A/N: I rewatched X-Men Origins: Wolverine last night and got the idea for a little ficlet (probably won't be more than a few chapters). I know the boy who played young!James had blue eyes, but Hugh Jackman has hazel, so I changed it to hazel.
The chapters will probably be shorter than I usually write, as I don't have time to draw them out. =)
Disclaimer: Why yes, I own everything. Just like I own the Statue of Liberty and Apollo 11.
Rating: PG to PG-13 for thematic elements, implied child abuse, and some violence
Genre: Drama/Family (Drama encompasses many things including Angst, Hurt/Comfort, and Action)
Summary: Origins: Wolverine. Despite his parents' disapproval, young sickly James Howlett likes to be with his best friend Victor Creed. Little does he know the consequences of his actions, and the painful future mutating inside of him. Non-slash.
In the Beginning
Chapter 1/The Groundskeeper's Son
He was always there, in the corner of James's eye. At first James did not think much of it. The boy was older than him by at least three years, and the dark scowl he often wore told James he was probably not a very pleasant person. He was always working in the empty rooms of Howlett Manor, as if he were apprehensive of being in any place where others frequented. If he was told by the Howletts to work in a room where people were visiting, he would always stay in the shadows, watching everything from beneath brooding eyebrows.
The only person he did not seem to mind being in a room with was James. In fact, sometimes the boy came uncomfortably close to James whenever he was around. James would be studying in the school room before his tutor arrived for the day, and he would be there, sweeping in the corner, tending the fire, or dusting the furniture. He would sidle up to the table where James sat slowly, trying to appear that he was not. Whenever James looked up at him, he would stare back unashamedly, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something. But then he would rethink it and turn away, back to his cleaning.
Finally James spoke to him. He was seven and in that stage of life when he was curious about everything and liked to ask a large number of questions. The questions about the servant had been growing steadily inside of him over the past several weeks, but whenever he asked his mother who he was, she would change the subject. So when the boy began to draw close during study time, James turned in his seat and looked up at him.
"Who are you?" he asked bluntly.
The older boy looked startled, before his usual brooding expression returned to his face.
"Victor," he said flatly. "Victor Creed. The groundskeeper's son." His voice was low, and he held his mouth stiffly, his teeth barely showing. It made him sound angry or threatening.
"No you're not," James stated. "The groundskeeper's name is Thomas Logan."
Victor was silent for a moment. A loud grinding noise startled James, and he gaped at the older boy once he realized the noise was coming from Victor's teeth. When he realized James was staring, Victor relaxed his jaw and the grinding noise stopped.
"That's my father," he said. "Creed is my mother's family name."
"Why do you want to be called by your mother's family name?" James asked, curiously.
"I never knew my mother." Victor stopped talking there, as if that should explain everything.
"Why do you always follow me around?" James asked, moving on to his next question.
Victor hesitated, then his frown deepened. "Do you always ask so many questions?"
James shook his head quickly, not wanting Victor to be annoyed with him. He looked like the type of boy to get annoyed easily.
"It's a new thing," he said, attempting a small smile. When Victor did not smile back, he looked back down at his book, waiting for Victor to go back to work. But the older boy did not move. James looked back up hesitantly, their eyes fixing on each other: curious hazel meeting frosty blue. Tilting his head, James wondered why he looked so angry all the time. But he could not bring himself to ask. Instead, he turned back to his studying.
"What are you reading?" Victor's stiff voice broke through James's concentration.
James looked up once more to find Victor staring down at the words on the paper with a deep frown. James moved the book slowly over to Victor, smiling again faintly.
"A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. You want to read it? It's got a lot of big words, but it's good. Mother read it to me first."
Victor hesitated slightly before sitting down next to James and pulling the book toward him, his lips moving slightly as he tried to sound out the words in his head. He growled in frustration after a moment and shoved it back to James, who caught it awkwardly.
"It's probably some stupid children's story," he said, fiddling with his fingernails. James did a double take when he saw how long they were. When Victor saw that he was staring, he quickly hid his hands underneath the table.
"It's not," James insisted, trying to forget the sight of the ugly nails. He opened the book to the spot he was at and then flipped to the beginning. "It's a ghost story set at Christmastime. It can get really scary sometimes!"
"For you maybe," Victor scoffed. "I never get scared."
James frowned slightly but decided not to ask the question he had on the tip of his tongue. Instead he turned his head down to the book. Without another word, he laid his finger on the first word and tilted the book toward Victor.
"'Marley was dead, to begin with,'" he sounded out in the slow way young children read out loud, doing his best to annunciate each word perfectly. "'There is no doubt about that. The reg-register of his burial was signed by the cl-clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.'" He glanced up and grinned at Victor for the next line he knew by heart. "Old Marley was dead as a doornail."
Victor snorted. "That's stupid. Doornails aren't dead." But James thought he saw the tiniest flicker of a smile dance around the corners of Victor's lips.
"That's what the next part is about," James said, leaning over the book again. Before he could go on however, the door to the schoolroom opened and James's sour-faced tutor stepped into the room.
He stopped short when he saw the two boys seated together at the table. He cleared his throat and pushed his spectacles up his nose with one imperious finger.
"Master James?" he said. "What is going on?"
James turned around quickly, his grin fading. "Good afternoon, Mister Claypole." He looked over at Victor as the table jostled suddenly.
The boy had stood abruptly, grabbing the forgotten broom and sweeping furiously. James coughed lightly in the dirt and dust that billowed up. Mr. Claypole hurried over and grabbed Victor's upper arm in a tight grip.
"Stop that," he snapped. "Don't go sweeping up germs into the air beside Master James! Stupid boy, you'll get him ill."
James watched with wide eyes as his tutor shook Victor roughly. He did not know what to do or to expect, but he breathed a sigh of relief when Victor mumbled, "Sorry, sir" and Mr. Claypole let him go. With a quick glance at James, Victor moved toward the door, opening it slowly and then slamming it behind him when he left. James jumped slightly and only looked up at his tutor when the man touched his shoulder lightly.
"Why did you send him away?" James asked, frowning in confusion.
"He's a servant, Master James. Your kind does not fraternize with his kind." The man sniffed slightly, and wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something bad.
"What's fra-fra-"
"Fraternize. You cannot spend time with him. He cannot be your friend." Mr. Claypole turned away to the blackboard, picking up the chalk.
"Why not?" James asked stubbornly, not seeing what the problem was.
"Your father would not allow it," Mr. Claypole said. "Now, put your book away and get out your arithmetic."
With a sigh, James did as he was told.
Oh yeah, I don't own A Christmas Carol either. That's Charles Dickens's stuff. Eh, I just realized that the book wasn't published until December of 1843, and this scene takes place in 1842 . . . I suppose I took some creative license there. Messed with the timeline a bit. Oh well, I'm too tired to edit with a different book. I'll probably have the next chapter up very soon. Review and tell me what you think of this one! =)
