team and that is where they will stay. I can't imagine writing my fic without them.

 

[sniktsnakt]

It's fun how attached you get to your characters, isn't it?

Ten years, though! Wow! That is seriously impressive. You haven't been posting that long, have you?

 

[squeekness]

It's fun how attached you get to your characters, isn't it?

Ten years, though! Wow! That is seriously impressive. You haven't been posting that long, have you?

No. I actually worked on it for a good six years with only just a co-worker reading a printed copy. It wasn't until 2005 that I finally had out into the world and got a lot more feedback. A friend from fanfiction.net directed me here, lol, and so I started posting here as well. I am actually surprised I still update it after all this time, I never expected to have a steady run of hits this far along. It does help to keep me going, knowing that I still get steady clicks each month.

How long is your story? Will you be updating it each week for a long while?

 

[sniktsnakt]

. . .

To tell you the truth, I only have my story written up through chapter 32. This school semester I'm in has been death on my writing life (not to mention all the craze on the boards for the Wolverine movie that's been sucking away all my time), and so while I have toooons of notes and unfinished parts after that . . . I don't know how fast it's going to be popping out after I get through chapter 32.

It'll definitely keep coming, but I know I have some *very* impatient readers over at fanfiction.net that have been checking their watches for a couple weeks now.

Fortunately, one of my classes is a half-semester class, so I"ll be working with a couple less credit hours come next week. Hopefully that'll free up some creative juices, if you follow me.

 

[Jon@UnCanny]

I haven't had a chance to read it all yet but from what I've read so far - it's great! You have a lot of potential and an awesome writing style! Keep it up!

 

[sniktsnakt]

I haven't had a chance to read it all yet but from what I've read so far - it's great! You have a lot of potential and an awesome writing style! Keep it up!

Thanks! And thank you *sooo* much for speaking up.

Hopefully you're still enjoying it, wherever you are in the story.

 

[squeekness]

Update soon? Yes?

 

[sniktsnakt]

I was planning on it a few hours ago, but then got swept up and caught at the comic book store for . . . well, a while. Yes. Soon. Very soon.

 

[sniktsnakt]

I hope this was soon enough.

Enjoy.

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Chapter 28: Methodless Madness

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Logan pushed through the crowd in earnest, shoving through where the protestors didn’t move fast enough. He came to a street and darted across, running right over a car’s hood without slowing. Kitty and Storm followed, trying to keep up without creating a full-out riot at the same time.

He could see the building where Hank worked. A mass of humanity boiled on its steps, with firsts and curses flying. The Avengers hadn’t been here to stop this fight.

He could smell the blood already.

Hank’d already come out. He couldn’t see him, and that made him assume the worst.

He pushed in—not popping his claws, but not exactly pulling his punches either. The people he hit went down and stayed down.

Kitty and Storm stopped as they caught up, and stared at the mess

“What is happening here?” Storm demanded, grabbing a man’s arm as he hurried away from the fight. He was pale and looked near panicked.

“They shot him!” he said. “S-someone shot the representative. But hey—I ain’t a part of this, y’know?”

Storm let him go, feeling faint. The man ran off, not needing any more encouragement.

“Find Logan and Beast and get them out of there, Kitty.”

Putting discretion aside, Storm rose into the air, her eyes went white as she looked up, immediately calling down a very hard wind. “This should cool their hot tempers.” Lightning flashed down from the sky, cracking dangerously, but not touching anyone. Electricity danced over Ororo’s skin, giving her an ethereal appearance. Rain poured from the sky, drenching the crowd in seconds.

The crowd panicked, running and pushing each other as they fled, afraid that they were under attack by this mutant witch.

Logan ignored the cold and rain, still plunging forward. Some fools still weren’t running, and Logan grabbed one by the collar and chucked him at one of his pals. His buddies charged him, and Logan popped his claws.

“Logan, you have to get to Hank,” Ororo called over the radio. “I think he’s been shot.”

Logan didn’t bother to reply. He’d figured as much, or worse. The gunshot is what he’d heard initially.

“You wanna go, bad boys? Let’s play,” Logan snarled. The clowns were smart—they turned and high-tailed it out of his way. Logan ran forward, finally sighting blue fur. He shoved aside the idiots who hadn’t already fled.

Storm swooped down on the wind, then stopped quickly as she saw Logan reach Hank. The crowd fell back, the rioters fleeing the reach of Logan’s claws as he chased them back.

Kitty had phased through the whole thing, and now reached Logan’s side as he bent down, checking Beast’s pulse. Kitty stopped stand-still, her face paling.

“Oh God.”

The crowd hadn’t gone far, but hovered back as Storm dropped to Hank’s side. “Goddess,” she breathed. “Logan, is he—”

“He’s breathin’,” Logan replied. Didn’t want to say much more—the Beast was not in good shape at all. His leg was twisted at an unnatural position, and through his torn suit he could see he was heavily beaten. Papers had scattered around him, and the ones beneath him were staining scarlet. Logan’s boots cracked on glass and he looked down to see Hank’s shattered glasses.

Damn it. If Beast’d fought back these clowns wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Logan grabbed his collar, holding his radio close as the rain thinned around them. He could see the bullet hole in Hank’s chest, but the bruises and broken bones said that things had gone downhill from there. Damn.

“Rogue, ya hear me?”

“Storm just told me what happened. You got Beast?”

“Yeah. Hurt bad, though. I need you down here now.”

“On mah way, sugah,” Rogue replied, sounding grim.

Hank shouldn’t be heading anywhere but a hospital, but given the situation, Logan didn’t think they could trust it. He never liked hospitals, anyway.

The mob was inching forward again—Logan could smell their hatred rising over their fear, and the mixture made his nose itch. Wolverine stood, glaring at them and the protest-signs-turned-clubs. He popped his claws.

“Logan—” Storm began.

“Stay close to him, you two. Kitty, if you need to just phase all of you and sit tight until Rogue gets here.”

Logan stalked forward, bristling his best—more to scare them than anything else, but ready to get dirty if need be.

He hadn’t gone three steps when a bullet plugged clean through his chest.

A good shot—he had to give them that. Clean through the right lung, and damn nasty.

Wolverine bolted forward, grabbing the culprit and decking him—barely remembering to withdraw his claws at the last moment. He fell like a brick, and his buddies piled on. Logan’s head rang as a wooden rod snapped over it, and he struck out, leveling them with a metal fist.

Another flash of silver out of the corner of his eye warned him of another gun. He popped his claws, whirling to shred it—

And something smashed into him, hard as a sentinel’s fist.

A flash of blurred blue told him the identity of his attacker. Quicksilver.

Great. The Avengers had arrived—five minutes too late.

Logan flew through the air to smash and skid into the ground. Storm reacted instantly, blasting his attacker with a cold wind so hard that the light-weighted fellow got literally swept off his feet and flailing into the air. Logan jumped to his feet, ready for blur-boy to come back, but then saw the scarlet-clad lady rise up, her hands shooting out. Storm was struck by an invisible wall and went spinning, falling over unconscious bodies and landing hard.

Already riled up with blood, the mob went completely mad, rushing in heedlessly.

Everything went to hell.

Kitty ducked over Hank, grabbing his arm and phasing. She couldn’t see Storm or Wolverine, and Beast was too heavy for her to lift and carry out of there. She just shut her eyes and held on as hell erupted around them.

Storm rose into the air before the three angry mobsters could grab her. She summoned up rain again, and it began pouring, as the Scarlet Witch raised her hands, gesturing at her. Storm was struck with sudden vertigo, and she cried out as she spun, her winds rising in her confusion. She fell to the ground, holding her head, but struck out, the air screaming its fury. The Scarlet Witch ducked low, hugging the ground as the mob was blown back around her. She gestured again, and Storm felt an invisible box closing in around her, locking her in.

“Goddess, no!” she cried, terror building in her. “I will not—be—trapped!”

She rose into the air again, lightning turning the sky white as rain and wind whipped down in a torrent.

To the side, Quicksilver darted back, and Wolverine had no chance to block as a blow sent him spinning. Blood poured down his face as he staggered, but kept his feet. Seven more consecutive blows in the space of a single second made him reel back into the ground, and before he could rise a hand grabbed his hair and slammed his face into the concrete. Logan felt his nose smash, and blood ran down his throat.

“Whothehelldoyouthinkyouare?” Quicksilver shouted furiously, his words hard to make out has he shot them out into the wind. “We’vefoughtformutantpeace, andyou fools comesweepingintodestroyitall!”

Logan jerked back his head, smashing Quicksilver’s nose. The young man’s head shot back, his nose pouring blood, and Logan moved as he was stunned, elbowing him in the gut and hearing something crack in his chest. Logan grabbed him by the throat, his face a bloody mess as he snarled at him.

“You kids ain’t got no idea what’s goin’ down here!” he shot, freezing rain mixing with his blood and running down his face. Diluted drops splattered onto Quicksilver's pale uniform. “Open yer eyes and look around, smartass!”

The Scarlet Witch had seen her brother fall, and now ran at them through the wind, her attack on Storm momentarily forgotten.

“Pietro!” she cried, “No!” She gestured, and Logan felt himself jerked away. He slammed into the walk, the concrete cracking beneath him, and suddenly his skin erupted into flames.

“Touch my brother! You bastard!” she screamed at him over the noise.

He roared, rolling in the puddles as his skin blackened and cracked. Still smoldering, he rose up, charging at her in fury. Agony shot through his head and he staggered, pulling his hands over his ears as blood leaked from them. He dove at her, but she slammed a kick into his head, hard enough to knock him to the side. He fell but immediately rolled back to his feet—reeling, but standing. The Scarlet Witch stared.

“What the hell are you!?”

 

[sniktsnakt]

She held out her hands, and Logan felt the weight of a hundred Blobs pressing down on him. He fell slammed onto his knees, trying to remain upright, but the pressure made his arms buckle and he collapsed onto the cement, his vision turning red with blood.

Storm came back to herself, freed from the Scarlet Witch’s power. She was breathing hard and sweat mixed with the rain on her skin, but she looked up to the sky, calming her winds slightly, though the rain continued to pour.

“Rogue? Rogue, can you hear me?” Her voice shook despite herself.

Silence. She must have fried her radio, or smashed it during the fight.

There was no need, though, because a new wind pushed into the street as the Blackbird descended, buffeted but steady in Storm’s wind. Luckily the street had cleared considerably by this point, and she landed unhampered. The ramp lowered and Rogue ran out, her streaked hair whipping in the remaining wind.

The Scarlet Witch whipped around from Wolverine’s weakly twitching body, staring at the plane. She threw out her hands to the remnants of the panicked and soaked people around her, and they were pushed back. They needed no more encouragement, and the last of those still conscious turned and ran. Wanda Maximoff turned her sights back to Ororo.

Unnoticed still by the Scarlet Witch in her fury and due to the downpour, Kitty still clung close to Beast. At Rogue’s call she raised her head.

“C’mon,” Rogue said. “We gotta get him inside.”

Lightning shot from the Scarlet Witch’s hands towards Ororo, who deflected it to the sky easily. An invisible force grabbed Ororo, wrenching her from the sky and shaking her.

“What do you mean by this show, weather witch?” the Scarlet Witch shouted. “My brother and I have worked for years to get people to trust us, despite us being mutants. You are destroying it all!”

Behind her, unnoticed, Wolverine rose to his knees, silent in blood. Rogue ran back down the ramp of the Blackbird and began to run towards them.

“Why are you fighting us!?” Storm shot back. “You are what? A lapdog to rich men who feed off the blood of mutants. You are nothing but a cannibal—a vampire to your own people!”

Logan had managed to get to his feet. He staggered forward jerkily, and the Scarlet Witch heard him at last. She started to turn, startled. Too slowly. Logan grabbed at her, ready to lay her down flat.

Ms. Marvel appeared from through the rain. Her fist slammed Logan’s face into the cement and he went down like a rock. She flew down, landing and grabbing the back collar of his half-burnt coat.

“I don’t like people sneaking up on my teammates, hairy,” Ms. Marvel shouted. “What are you? Some new Brotherhood of Mutants? You—” She flipped him over, slamming him back against the cement, but then froze, her eyes widening as she saw the flesh crawling back over Logan’s ruined face.

“Logan!” she gasped, her fist sinking from where she had been pulling back threateningly.

“No! Ah won’t let yah hurt him any more!” Rogue lunged at Ms. Marvel, and in her shock the superhero didn’t react in time before Rogue slammed into her from behind, her grabbing onto the sides of her face with her bare hands, ready to suck her powers away.

But she wasn’t ready for what happened next.

Logan was blinded as light flashed brighter than lightning, and Ms. Marvel shot into the air wildly, screaming. Rogue still held onto her, and both of their screams mixed eerily, howling in the wind as both women arched back in agony.

Rogue struggled to let go, but her hands were stuck—bound with electricity to Ms. Marvel’s face, and power rushed into her—like lightning, overrunning her nerves, filling her up with strength, and memories, and emotion—

“ROGUE!” Logan howled, staggering to his feet.

The Scarlet Witch whirled to the noise, and Storm took the distraction to break free. She darted towards the duo, intent on helping. The Scarlet Witch saw her, and spun back, her eyes wide. She threw out her hand . . . and Storm vanished.

“Ororo!” Logan shouted, but it was no good. He ran and leaped, grabbing Ms. Marvel’s foot and dragging both her and Rogue down. They hit the ground hard, and Logan grabbed Rogue’s sleeve, trying to pull her off Ms. Marvel, but her hands were stuck good, and Rogue was still screaming and didn’t seem to hear him. He grabbed her arm and Ms. Marvel’s face, using all his strength to jerk them apart.

Rogue went flying, but the screams stopped, and Logan looked down at Ms. Marvel. She was ghost-pale and limp, her eyes closed. At least she was breathing, albeit shallowly.

He left her, running to Rogue, who was lying unconscious some feet away. He picked her up, careful not to make skin contract. Behind him the Scarlet Witch knelt down beside Ms. Marvel, trying to get her to wake up.

The rain was vanishing without Storm to keep it going, and even as the sunlight began to shine down into the street a new shadow loomed over them. Logan looked up to see the Blackbird hovering above the street, the ramp still lowered.

It touched down briefly and Logan staggered on board. The ramp pulled up behind him, and he grabbed a blanket from a storage locker and pulled it around Rogue before laying her on the ground as they rose up. Beast took up the only gurney.

“You got it up there, kid?” Logan called to Kitty, pulling off his melted and charred jacket and chucking it away from him. He sounded funny—his nose was still broken, and his own voice sounded far away, but he ignored the pain along with the burning of healing.

“Yeah,” Kitty replied, and though her voice shook she took to the skies, her hands flying across the controls. Storm would have had a fit if she were here, but Kitty’d spent more time in the simulator than Rogue, and had a better hand at technology, so Logan trusted her. Besides, this wasn’t the first time she’d flown, even if Storm didn’t know it. “How are they, Logan?”

“Just get us home,” he said, wiping blood from his eyes. He made Rogue as comfortable as he could, but didn’t know what else to do beyond that. She was physically unharmed—not even a scratch or a bruise from her fall. Storm’d said that Ms. Marvel had been near-invulnerable—maybe that was responsible for this mess. He’d just have to wait until she woke up.

He stood, keeping a hand on the wall as they accelerated to the skies as he turned his attention to Beast. He washed his hands and got to work.

TBC . . . .

 

[squeekness]

Are we ready to rumble? Nice brawl.

 

[sniktsnakt]

I've been getting some PMs asking me what's up with my story, so after enough pressure I raced in here and decided that the next chapter is coming, hopefully within the next hour or so.

Thanks for your support, everyone. I hate winter semesters.

 

[sniktsnakt]

Here you lot go. This is a fair bit longer, so hopefully it makes up somewhat for the long break.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 29: Fury

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Logan carried Rogue to the medical lab, and Kitty pushed Beast’s gurney behind them, doing a surprisingly good job of maneuvering the large blue feral for her own slightness, and holding herself well despite the stink of her own fear and near-panic. She held up well under pressure. He’d known it before, but it was good to be reminded.

He could use that in the future. Kid might be young and small, but she had a good head on her shoulders.

He put Rogue on the medical bed and pulled Beast beside her. He turned sharply to Kitty.

“Find ‘Crawler and tell him what happened, and get me a phone,” he ordered, putting his attention on Hank. Kitty turned to go, and he barked out. “The phone first, kid.”

Kitty didn’t speak, but just nodded and ran off right through the wall, not bothering with the door. She returned just seconds later to find Logan sniffing through the cabinets, pulling out bottles and bandages haphazardly.

Logan took the phone—Kitty didn’t even think he noticed the blood soaked up to his wrist, and put it under his arm as he loaded up the medical cart. He pushed it next to Hank’s bed and took the phone in hand.

“Logan,” Kitty said softly, staring at Hank. She couldn’t seem to look away. “Shouldn’t we call a doctor, or—?”

“Find Kurt, tell him what happened,” Logan repeated over her, standing over Beast and pulling back the blood-soaked makeshift bandage over his chest. “No hospital’s safe for him right now, especially with what just went down out there.”

“But—”

“Get the hell out of here, kid!” Logan snarled.

Kitty blanched and hurried out through the wall once again.

The bleeding had all but stopped from the bullet wound, which was good. Hank had claimed a slight healing factor of his own at one point, and that was probably the reason he was still alive.

“Damn,” Logan muttered, picking up the phone. He stared at it for a moment, and then dialed a number slowly. He lifted it to his ear, holding it there with his shoulder as he began cleaning Hank’s wounds—his hands moving almost of their own accord.

“Papa Pizza’s Delivery Service. How can we help you today?”

“Get me Fury.” He’d always wondered what would happen if he ordered a triple-cheese, all-meat pizza—large size. Would these clowns actually deliver the damn thing?

“Sorry?”

“This is an emergency, so cut the crap. Get me Fury or you could have a national crisis on your hands.” He’d deliver that, see how they liked it.

Damn. Bullet was still wedged in there. Sure made a mess before coming to a stop, though. Hollow-point bullet, .357 caliber, though the bullet had been flattened enough that it was hard to tell. This was no hunting gun.

SNIKT.

“Your code?”

“Wolverine.” Ah. Got it. He took hold of the bullet with his fingers. It slipped in his grip, but he got it out.

“That isn’t a—”

“Goddamn it, how’d’ya think I got this number? TELL FURY!” Logan snarled, dropping the twisted remains of the bullet on the floor. Beast was looking pale beneath the mud and blood—an odd baby-blue tinge to his cheeks.

“ . . . . ” Blood stained the cloths. Hank’s suit was torn and slick, his shirt ripped away. Logan’s hands dripped with blood, and he had to pause to wipe some of it off. Couldn’t hold the needle with his fingers slippery with it. “Please hold.”

Stupid government bastards . . . .

Found a sliver long as his hand wedged in Beast’s side—broken protest stake, or something. He left it there. Pulling it out would mean more blood, and right now he just had to stop it. He moved on—cleaning, stitching. Blood stained his arms scarlet.

“Fury here.”

That was fast.

He stopped to adjust the phone, not noticing the blood he smeared against his own cheek before getting back to work. “This is Wolverine.”

“Logan. I thought you weren’t ever going to contact us again.”

Logan. Sure, Fury had called him Wolverine more than enough times, but there was something in the way he said it—something different. To most of those government clowns, he was Wolverine. Most probably didn’t even know his real name, let alone care about it.

How much did this manipulating bastard know?

Far more than he was willing to tell.

Logan went right to the point. “You know what went down in D.C. You’ve got pull—I want you to do your thing, keep any clowns off our back.”

Here came the stake of wood. Damn—gone deep. Was gonna be nasty. He pulled it out, working quickly to clean it before applying pressure.

“After you attacked a crowd and left thirty-seven American citizens in the hospital?”

“Minor concussions and bruises,” Logan snapped, blood seeping between his fingers. Beast groaned softly beneath him. Waking up? Damn, for Beast’s sake he hoped not. All this mess would hurt like hell—he knew that for himself. “Maybe a couple broken bones. If I wanted to make trouble it would have been a hell of a lot worse. You know that.”

“You broke Quicksilver’s nose and four ribs—affectively putting him out of commission—and Carol is in the hospital in a coma for unknown causes. The Scarlet Witch is swearing for your head, and we’ve been working the last half an hour to keep Iron Man from going nuclear on us. Taking out half of America’s superhero team is ‘a hell of a lot worse’ in anyone’s book.”

Logan had to admire how an all-business guy could spit out “Scarlet Witch” and “Iron Man” without so much of a hint of self-consciousness. The man was either way too good, or he took himself far too seriously. With Fury, it was probably both.

Beast shifted as he began stitching up his side. Logan cursed silently, trying to keep the stitches even. He was half tempted to knock the diplomat over his furry head. He’d be happier unconscious.

“Some bigoted idiot shot Hank McCoy. The X-Men were there just in case something like this happened, but those damned Avenger clowns got in the way.”

“What?”

“Crowd got outta control. I’d have Beast tell ya about it, but he’s kind of in the OR right now, right here, and I got a kid here in a coma ‘cause of your Marvel-chick.” At least Hank’d gone still again. He hoped that was a good thing.

The line was silent for a second. Nick Fury, speechless? Guess there was a first time for everything.

“Damn,” Fury swore. “The Avengers are going to get hell for this.”

“You just gotta keep back the Avengers, the army, the Freedom Fighters or whoever the hell else they are cobbling up to come after us, ‘cause this whole screwing mess ain’t our fault.”

“You’re asking an awful lot after leaving us like you did, Logan.”

“You owe me.”

“You were compensated.”

“You know I don’t give a damn about money. And you let an army come in here, Fury, and it’ll be a massacre. Beast and Storm ain’t the only fighters we’ve got.” And they’d be ready. Rogue was down, but he still had a full team—Nightcrawler, Iceman, Colossus, Kitty, Angel, and Jubilee, and a number of less experienced kids, if it came down to that. Not exactly the most experienced team, and their scruples against killing would definitely be a detriment. Still, Fury didn’t need to know the details.

And Wolverine could take down an army on his own. And he would, if he had to.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to—especially not right now. He could still echoes of pain through his body—ringing down his bones—from the Scarlet Witch’s beating. Beast was bleeding to death under his hands, Rogue was still out like a light, and the Devil knew what had happened to Storm.

Superhero teams were supposed to be against killing.

Well, unless they had him on the team, that is.

But if Storm was dead, half a superhero team getting taken out was going to be the least of Fury’s problem. Wolverine’d be back to finish the job, starting with the Scarlet Witch and anyone who got in his way.

“I thought you were no one’s guard dog, Wolverine.”

Logan gave a soft growl. “I don’t got all day here, Fury.” Beast’s breathing was stabilizing—there might be internal bleeding, but at least it didn’t sound like his lungs had been pierced by his broken ribs. Good thing Beast was made out of more sturdy material than the average guy.

“I’ll do what I can,” Fury said.

“Good. While you’re at it—Storm’s gone MIA. Scarlet ***** made her disappear, and I wanna know what the hell she’s done to her.” Hopefully she wasn’t dead—but who knew what the red witch could have done with her. “Find out or I’ll find out for myself.”

“I said I’ll do what I can,” Fury replied.

They ended the call. Logan knew that wasn’t the end—contacting Fury’d been his last resort, and he’d have to pay for it in the future. But he’d would deal with that when he had to.

Later.

Logan took the phone and dropped it on the tray next to the shrinking pile of clean bandages and kept working.

 

[sniktsnakt]

-----------------------------------

Dunno how I knew what to do. Just saw Hank lyin’ there and got to work. Ten-letter words started popping into my head, naming bones and muscles and organs. Head hurt, so I just stopped thinkin’.

I'm a killer. I'm the best at what I do. But healing? I guess that's somethin' I ain't ever tried a hand at.

Not really.

It’d be lyin’ to say that it was like I was a doctor in this past life. I just looked and saw. I’ve done it before—I can rate an injury on how bad it is just by a glance at it. Guess it comes from hurtin’ ‘n killin’ so many people like I have.

Then I started seein’ them—lyin’ there, in rows, on rough cots, on filthy blankets—sometimes just on the ground—blood mixin’ with dirt. Filth and blood and pain stinkin’ the tents up like doomsday—the dead and dying separated from those that’d be able to go home with only a missing limb or two. Or three.

Didn’t have enough nurses for them, either. Had to make do. Tried to help what little I could. Field medicine, that was all—but it saved lives, even if most of ‘em died.

Saw more rows, more tents—bodies lined up, torn up, blown up, missin’ limbs, skin, bodies, faces. Flies buzzed, and it stank to hell.

Stitched Beast up and lined up his bones. Hope I did it right—can’t remember ever setting a bone, but it felt all right. Maybe before I got these damned metal bones of mine I got pretty good at it. Can’t figure how often I must’ve broken ‘em.

Beast looks like a blue version of Frankenstein. Sure hope he heals as good as he claims.

---------------------------------

“Wolf Spirit . . . .”

He shifted, searching for the familiar scent as he heard the voice.

He knew that voice. Like velvet over a sharpened knife. He moved towards it blindly, his eyes shuttered in darkness as he felt the cold snow beneath him.

Warm hands reached out, brushing his face, across his brow. Strong hands, but still small—even delicate. Her voice was beautiful, her voice wild.

“Wolverine . . . .”

Him? Yes, that was him. It was his name—as much his name than any other name he’d ever had, because it was given to him by her.

Wolverine . . . .

. . . .

. . .

Wolverine jerked awake abruptly, his nose twitching madly for a scent that wasn’t there.

But there was something there—something . . . .

He sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking around blurrily. Dried blood flaked from his face.

Someone had been calling him? Or had that been before? Or maybe just one of those dreams—whatever they meant.

He smelled . . . he smelled . . .

Meat.

It was right there, just out of arm’s width—cooked but cooled. Two large metallic-green flies were crawling over the browned surface while a third buzzed around it.

He sat up, squinting at the bright light of the sun that shone through the boughs of the tree above him. He felt sick—nauseous and weak, like after he’d eaten the poison those many months ago.

What the hell?

Where was he? He’d been . . . he was . . . .

Oh . . . .

Oh, yeah.

Damn.

He flinched at the sudden memories. They ran together, but cut sharp—bright, painful, deafening.

He shook his head slowly, bringing a hand to his head.

Didn’t matter. Forget it.

He felt funny. Light, but heavy. Everything felt distant—muted, but at the same time the light burned into his eyes like fire, blurring his sight. His bones ached, his lungs felt like a grizzly was sitting on his chest, and his stomach sat like a ball of lead in his gut.

He hoped there weren’t any bullets stuck in there. He didn’t want to have to worry about getting them out again.

His hand was shaking against his forehead, and he brought it down, frowning at it.

Why was he shaking? He wasn’t cold. In fact, he felt hot. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, dry, and his breath came in quick pants in the heat.

He clenched his fist, and the shaking slowed. Almost stopped. Distracted, he looked up again, trying to remember how he’d gotten here.

Blood had soaked into the ground beneath him. It smelled old—stale. He’d guess a day at least.

He was missing . . . something.

Ah, damn. The kid.

Where was the kid?

 

[sniktsnakt]

His scent was all over—even pretty close to him. Wolverine could see the remains of a small fire scattered a safe distance away. Stupid. Smoke would draw their hunters like vultures to carrion.

But that was it, wasn’t it? Where were their hunters? They knew they were injured and weakened. Why hadn’t they followed?

Wolverine rose to his knees cautiously. The world tilted beneath him, so he only rose to a low crouch before crawling forward and taking hold of the scrap of meat.

It was beginning to stink, but Wolverine had eaten worse. He dug into it, snarfing down the small amount of meat within seconds.

Half a rabbit, maybe. But at least this proved the kid could hunt when he needed to.

He tested the air. The meat had been sitting there for a couple hours, and it smelled like the kid’d taken off not long after.

He stood, still trying to scent him out through his own stink. He found the most recent trail and followed, keeping low and moving slowly.

It didn’t take long to find him. The stink of blood was sharp enough that he could have found him with his eyes closed, even with the scent mixed with his own blood, the wood, and the river.

The river was slow-moving at this point—the water swirling almost sluggishly, and Wolverine licked his lips at the sight of it. But that could wait.

He looked up, listening and looking to the skies before inching out of the shade of the trees in a low crouch. He drew over the kid, who hadn’t stirred at his approach.

Idiot kid.

Gambit lay sprawled on this stomach, his hair wet and his arm tucked under his head as a rough pillow. His hair was wet—it smelled like he’d taken a dunk before falling asleep. Still smelled faintly of blood, but it took more than a short swim to get that stink off.

But he was alive, and well enough. Breathing was good, and his face had color in it that he hadn’t seen in days.

Wolverine sat down heavily, pressing his palm against his own forehead and shutting his eyes.

Damn, he was tired. Just woke up, and he already wanted to just lie down and sleep.

No time. They were after him, they were after them. He’d wake the kid and head north again. There were less people there, more wilderness. It’d be easy to disappear again; he’d always been good at disappearing . . . .

But it was never enough. Never enough . . . .

. . . . couldn’t . . . think . . . .

God, he was tired of this. He just wanted . . . . He wanted . . . .

Something.

Lots of somethings.

It was like hunger, like thirst. He wanted. He needed.

He just couldn’t remember what.

The sound of water brought his head up. He was thirsty—his tongue was dry and his spit thick with blood.

He couldn’t remember what he wanted, but he could start small.

Wolverine glanced at the slumbering kid one more time, then moved stiffly to the water’s edge and crouching there. He almost lost his balance as he leaned over to drink—the world tilted dangerously, but he caught himself before falling face-first into the water.

Healing . . . too slow. But the pain was passing—nothing like it was before. Just a dull ache, a dull throb, pounding, pounding, pounding . . . .

The water was so cold it hurt going down—but it was a good cold. He drank deeply, water running down his chest as he drank like a man dying of thirst.

He was starving, even after the meat. Crazy bastards had bled him out like a stuck pig.

Too weak to hunt, though. Too tired.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Noise thudding around in his head. Too loud. Couldn’t think.

He drank more, then paused, looking at his dogtags that hung from his neck and into the water. The metal was blood-smeared, but was rinsing off in layers, the blood swirling slowly to dilute into the water. He could almost make out his name.

He shook himself, looking out blurrily over the water.

Fish.

He moved to the side, exhaling softly. He felt heavy—strangely heavy, from his head to his fingertips. Felt like if he fell he’d leave a crater just from his own weight—maybe just sink into the earth and keep sinking down and down . . . .

He found a ledge of bank overhanging deeper water and carefully perched on the edge, still feeling off-balance. His fingers ached on the ground, feeling bruised despite no discoloration besides the filth. His ignored it, his eyes focused below the river’s surface—watching, waiting, and his ears alert for any sound around him.

 

[sniktsnakt]

He could see the fish, flitting here and there like aquatic birds; too quick and too far to spear. But he could wait to strike. He was always good at waiting. He gripped onto the bank, his fingers digging into the dirt as the world tilted again.

Gambit shifted, and Wolverine spared a glance over, but the kid’d just rolled onto his side without waking.

He looked back down at the water, but then frowned, distracted from the fish by his reflection. His image shone back clear in the water, his hair shorter after having been burned off during the fight. He brought up a hand slowly, feeling the growing stubble the side of his face before pushing his hair from his forehead.

In his blurred vision, he really looked like a man, with the shorter hair. He could see his eyes, his face. Could have been almost any man’s face, any man’s eyes.

No shirt again, and his face and arms were smeared dark with drying blood—and now that he noticed it, it was rather uncomfortable. He must really be out of it to have forgotten all the blood. It stank like hell. But without his wide hair he could see his face, his eyes.

He didn’t recognize himself.

Hell, he doubted he could have recognized himself out of a lineup.

A what?

“Wolverine? Dat you?”

Wolverine’s head snapped up and around, and he threw out a hand to keep from falling clean over as his head spun.

Stupid question. Who else would be out here like this?

Gambit sat up, rubbing his face and smearing a spot of mud across his cheek. “Glad to see you up, mon ami. You alrigh'?”

Wolverine ignored him, rubbing his eyes and looking back down at the water and his reflection.

Remy stood and stretched as he came over. “Mon dieu, you look awful, petit. How you walk here, like dis?" He paused. "What you lookin’ at?”

Too much a bother to think right now. Food. Drink. Then maybe he’d listen to the kid. Right now he was just getting in the way.

He couldn’t think. The words jarred in his ears, like metal on metal. It hurt his teeth, and he grimaced, trying to block him out. Maybe he’d get the hint—go back to sleep. Let him sit, not thinking.

Gambit knelt down next to him a safe distance away, but peered in—his reflection falling next to Wolverine’s.

“Ah,” he said.

They were silent for a moment. A rabbit screamed and was cut off sharply as something killed it—far away. The kid probably couldn’t hear it. A blue bird flitted overhead, casting an eye on them before darting away.

“You think dey come back?” Gambit asked, almost a whisper. For a second he stank of fear, and actually looked his young age.

Wolverine ducked his head, swallowing roughly. Maybe the kid’d go away if he ignored him. Couldn’t think to talk right now. His stomach was rolling, and the kid’s human stink wasn’t helping. God, they were coming after them still, weren’t they? He shouldn’t be stopping, he couldn’t stop . . . .

Be after him again. Gunfire ricocheting off rocks around him, off his bones, slicing through his skin and driving him down. Fire and gas and hate ripping him to shreds—

Blood and rage clotting up his lungs. He was going to be sick.

Breathe.

It didn’t matter. They weren’t here now; the forest was silent. The kid wasn’t them. They weren’t there.

Block the kid out. Look for the fish. He had to get food first. Then he’d think.
Gambit pulled at grass on the bank’s edge absently. “Dose people . . . dey . . . dey da ones who gave you da claws, petit?”

Gave him his claws?

How the hell would they do that? Why the hell would they . . . ?

Damn, his head hurt. Heart pounding around in there like a gong.

It didn’t matter. It’d go away as he healed. He was just still weak from getting shot to pieces. Couldn’t remember ever getting hit so bad.

“Dat’s it,” Gambit mused out loud, seemingly unbothered by being studiously ignored. “Dey gave you dem claws, and somehow you got ‘way, but not ‘fore dey drove you crazy first.”

Wolverine glanced over at that, giving him an unreadable stare before turning back to the water. Encouraged for some reason by this, the kid continued.

“But you gettin’ better. You not da animal dey think you are. Dat’s how you got dem, didn’t you? Dey thought you’d go down easier, non?”

He stepped forward, drawing close enough that Wolverine shuffled over a step to keep his personal space. “Listen, Canuck. I know you talk. You understan’ what Gambit’s sayin’, non? Dere’s jus’ nothin’ you wan’ ta say, is dere?” He was watching him with a strange intensity, and it made Wolverine’s skin crawl. He glared at him, baring a canine in a silent warning as he turned his back to him.

Go away.

“You don’ want ta hear dis? You tink dis’ll all go ‘way? Is it dat you don’ want ta hear da answers, Wolvie, or dat you don’ know how ta ask da questions?”

“Fine, Remy tell ya. You a man. You got a name—not Wolverine—like . . . Bob, or John, or Harry . . . .” He trailed off at Wolverine’s sideways glance, holding up his gloved hands. “Don’ look’t me dat way! Gambit not da crazy one, here.”

Wolverine looked away. “Shut th’hell up,” he growled. Speaking hurt. Tasted like iron, like a serrated knife against rust.

“See? You talk fine. You come wit’ Gambit. I got da money here still from da bar all dose days ago—we go t’Nawlin’s. Da best place ta hide from dese guys’d be wit’ u’der people—den we go huntin’. You smarter dan you look, Wolvie. Gambit tink—mon dieu!”

Wolverine suddenly plunged face-first into the water, and Gambit pulled back with a shout as water splashed over his face and front.

“Wolvie, you—!” Wolverine hadn’t resurfaced yet, and Gambit leaned over, water dripping from his hair. The river had gone quiet. “Wolverine!”

Silence answered.

“Damn,” Gambit breathed. He started pulling off his coat.

There was a loud gasp as Wolverine surfaced mid-stream. The dried blood was streaming down his face and staining the water around him. He swam towards shore and dragged himself out, shivering.

Gambit shrugged his coat back on and hurried to grab his arm. “You crazy, Canuck. Look ready to fall righ’ over like dat, and you try ta go swimmin’?”

SNAKT. Wolverine pulled away from him.

Missed the fish. Too slow. Too damn slow.

Water was cold. Got him shivering all over again.

God, for a moment there the water had caught at him—dragging him down to the bottom, muscles too tired to pull him back to the air.

Weak. And still hungry. Breath was catching in his chest, like his lungs were half-full of water.

“So dat’s it,” Remy concluded, shaking water from his coat. “If you not gonna talk, I’ll see. We go t’Nawlins.”

Wolverine didn’t even look at him, sitting down and shaking his head to scatter water droplets onto the ground, trying to breathe. He pressed against his forehead, twisting his fingers through his hair. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.

Why was the kid still talking?

“Don’t gimme dat,” Gambit said. “Oi, you take dese guys by surprise dis time—but dey’ll be comin’ again.” Gambit crossed his arms, taking a safe step back. “What da matter? Scared, Wolverine?”

Shut up. Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.

“Dat’s it,” Remy nodded. “You scared. You scared to know what happened. You jus’ wanna hide. How long you been out here, anyway? You got kids waitin’ for you somewhere? Maybe a belle donna? You don’ know? Don’ you wanna find out?”

Wolverine crawled to his feet carefully, panting. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way the kid was looking at him, talking to him, like he knew something—like he could understand. Not even Wolverine understood—how could some damn kid?

His growl deepened in warning.

Shut∙up∙shut∙up∙don’t∙watch∙don’t∙look∙eyes∙watching∙prying∙asking∙head∙spinning∙don’t∙know∙don’t∙think . . . .

He put a hand to his head.

“You gon’ ignore Gambit? Very nice, homme. Jus’ like you ignore dose dreams, jus like you run away from de guys who chase you. You jus’ run away and hide. Let dem chase you down like an animal, like a goddamn animal, ‘cause dat’s all you gonna be, like dis, runnin’—”

Wolverine staggered—grabbing onto a tree as his legs grew weak beneath him and his vision went white.

Always running.

Breathe.

But they’d always find him, wouldn’t they? They’d always find him—hunt him, chase him, killing, killing killing. Ripping him open and picking him apart and changing his bones to fire and pain and hate . . . .

Breathe!

His grip was hard and painful on the tree—his knuckles white from the grip as his fingernails dug into the bark.

He could hear a voice—distant, rambling. Didn’t make sense at first.

“—when da last time you eat, mon ami? You sleep? You were all but dead, Wolvie. You gon’ go get killed—not wit’ guns or all dat crazy stuff. You gon’ get so tired dey get you, cause you always runnin’—”

Wolverine snapped up, his eyes burning as he whipped around, grabbing the kid’s throat so he hardly had time for a strangled yelp. He whipped him around, slamming him against the tree and leaning close to his face, trembling with fury.

“You. Don’t. Know. What. The. Hell. You’re. Talkin’. About!” Wolverine snarled.

Gambit’s face had gone pale. He gasped in vain for air, struggling to speak.

A flex of his fingers and he wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

One twitch, he wouldn’t have to listen anymore. He’d be free.

His mouth was dry. He felt feverish—the water on his burning skin felt like ice. The air was freezing in his lungs, choking him.

Wolverine let go and Gambit slumped over, grabbing his throat and coughing as he gasped for air.

“Jus’—jus’—” The kid tried to speak. He looked up, his eyes wide, and for the first time fear shone in their red depths. “W-wo—”

Kill him.

Wolverine stared at him, his fingers twitching.

He was human. The enemy. Watching him and picking over him—

Chasing away his prey, making him weak. Get rid of him.

Kill him.

NO!

No. Kid was stupid, but he couldn’t kill him. He wasn’t like the soldiers. He was a freak, a freak like him . . . .

Not like him.

He pried his fingers from the kid’s throat, turned, and bolted.

Adrenaline made up for exhaustion. He ran—disappearing into the wood and not slowing. He sliced at a foot-thick tree and sent it tumbling as he ran, the ripping sound as it fell.

Red colored his vision. His breath came in growls, and he trembled with fury.

But there was nothing to kill, nothing. Even if there was, it wouldn’t be enough. He knew it.

This was a different kind of rage.

He bolted, startling a doe across a meadow and sending it darting away.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

It was all wrong.

A rabbit darted across the path and he didn’t hesitate. He leaped on it, snapping its neck as he caught it in his fingers. He popped his claws, ripping into it. He’d snarfed down half the meat in seconds.

The blood was bitter and hot. He hated it. He hated the claws gleaming with silver and blood in the light—hated the fading pain from popping them. Hated how the pain faded. Hated the damn sun and the damn trees and the damn dirt and smells and sounds and blood and meat. Hated the fur catching in his teeth, hated the dead eyes staring up at him—hated how he loved it, needed it, craved it.

His head spun as he twisted away, whipping the rabbit corpse away from him. It slammed into a tree, splashing the tree in red.

He hated crouching there in less than rags. Hated how blood and water stained his chest. Hated the men in his dreams and chasing him and hated men—all men. He hated so thick it made bile rise in his throat, mixing with hot blood, choking his breath. Hated ever seeing man, ever knowing he was man, ever knowing, ever thinking. Hated it all.

He turned back to the path, letting the red fill his vision—letting go.

“RRRRRRRaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!”

It was easier. So much easier.

Weakness and pain forgotten—everything forgotten—he ran.

TBC . . . .

 

[squeekness]

Good as usual. Nice to see Gambit again. Can't wait until the next update.

 

[sniktsnakt]

Well, tomorrow is my birthday, so as a present from me to you all (I should have been born a Hobbit ), expect the next chapter tomorrow.

Thanks for reading and supporting, everyone!

 

[squeekness]

Yay!

 

[ChaoticPsylocke]

well i have this bookmarked, but havent had the time to start reading just yet! im sooo busy with stupid school, in fact i should be studying NOW.....but im very excited to start reading!

happy birthday!