I'VE BEEN ON THE HUGEST X-MEN KICK RECENTLY AND ABSOLUTELY LOVE THE IDEA OF LOGAN ADOPTING A FERAL MUTANT (LIKE HIMSELF) BEFORE HE FOUND THE MANSION. SO, THIS IS THE PRODUCT OF THAT. TAKE IT AS YOU WILL.
HOPE YOU ENJOY!
~THE LUPINE SOJOURNER
Dad was the victor.
Again. He cage-fought for money and to let out some steam. He'd been at this for about a week now, quickly earning the title of champion and staying there, pissing a lot of people off, but earning a decent amount of money.
I just hated it because I knew, sooner or later, someone was going to put two and two together and finally conclude that Dad's a mutant. It's bad enough I get stares because of my large amber eyes and constant bandana around my head to hide my wolf-esque ears, but Dad's healing factor would be noticed eventually.
In fact, it's nothing short of a miracle that he hasn't been exposed yet.
=#=#=#=#=
Which is why, of course, tonight had to be the night some chump Dad beat to a pulp actually used his brain and figured it out. The TV was reporting news about the upcoming summit, where mutants and our impact, among many other topics, would be discussed. Great. Can't imagine what they'll decide. Ugh.
I look around to find there was only one other patron in the bar as Dad orders a beer and a soda for me; a young woman that looked underage with a hooded coat and gloves on. She's looking at us curiously, noting our attention to the screen as I sip my cola and Dad smokes a cigar. Just when I was about to strike up a conversation with the girl, two idiots decide to approach.
"Hey!" One of the men growls, tapping Dad's shoulder as we sat waiting for our money to get counted and given to us.
"Have fun, Dad. Be right back." I grumble and go to pick up his payments, dodging past the morons. Dad had earned that money. After all, it takes a lot of willpower for Dad to not use his claws in a fight, particularly when the idiots fighting him decide to go after his, ah, manhood, the one thing the manager of the fights warned each contender not to do.
"You owe me some money." The guy's growling as I pocket the money and head back. The slightly smarter thug tries to dissuade his companion, only to be ignored. "No man takes a beating like that without a mark to show for it."
"He's taken a lot worse than cage fights. He's got tough skin, is all." I growl. "Look, just go."
"Yeah, man." The other guy adds. "This isn't gonna be worth it."
"Exactly. You chose to get in that cage, seeing what Dad did to the other contenders, and you lost. And, I mean, come on, what'd you lose? Ten bucks?" I press, realizing a second too late that it was the wrong move.
"Try fifty, bit- -"
"That's enough!" Dad snaps, suddenly standing. Shit. They'd insulted me. They were so in for the claws now. "You lost your money; keep this up, you lose a lot more." Things get tense as we wait for the guy to make a move.
"I know what you two are." The man growls. Dad bares his teeth, fists forming. I pale.
"Dad, stop. Let's just go. This isn't- -"
"Look out!" The girl screams.
"Dad, no!" I bark as the guy's hand goes for a knife and swings toward me and Dad instantly responds with the claws, growling and pinning the guy to the nearest pillar with his arm. In the chaos, my bandana has slipped enough to show that my ears weren't normal. I adjust it back, but the damage was done.
"That is it!" He screams, the two side claws making sure the guy didn't move his head as the middle one slowly extends. "You can insult me, threaten me, hell even hit me, but you swing a knife at my little girl, and you're gonna pay!" The scene gets infinitely worse as the bartender cocks a shotgun, touching it to Dad's ear.
"Get out of my bar, freaks." He growls. I sigh.
"Look, we didn't want trouble." I muse.
"Well, you found it. Get out." The bartender replies. I sigh again, gulping down the last of my cola. Just then, Dad slices through the shotgun and glares at the two men on either end of his claws before putting the claws away and taking my arm.
"Let's go." He growls. We walk out of the bar and head into our trailer. I groan as I close the door.
"Well, least we got paid this time." I note, counting up the nearly $300 Dad had made tonight. "This'll get us somewhere far enough away, I think." Dad sighs.
"Look, I'm sorry, but I can't just let them get away with treating you like that." I nod.
"I know, just like you know I can take care of myself."
"I know you can. I taught you how. I just...whenever something like that happens, I just...I lose it." I smile. I knew he loved me, even though I was not his actual daughter.
"Least I know you care now." I tease. "Remember when we first met? At the train station? Thought you hated me."
Dad laughs. "Oh, yeah? Well, I did tell yah I was just grumpy because you hitched a ride in my trailer."
"And ate your beef jerky." I point out. I had just run away, sneaking aboard a train to Canada and then hitching a ride in some random guy's trailer. Seemed homey enough and I was cold and hungry and tired. I'd just been kicked out of my house because my parents saw my eyes and ears. I was only 13 at the time, almost 8 years ago. It was a testament to our fondness of each other that how we met became such a recurring inside joke with us.
"And, remember, you tracked mud into the carpet." I laugh, but Dad then frowns and sniffs the air, halting the trailer. I sniff a bit, too, hearing it and smelling it.
We had a stowaway. We get out and walk over, finding the tarp moving a little. I sigh as Dad pokes it and then I pull it back to reveal that girl from the bar. I frown.
"The hell are you doing?" Dad snaps.
"Sorry. I needed a ride." She mumbles, sitting up. "Thought you might help me."
"Sorry, but you shoulda picked someone else's trailer, kid." I reply, smirking. "We're full."
"Get out." Dad adds. The girl deflates a little, but does as told.
"Listen, I am sorry, but we really don't have room. We barely fit in the trailer as is." I tell her.
"Well, where'm I supposed to go?" She asks and I swear she had a Southern accent. Just where had this girl come from?
"I dunno." Dad replies tersely, watching the girl climb out of the bike trailer.
"You don't know, or you don't care?" She asks grumpily.
"Pick one." Dad replies, equally as grumpy, dumping her duffel bag in the ground. We leave the girl there and get back in our trailer. I have to force myself not to look back, telling myself we really didn't have room in the trailer.
We pull away, but not even a hundred yards down the road, we both deflate and groan, and Dad stops the trailer again. I roll down the window. "You comin?" I call. "We'll drop you off somewhere, but you can't stay with us." She gets into the trailer in less than two minutes.
"Thank you." She says, rubbing her arms and setting her duffel bag on the ground.
"Don't mention it, but like I said, we're just dropping you off somewhere. You know where yer going?" I ask. She shakes her head.
"Just...wandering." I smirk.
"A runaway, huh? Or just a rebel?" She huffs.
"I...it's complicated." She sniffs. I nod.
"Ah. I see." I reply. She deflates as her stomach growls softly.
"You don't have anything to eat, do you?" I hand her beef jerky I'd hoped to eat myself in a few hours when we stop for gas. "Thanks." She says and takes off her gloves to eat it.
"No problem. Name's Autumn."
"I'm Rogue." She says. I nod.
"Nice to meet you." She looks at Dad, expecting his name. Her eyes then catch his dog-tags curiously. I swallow. That was a bit of a touchy subject. I'd asked the same thing, repeatedly, and it wasn't until we'd grown closer that he told me he couldn't really remember serving, but clearly, he must have. Those dog-tags seem military-esque, at least. "Were you in the army?" She asks, and I swear I hear 10-year old me's voice asking that same question. "Doesn't- -doesn't that mean you were in the army?" She asks. I sigh.
"It's complicated, Rogue." I explain as Dad tucks them away in his shirt. I sigh and sit on the couch-sofa convertible. Rogue's eyes then take in all of the trailer.
"Wow." She says.
"Like it?" I ask, smirking. She shrugs.
"Suddenly, my life doesn't seem so bad." She teases, smirking. Dad frowns.
"Hey, if you prefer the road- -" He grumbles, acting like he was going to pull over.
"No, no!" Rogue amends. "It looks great." She swallows. "Looks cozy." I roll my eyes.
"It is, but look, Rogue. I like you and all, but I already told you; we're full as is. There is literally no room in here for you."
"No, no, I wasn't- -you think I- -I was just making an observation, is all." She stammers awkwardly.
"Sure." I muse, smirking. I then notice that Rogue's rubbing her hands together, trying to warm them up as she continues eating the beef jerky. "Here." I call, moving up to turn on the heater. "Put your hands on the heater." I reach over to direct her hands, but she flinches away. I sigh, hanging my head. And we'd been getting along so well. "Look, neither of us are gonna hurt you, Rogue." I point out. "I was just trying to help."
"It's really nothing personal." Rogue explains. "It's just...when someone touches my skin, something happens." I tilt my head. Interesting.
"What happens?" I ask.
"I don't know. They just get hurt." Dad nods.
"Fair enough." He replies. Rogue's eyes follow Dad's hand.
"You're a mutant?" I ask before she can say anything about the claws. She nods.
"Are you?" I nod, taking off my bandana and letting my claws out a little.
"I am, but I don't have any abilities beyond a healing factor, like Dad." I reply, the claws going back in.
"You're claws." She begins, looking at Dad's hands again. "When they come out, does it hurt?" Dad's eyes darken a little.
"Every time." He replies.
"We feel pain same as anyone else, really." I add. "We just heal really fast." a few beats of silence linger before Dad says anything else.
"So, what kind of a name is Rogue?" He asks. She shrugs.
"I don't know. What kind of a name is 'Wolverine'?"
"A made up one, obviously." I grumble. This girl could sure be nosy. Then again, thought, I was, too. Dad smirks a little for a second.
"Easy, Autumn. My name's Logan." He says.
"Marie." Rogue returns.
"If I have to make up a name, I usually go with Lupa." I muse. Rogue smiles.
"I like that."
"Thanks." There's another beat or two of silence as I sit back down on the couch.
"You know, you should really wear yer seat belt." She muses. I chuckle.
"Look, I don't need advice on automobile sa- -" Suddenly, a tree trunk slams into the hood and the car comes to a sudden stop. I'm sent flying with Dad threw the windshield, but I only slide about ten feet. Dad goes about twenty to thirty. I groan and shakily sit up, popping my neck and spine back into place.
"What was that about automobile safety, Dad?" I ask wryly, standing as Dad does the same.
"Shut up, kid." He growls, popping his own neck. "You okay?" I nod.
"Few cracked ribs, couple gashes, concussion, and whiplash. Nothing major." I report. He nods.
"Kid, you alright?" Dad asks Marie, who's watching dad and I's cuts and gashes heal. "You alright?" He presses. She tugs the seatbelt.
"I'm stuck!" She calls back and we move to help her, stopping when we catch a weird scent in the air.
"Wait a second…" I mumble. "We're not- -gah!" There's someone suddenly tackling Dad, who crashes right into me and we all go tumbling into a pile, me on the bottom. "Well, those ribs are broken now." I wheeze, trying to get the two bodies off me. The guy stands and throws Dad like a sack of flour into the snowbank, Dad's back hitting a small tree as he goes flying. I extend my claws and slash at the guy's face, but it does nothing. He heals almost as fast as Dad and I would as he grabs me by the throat. Dad charges him, but he just throws me at Dad then whacks us over the head with the tree Dad had broken. I land under Dad and this time, I black out from the pain of both my dad landing full-force on me and my head being sandwiched between Dad's head and the corner of the roof of the trailer.
I remember smelling smoke as I went out, but that was it.