Author's Note: Hey everyone! I know, I really should update Your Twisted Mind, but I've hit a roadblock with that story. I'll update it eventually, but for now, here's this story! Hope you enjoy!
Full Summary: Leontine "Leo" Kasady is the legacy of some of the most terrifying people in the world. Leo is the child of a pair of serial killers with a Bonnie and Clyde act. Her father is Cletus Kasady, feared psychopath and serial killer. Leo hates her father and wants nothing to do with him. So it's a real shame when she finds herself face to face with him in prison.
After her visit with her father, Leo starts to discover a little voice in the back of her head. One that talks to her and can control her. And has a craving for human flesh. Leo has to learn to control this voice while dealing with her adoptive father, the eccentric Tony Stark, and finding her way through a new school. Leo misses the days when everything was simpler, but she wouldn't trade her new family for the world.
Pairings: Pepper/Tony, Peter/Leo friendship. There won't be anything romantic between Peter and Leo.
Main Characters: Leo Kasady (later Stark)/Ravage, Peter Parker/Spider-Man, Tony Stark/Iron Man, Pepper Potts, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds, Elijah Henson, James Rhodes/War Machine, Vision
Films: Spider-Man: Homecoming, Avengers: Infinity War, Avengers: Endgame, Spider-Man: Far From Home, possibly Venom 2
Warnings: It'll probably get pretty violent at times. Also, other than the bit about Cletus Kasady/Carnage, and the symbiote in Leo, there is nothing else Venom related in this story. It may reference something in the Venom movie, but that'll be it. There will also be Endgame spoilers in this story, but not for a long time.
Disclaimer! I don't own Cletus Kasady, Carnage, Ravage, or the other Marvel films. They belong to Marvel. Please enjoy!
"Hey Kasady!" I hear someone shout. I turn around to see my foster brother, Elijah Henson, chasing me down and waving his arms above his head. "Eliza wants me to tell you that you forgot this." Eliza is our foster mother, though we never call her mom. He hands me a permission slip for our class field trip to the local prison here. It's for the AP Psychology class that Eli and I have been taking. This field trip isn't just any field trip and the prison isn't just any normal prison. It's a prison for the mentally insane. People with deep psychological issues end up in there, generally for life. Our class is going to observe the treatment and the facility there. It took months for our teacher to get permission for us to go. It's very strict and we only get to stay for an hour, but we get the rest of the day off afterwards, so both Eli and I are excited to go.
"Thanks, Henson," I reply, taking the permission slip. "You ready to visit the deadliest prison in the entire US?" I ask, somewhat jokingly. Technically, it's kinda true. It has perhaps one of the deadliest prisoners in the entire world locked up in there. Cletus Kasady. The infamous serial killer. Even thinking about him makes my teeth itch and my stomach churn. He's apparently been killing people since he was two years old and has shown psychopathic tendencies ever since. His story is absolutely terrifying, but I find it more terrifying than most people, and for good reason.
Eli gives me a grin. "You know it," he replies. "What about you? Are you ready to be reunited with daddy dearest?" he mocks me. I clench my fists and don't respond right away. Eli is so lucky he's my foster brother and not anyone else because if he was, I would've punched him. He knows better than anyone that I don't like talking about my true parentage.
Biologically speaking, my father is Cletus Kasady, the serial killer. Though I don't see him as my father. He never raised me and both he and my mother left me at the hospital after my mother gave birth. My mother is Frances Barrison, also a famous serial killer, killed by Kasady. Both my parents were absolute psychos and it took me years to accept who I am. I found out when I was eleven, after digging through my foster parents' file cabinet. I'm fifteen now, and I've learned to live with it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Eli and my foster parents are the only other ones who know about it. My foster parents have no idea that Eli and I know who my parents are. Eli and I don't really talk about it because it makes me angry. I hate my parents, both of them. And I refuse to be associated with them in any way.
"Keep your mouth shut, Henson," I hiss at him.
Eli raises his hands in surrender and drops it. "Sorry," he says, realizing that he's hit a touchy subject. I don't like joking about it, for obvious reasons. It's my life, not a joke. "After the field trip, do you want to head to the comic book store? I hear they have new Deathstroke comics in stock." My sour expression quickly fades. Comics have a way of making everything better, even the fact that my parents are psychotic serial killers.
"Yeah," I say, nodding enthusiastically. "Did you bring any cash?"
He nods and reaches a hand into his pocket. Inside is several twenty dollar bills that he probably stole from Eliza. I feel my insides clench with guilt at the idea of stealing from our foster mother, but she's a big shot lawyer. She's definitely got enough money and she won't notice sixty dollars that disappeared from her safe. "Took this from the old woman this morning," he says triumphantly, confirming my suspicions. "Never even noticed me."
Eli may not have serial killers for parents, but he has a shady background too. His parents were both drug addicts. As a kid, they would have him steal from people so they could get money to feed their drug addiction. So from the moment he could walk and talk, till the age of ten, he stole things for his parents. When he was taken away he didn't exactly drop the practice. I've seen him steal from shops and people on the streets, but I don't tell anyone, because if he was found out, we'd be separated. Besides, he doesn't snitch on me. I'm just as bad, if not worse. I have more violent tendencies, which is almost ironic. I hate my parents for being serial killers, but I have violent tendencies just like them. But at least I don't kill people. I've only gotten in my fair share of fights with other kids. They've gotten pretty darn bloody, too. Luckily, Eli is always there to have my back.
Eli and I have been in the same foster home with Eliza and her husband, Frank, since we were eleven. We've been best friends ever since. Eli is my closest confidant. I trust him with my secrets and he trusts me with his in return. Nothing is a secret between me and Eli.
No one would guess that Eli and I are technically siblings. We look nothing alike. Eli has dark skin with matching black hair and gold colored eyes that flash mischievously. He's almost always smiling his goofy smile and he loves to joke around. I, on the other hand, am practically the exact opposite of his appearance. I have dark, wavy red hair and freckles across my pale face. My eyes are dark blue and my face is almost always knit in a scowl. I am more sullen and quiet than Eli, who says what he wants and doesn't care about the repercussions.
"Hamilton wants us on the bus at eight exactly. We better hurry," I say, checking our phone. We pick up the pace to be sure to catch the big yellow bus that's waiting just outside the school for us. When Mr. Hamilton sees us, he gives us a nod.
"You're just in time," he says. He flips through his attendance sheet, searching for our names. "Let's see… Elijah Henson." He makes a tick mark by his name. "And Leontine Kasady." He says teasingly and I half roll my eyes. Everyone knows that I prefer to be called Leo, but Mr. Hamilton thinks my full name is funny, so he continues to call me by my full name. He marks off my name, and both Eli and I climb on the bus. We take two open seats next to each other, near the very back.
While the rest of our class loads onto the bus, Eli and I pull out the phone we share and plug in some earbuds, each taking one bud. We agree on a playlist and listen to some AC-DC and other 70s and 80s rock bands. The reason we share a phone is because our foster mother, Eliza, read an article telling her that foster kids from families like ours shouldn't have phones for some reason or other. However, after a couple years in her care, she's come to trust us (she shouldn't, but she does) and she gave Eli and I a phone to share. Luckily, we both have similar interests, so we are just fine with the phone we share.
Once the rest of the class has loaded on the bus, Mr. Hamilton gets on board. He stands up at the front of the bus. "Alright, guys, can I have your attention for just a moment?" Eli and I don't pause our music, but we look towards the front of the bus. "I know we've gone over this several times, but I'm going to give you the rundown one more time, so just bear with me. First, when we get there, we will be forced to go through some security checks. You'll have to leave your backpack at the entrance, and you will have to go through a metal detector. Make sure you don't have your phones on you or your keys. Once we're in the building, we may be passing by some of the prisoners there. Under no circumstances are you to speak to any of the prisoners. If one speaks to you, ignore them and move on. These people are criminally insane and may try to manipulate you or use you. It is very important that you ignore them completely. Do not, I repeat, do not say anything to them! Stay away from the cells, maintaining a distance of five feet at all times. Stay close to our guide and listen closely to what he has to say, as there will be a test on this later. Also, do not take pictures. If you do, you are violating the law and may be arrested. Is that clear?" There was a murmur of assent. "Good. Then let's get going. It takes about an hour to get there. Feel free to do whatever you want in the meantime." With that, he sits down and the bus pulls out of the school parking lot.
Eli and I continue to listen to our music, ignoring the chattering of everyone else on the bus. No one tries to talk to us. If truth be told, we're kind of outcasts. We don't have a lot of friends outside of each other. Mainly because we're not very friendly to anyone else. Even Eli and I took a whole year to become friends instead of merely tolerating each other's presence.
But I don't mind at all. I have Eli, and what more do I need, really?
When we finally reach the prison, everyone is eager to get off the bus. The prison is surprisingly large, despite only holding some odd dozen prisoners. It's got barbed wire fences that are tingling with electricity. We have to go through three different gates just to get inside. Once the bus parks, everyone jumps to their feet. Mr. Hamilton allows us off the bus in pairs, letting only a few go through the security checks at a time. Eli and I are the last to get off.
When my feet hit the ground, I can't help the shiver that runs down my back. My father is in that building. It's entirely possible that I may see him face to face for the first time today. The thought makes me sick to my stomach and I suddenly feel dizzy. Maybe I shouldn't have come on this field trip. I thought that I could handle it a couple months ago, when it seemed so far away, but now, standing on the prison grounds, I start to wish that I had stayed home.
Eli seems to sense my nervousness, and he takes my small hand in his. "Come on, short stack, they're waiting for us."
I give him a glare, but squeeze his hand gratefully. "I'm not that short," I protest. "And you're not that tall either, jerk."
"You're like five foot three. That's short for a girl," he teases.
"And you're only five foot eight. That's short for a guy," I retort, but I'm not really offended. This is a running joke between us. He mostly does it to get a reaction out of me and it never fails to do so.
He chuckles but doesn't deny it. We walk into the front doors and drop off our bags. A couple of guards come to wave they're little metal detectors over us and pat us down. Then, we're forced to go through another set of metal detectors before we are officially allowed to enter the prison. The other students are gathered in a group, chattering softly, and pointing to different things in the prison.
"I hear they keep Cletus Kasady in here," one girl whispers to another excitedly. "Have you seen him? He's kinda hot. In a really creepy way."
I half want to punch her in the face. I'm well aware that my father is handsome. He's rather like Ted Bundy that way, only he killed anyone, not just women, and he didn't rape them before. He's absolutely sick, but not even I can deny that he's good looking. He has dark red hair, a well defined face with strong cheekbones, dark blue eyes, and he even smiles in a way that isn't creepy. I look a little like him. We both have the same dark red hair, same eyes, same nose, same general facial shape, and the same smile. The rest is more like my mother. He looks charming almost. But anyone who knows who he is knows better than that. He's a monster. He's killed over forty people in the most gruesome ways. He's an absolute sicko and he makes my stomach churn. The fact that these two girls can actually fawn over his pretty face makes me sick. It's exactly like Ted Bundy, actually, when girls came to his trial just to watch him because "he's so dreamy". Do we really learn nothing from history?
Eli grips my hand tightly, obviously sensing my anger. He speaks up. "You guys do realize he's killed like forty people, right?" Eli asks them, sounding as disgusted as I am.
The girls turn to us. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean he's not attractive," one girl insists.
I roll my eyes. "You're not supposed to find him attractive," I snap. "He's a psychopath, not a model. Like the Joker or something."
"The Joker was hot," the other girl protests. "Have you seen Heath Ledger?"
"Forget it," I reply with a sigh. How they got into this class, I'll never know. I thought it was supposed to be for intelligent people, but here we are.
Luckily, Mr. Hamilton walks into the building. "Alright class, let's turn the time over to Dr. Grady, who will be giving us our tour."
Dr. Grady gives us a big smile, as if this isn't some kind of prison. "Hi guys. As your teacher said, my name is Dr. Edwin Grady and I am the head doctor here at the prison. To start off; I know you've probably heard this a million times, but I just wanted to reiterate that you cannot talk to any of the prisoners here. You may look at them, but do not speak to them. Ok?" We all nod. "Good, let's get going."
He leads us down the first hall we come across. "This part of our facility is for those with mood disorders. Which of you can give me an example of a mood disorder?"
One kid raises his hand. "Bipolar disorder."
"Correct," Grady replies. "Now, most people that have bipolar disorder are harmless. Occasionally, however, someone suffers from a very extreme case of bipolar disorder. We have about ten people in this ward, seven of which have bipolar disorder. One has cyclothymia and the other two have schizoaffective disorder." I look into each of the cells. They watch us with wide eyes, some watching us like hawks. At one point, a woman launches herself at the glass and starts screaming at us, pounding on the glass.
A couple students jump back in fright. "Don't worry," Grady assures us. "That's ballistic glass. She can't hurt you. A couple doctors will be here to check up on her shortly. Now, most mood disorders are lifelong. There is some medication, and we do give it to our patients, but it doesn't always work. Most of our patients go through therapeutic sessions, but again, it doesn't always work. The prisoners in this prison will spend their lives here."
The doctor next takes us through a section filled with those with substance abuse disorders. "Everyone here has committed violent acts under the influence of drugs. We have about fifteen patients in this ward. The most common drugs here are…" He leaves the question up in the air for us to answer.
"Alcohol, marijuana, and opioids," Eli answers.
Grady nods again. "Exactly. Alcohol. While a limited amount of drinking can be safe, excessive drinking to the point of addiction is dangerous both to yourself and others. About five of the people here have killed people under the influence of alcohol, or while suffering from withdrawals. Around four were under the influence of cocaine and heroin. Three were using opioids and the rest were using meth. And if you were wondering, this is why we don't do drugs, kids," he jokes lamely. A couple kids give a small chuckle at the dumb joke.
The third ward is full of patients with anxiety related disorders. "There are far too many anxiety disorders for me to name all of them," Grady tells us. "To name a few, there's post traumatic stress disorder, historical trauma, panic disorder, etc etc. Again, most people with these disorders are not dangerous, but a few go off the deep end. Most people here have post traumatic stress disorder, but quite a few have panic disorder as well. The rest have various phobias."
The fourth ward has patients with psychotic disorders. "Schizophrenia is the most common psychotic disorder here," Grady tells us. "But we also have several patients with delusional disorder and brief psychotic disorder. Treatment is yet again, limited. There is only so much we can do for the people in here. Of course, we try our best, but…" he trails off and gives a shrug with a sigh.
I can see now why we get the rest of the day off after this field trip. It's mentally draining just watching these poor people. Most are talking to themselves in their cells. Some are crying to themselves. A couple are screaming at each other. A few try to talk to us, whether it's shouting at us to get them out of here or beckoning us to come closer. We do our best to ignore them, keeping our eyes on the head of the person in front of us. I often find my eyes drifting, trying to catch sight of my father. But he is nowhere to be found. I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed. I should be relieved, but a tiny part of me wants to see him. To let him know that I exist and that I hate him.
"And last but not least, everyone in this section has a type of personality disorder." He turns and looks at us. "Listen carefully. I shouldn't even be taking you past this section. There are only three people here, all of which have one personality disorder. Can any of you guess which one it is?"
This one I do know. I've done enough research on my parentage to know what disorder my father has. I raise my hand. "Antisocial pd," I answer quietly.
"Exactly. Now, antisocial pd is a combination of the following personality disorders: antisocial, borderline, histrionic, and narcissistic. These people do not follow the social norms, and they don't believe in rules. They are impulsive, aggressive, and guiltless. They're often seen by us as charming, but do not be fooled. These three people are some of the deadliest people in the world. Can anyone tell me who is kept here?"
I know one of them, but I cannot bring myself to raise my hand. A couple other students give the other two names. John Bennett and Thomas Ford. Then, the same girls that were talking about him earlier give my father's name. "Yes. John Bennett, Thomas Ford, and Cletus Kasady. All of these men may seem charming on the outside, but they have murdered dozens. Treatment for them is very limited, because going near them is dangerous. Even listening to them is dangerous. They are excellent manipulators and have manipulated several staff members here. We will not walk by their cells, as it is far too dangerous. There are windows on the doors to their cells, and they may see you through them. It's not likely, however, as they're down a long hallway. If you do hear them, keep your head down and keep moving. Alright?" We all nod and Grady leads the way.
My heart is pounding in my chest. I am about to pass by my father, my psychopath of a father, and I can't even see him. Do I want to see him? I don't know. My breathing picks up and I start to wonder if I can actually do this.
Suddenly, I hear a high pitched whistle. My head jerks up, looking for the source of the sound. It came from down the hall. The whistle echoes in the hall again. It's as if my brain goes fuzzy. My footsteps come to a stop in front of the hall. The whistle sounds again and I start to wander down the hall. Later I would wonder how I got past my teacher and the other guards, but at the time, the only thing I was thinking of was the whistling. I needed to find the source. Deep down, I think I knew what the source was. I knew I needed to face my fears. As I get closer to the whistle sounds, someone starts to hum to the tune they were whistling. I follow the voice, as if in a trance, unable to break it.
"Hey there, kiddo," the voice says to me, finishing the song and laughing a little as they come into view. "Going on a field trip, eh? I never went on field trips when I was in school. You're making me a little jealous." My eyes wander over him and identical blue orbs are looking into my own.
My heart drops into my stomach. Kasady. My father. My murderous, psychotic, horrible, evil father. I get a bit of a shock when I observe the rest of him. He's not handsome anymore, like he was in his youth. His hair is wild and his youth has faded. Now he looks slightly crazy. Now the flesh reflects the madness within. With a bit of anger, I realize that I do look like him. It's almost uncanny. Scary.
He grins at me and I swear internally. I wasn't supposed to look at him. I'm not even supposed to be here. Now what do I do? Is he going to try and kill me now? What is going to happen to me? My breathing picks up again and I try to force my eyes back to my feet; try to walk away, but I can't. It's like he has me hooked; trapped in his gaze. My footsteps come to a stop and I look him straight in the eye. All I can do is watch this man in front of me, my eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. I hate him but I pity myself. This killer is my parent. So what does that make me?
"What's your name, little girl?" he asks me. I don't answer him. I can't answer him. All I can do is watch him in horror and fascination. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" I only blink and swallow hard. I should leave. I should run right now, but my feet won't move. It's like I'm glued to this one spot. "Not a talkative one, are ya? Well, that's alright, I'll talk for you. Hmmm… you look like a Frances." My eyes widen. That was my mother's name. I must have enough of her in me for him to call me that. "Frances, why don't you come a little bit closer? It's hard for me to see you from all the way over there."
Every part of me is screaming. Run away! This man is a psycho! But my body refuses to obey. Instead, it approaches his glass cage, just as he instructed. "Well now," he says, satisfied. "Ain't you a pretty little thing. Come on now, don't be shy." A mischievous glint comes over his eyes. "I dare you to come up and touch the glass." I shouldn't accept his dare, but like I said, my body is refusing to obey my mind right now. I take slow steps towards his cell until I am mere inches from the glass. He hums, looking impressed. "You got guts, Frances. I like that." He stands up and walks closer to me. I can feel my breathing slow down until it feels like I am hardly breathing at all. His grin widens. "Alright, tough girl. If you're so brave, reach through the slot and touch my fingers." My eyes flicker down to where his fingers are. They are sticking through a slot in the glass that must be for food. This time, it takes me awhile for my body to follow through with his commands. Very, very slowly, my shaking fingers reach out towards the slot in the glass. His fingers are drumming on the edge, waiting to see if I'm as brave as I appear to be right now. Eventually, my fingers find their way into the slot. His fingers brush against mine, and I find they're surprisingly smooth. Not at all what you'd expect from a man like him.
"Good girl, Frances," he says, almost teasingly, with a boyish grin on his face. "You might be the bravest person to come up to me since about three years ago."
Finally, I am able to form a question. "What happened to the last one?" I ask, my voice scratchy and quiet.
He smiles pleasantly. "He didn't last very long afterwards," he informs me.
I swallow heavily, fear shooting through me. "Is that what you're going to do to me?" I ask.
He laughs out loud at my question, as though I have said something utterly delightful. "You're pretty funny," he says. "No, I don't think I'll kill you just yet. It wouldn't be very much fun, see. It'll have to wait until I get out. And I will get out. And once I'm out, there's gonna be carnage." My heart is pounding and my fingers are tingling. I realize that he has my fingers in a death grip, holding onto them tight enough to cut off the circulation. I suddenly feel feverish and sick. And a little hungry.
"Hey!" I blink and my head turns to look at who spoke. It's some guard here to save me. Relief floods through me as he sprints over to us. He glares at the serial killer in his cage. "Let the girl go now, Kasady," he tells him sharply.
To my surprise, Kasady puts up no arguments. He releases me right away and backs away from the glass. However, it doesn't seem to be because he's scared of the guard. The look in his eye suggests something else. Like everything is going according to his plan. The guard nods in satisfaction before focusing on me. He grabs my arm. "Come this way, miss." He half leads, half drags me away from the cell. I can feel Kasady's eyes on my back until we are completely out of sight.
"Thank you," I say weakly to the guard. "I don't know what came over me. I just heard whistling and I-"
"It's ok," he says gruffly, cutting me off. "It's not your fault. You're not the first one to be manipulated by Kasady. It's a gift of his. They should never have let children anywhere near him." He sounds both angry and tired. I feel dizzy. My head is spinning and pounding. I'm sweating and my tongue feels all swollen. I don't feel good at all, and yet I can't help but feel a craving for… meat.
The guard leads me back to my class. Mr. Hamilton looks very relieved to see me. "Thank goodness," he says, gripping my shoulders. "Don't wander off like that. Especially in this place. Are you crazy?!" he cries, shaking my shoulders a little bit. I say nothing to defend myself. All I can think of is the growling in my stomach. I am suddenly so very hungry.
"Go easy on her," Grady says gently, looking relieved as well. "She's not the first to be manipulated by some of the prisoners here. She's not to blame. It's my fault. We shouldn't have walked anywhere near them." He shakes his head with regret.
My teacher nods. When his attention turns back to me, a look of concern comes over his face. "Are you ok, Leo? You look super pale. Are you sick?"
Dr. Grady puts a hand to my forehead. Normally, I would pull away from his touch, but I am too distracted to do much of anything. "She's definitely got a fever," he says. Then, he crouches down and looks in my eyes. He holds up a finger. "Leo, follow my finger." I try to do as he says, but my eyes can't seem to focus on much right now. "She should see a doctor and get plenty of rest."
"I'll call her mother," Mr. Hamilton says, pulling out his phone right away, as well as a folder with the permission slips in them.
Eli is the next person I see. He grips my hand tightly and lowers me to the ground with Grady's help. "Just hang in there, Kasady," he tells me gently.
Grady looks at him sharply. "What did you just call her?"
Eli looks puzzled. "Kasady, I- it's her last name," he explains. Grady furrows his brow in thought, muttering to himself in a nervous tone.
"Food," I gasp out after a moment, sitting up sharply. "I need food."
"Does anyone have something to eat?" Eli calls out to the rest of the class. A couple kids hand him something from their bags. Eli hands me a ham sandwich. I grab it sharply, take off the top slice of bread, throw away the pickles, and eat just the meat, ripping into it like a savage. "Leo!" Eli says in disbelief, watching me with concern written on his face. I've never seen him like this, but my befuddled brain doesn't seem to comprehend that something bad is happening. All I can think about is food. I need more meat.
"I'm just…" I stop talking when I see someone else holding beef jerky. I launch to my feet and grab their food from their hands. I rip off the wrapper and shove it into my mouth, hardly taking time to chew.
"What's wrong with her?" Eli asks Grady. Grady is at a loss for words.
It is then that I hear a deep, rumbling voice in the back of my head. It's like nothing I've ever heard before. It sounds like the sound a monster would make. All it says is my name. "Leo."
"Who said that?" I shout out loudly, my eyes wild as I look around at everyone. "Who said my name?" Everyone is looking at me with fear, as if unsure of what to do with me. I point at one kid. "Was it you?"
"Leo, no one said anything," Eli tells me, sounding very worried. He stands up and grabs my shoulders forcefully. "Let's just sit down, and-"
"Leo." There it is again! Eli suddenly drops me with a loud and alarmed scream and my head hits the cement floor with a thud. The last thing I remember hearing is everyone talking loudly before my vision goes black and I pass out.