Title: The Antihero
Summary: The slightest change can rewrite an entire lifetime.
Rating/Warnings: T (for terrific?); violence and sexual situations will be posted as a warning beforehand in every chapter.
Authors' Notes:
It was hard choosing a universe to write in (comic, evolution, wolverine, movie, etc.) but we finally settled with the movies. Obviously there will be a bit of paraphrasing in the first section, as we cannot remember everything that happens in the film after just a couple of watches. –Alysa
Read and review, por favor. –Isabel
Standard Disclaimer Applied.
Preface:
Logan-
Slowly, a pair of hazel eyes open with effort. They are greeted with the sight of a hazy and dull sun. Orange and yellow dusted-clouds border ever corner of the sky.
A man quietly lifts himself off the ground to stand in the middle of a wasteland. The soil below him stands firm beneath his boot-clad feet, though littered with the obvious sight of destruction.
The man looks around him, his mind searching for something recognizable, something to cling onto, something that will link him to the scene.
Nothing clicks and nothing looks familiar. The man's face scrunches into an automatic scowl, dissatisfied with his lack of knowledge. With his lack of identity.
Taking notice of the dog tags hanging around his neck, the man quickly overcomes a moment of hesitation before reading the small clips of metal.
'Logan. ' 'Wolverine.'
The names mean nothing to him. He wonders briefly if these are his names before he hears the drawl of a southern accent behind him.
His muscles tense at the approach of another person, and on instinct growls lowly. "Who are you?" he demands.
He doesn't recognize the man and feels a surge of defensiveness run its course though his body.
The second man stares curiously and confused at him for a split second; a befuddled expression crossing his face. Slowly, warily, he replies, "It's me, Gambit. The man who brought you here." He speaks with a hesitance that disturbs the other man.
Uneasiness is bloomed. Instantly the nameless man feels a powerful –almost animal-like- defensiveness overpower his thoughts. He reaches out to Gambit (if that was his real name), his fingers grasping his shirt roughly into his fist, "What's my name?" though the question was meant to come out as a demand, the slight panic that managed seep through out of his mind and into his words were evident. "What's my name?!"
Gambit raises his hands in surrender. "Logan." He says this reassured, "You're name is Logan."
Slowly, Logan releases the other man from his grip. "Logan." The name doesn't bring up anything to mind.
In fact, nothing did. His conscience was like a dark cave; seemingly endless, yet empty. Attempts at pulling back any type of memory were proved fruitless. He couldn't remember a single moment of his life before opening his eyes, just hardly a minute ago.
His throat closed up with dryness, and subconsciously, he clenched his hands into fists. Gradually, released his fingers and flexed them, a movement that his body felt so familiar to, but his mind could not place.
Somewhere in the background, he could hear sirens creeping up dangerously close.
"We need to get out of here. The authorities ain't gonna like what you've done here." Gambit's Cajun accent was growing thicker with hurry.
Logan's eyes ran across the field in wonder. He did this? He did all this? How was that possible?
His sight landed on a body. One that lay merely a few yards away from him. How could he have missed that?
Walking towards the limp figure, Logan knew- though he didn't know how- in an instant that the woman on the ground was dead.
Bright blue eyes stared up at him. Emotions alien to him were rushing like waves all over him at once. Despair, regret, guilt, longing.
"Is she…?" Gambit spoke from behind him.
"Yes." He answered abruptly.
He leaned down to close her eyes, the ones staring at him lifelessly. He feels like he knows her, like he should know her. But everything in his mind is so blank, and he has no clue whether or not his feeling come from his past or just the obligated feelings of witnessing a death.
The sirens were getting closer.
"We need to get out of here." Gambit urged on.
He looked down at the body of the woman with long dark hair and bright blue eyes, and sighs. "You go." He pauses, and then confirms his decision. "I have to find my own way."
Seconds later he hears footsteps growing fainter and fainter.
Then a moment later, he turns, and walks away in the opposite direction.
---
It wasn't until weeks later that Logan found out about his inhuman capabilities.
Going rogue was shockingly easy. Let alone the fact that Logan had no former ties and boundaries to link himself to the past in figuring out who he was, he grew accustom to letting the world develop on without him.
A man without a past wasn't the easiest role to play, but he got by. Searching for an identity was futile, regardless of his rather unique abilities.
Soon enough, it seemed that nothing was to become permanent to the man. A natural nomad, like maybe in a previous life, he always thought, amused.
With no real identity to hold him down, Logan traveled back and forth, never looking back, never growing attached.
Living conditions weren't easy though. Without any money, it was hard to keep on moving forward with no standard resources. So Logan opted for doing what his gut instinct had been itching to do since the moment he first opened his eyes that one tortuous day that seemed to fall further and further into his mind with each passing day. He fought.
He didn't know what made him so invincible. What made him to immune to the punches and kicks that landed on his body; all he knew was that nothing seemed to really slow him down.
His body worked with him. Yes, a punch would hurt, but not as much as it hurt the person who dared to swing a fist at his seemingly-metal skull.
Logan didn't know what was under the surface of his body that could call upon metal claws on defensive instinct or what gave him almost super-human strength, but he didn't complain.
Whatever helped him win the fight (and win money) was fine by him. He couldn't complain.
So eventually he grew into a custom routine of dropping from dirty bar to bar, engaging in cage fights that he knew he could easily win. His body knew the rhythm of fighting, like a long-forgotten hobby.
An hour letting the bets grow higher and higher in his favor, a collection of debts, a couple of beers to lay off time while his small wounds healed themselves automatically, and then he would hit the road again.
Things weren't bad this way. It wasn't the life he wanted and he didn't know if it was the life he had before…but, things weren't bad this way.
---
Though Logan didn't know what lay beneath his skin, his subconscious certainly did. Nights in his small, wet trailer were pledged with nightmares that usually led to him having to light up a cigarette or two to calm down his nerves.
His dreams usually started the same. There were always the feelings of anguish and hatred. Then there would be flashes that passed by instantaneously, of men in lab coats talking in mixed words. He would feel burst of pain randomly through out his body, though mostly through the pounding and drilling sensation of his skull being punctured.
And then there was that girl again. The one with the bright blue eyes and long brown hair. She would be in his nightmare, always the last thing to come to his mind. She would be staring at him, smiling and saying his name over and over again. "Logan…" she would say, "Logan, wake up…" like she knew his pain; like she knew he was trapped in the middle of his own nightmare.
Marie-
Her breath mingled slightly with his, as he leaned in closer. Her eyes fluttered softly, almost hesitantly. His hand reached up to brush her hair out of her eyes. "Marie…" he murmured, his whisper playing across her lips slowly.
She let out a sigh as a response. Her shoulders relaxed with his touch. She leaned in closer, slowly filling up the little space in between them. His lips lightly brushed against hers. With a small gasp, she leaned in once again, this time pressing her lips more firmly against his.
She heard him gasp, and took it as a sign to lean into him more. She broke them apart, leaning her forehead against his in contentment.
Cody took in deep breathes of air, trying to fill up his lung with oxygen, but was overwhelmed with the feeling of being drowned. His arms fell limp and stiff. The more gasps of air he tried to take in, the worse he felt; still, the need for oxygen was too strong, and he couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to.
"Cody?" His brain felt damp and soggy, processing things heavily and slowly. "What's wrong?" In a distance, he could hear Marie's frantic voice calling out to him. "Cody?"
His body trembled with shock. He couldn't breathe! Why couldn't he breathe?
Her voice grew into a scream as he felt his body weakly fall off her bed.
Marie climbed after him and got down on her knees, shaking the collapsed boy with desperation. Her bare fingertips unknowingly drawing thick veins up to meet at her touch.
"Cody? Cody what's wrong?" Tears gathered up at the corners of her eyes, the feeling of panic rising in her chest. Her heart was beating so wildly with fear, it felt as if it were about to explode any second.
"I need an ambulance!" she screamed, praying that somebody, anybody, would hear her from downstairs. "Help! I need an ambulance!"
Footstep could be heard climbing up the stairway leading into her room. "What happened?" She looked up to see her mother standing at the door.
Finally, the sob that had been building up in her throat was released and tears sprang from her eyes. "Something's wrong! He won't wake up! He won't wake up!" she cried, grasping onto the trembling body on the floor.
She tightened her hold on him, laying her own body over him protectively. She felt for anything. A slight flinch, a movement in his fingers. Anything. But all she could feel was the slight tremble that seemed to be getting weaker and weaker by the second.
His body, which just a minute ago was so warm against her lips, was freezing cold and stiff. In only a matter of seconds his body had dropped in temperate.
"Marie get off him! I'll call an ambulance, just get off of him and let the boy breathe!" her mother cried, rushing back downstairs.
Cody was shaking more violently and Marie was forced to climb off his body and releasing her hold on him.
It all came flooding to her on an instant. Memories, thoughts, feelings, strength. It overwhelmed her body, making her squeeze her eyes in fear.
Every little sensation, every little aspect of Cody's life was overlapping her own. Her mind felt invaded and she could faintly hear the sound of Cody in the back of her mind screaming.
"I called nine-one-one; they're on their way right now." Her mother was standing in the doorway again.
"Mama?" Marie staggered a bit, trying so desperately to control the flashes of memories and thoughts that weren't her's.
"Marie, what happened?"
"Mama?" She squeezed her eyes more tightly together. It wasn't out of pain, but the fear of being lost in her own mind was soon becoming a reality to her.
"Marie, what's wrong? Marie? Marie!" her mother's frantic voice was all she heard before finally her brain shut down and she lost all consciousness.
---
There were times that Marie would wake up and then slip right back into her own mind.
The first time, she found herself in an ambulance. Paramedics were pressing a cold, latex gloved-clad hand against her throat, checking for a pulse.
The second time, she was in a hospital bed, and she could barely make out the sound of her mother and father taking in hushed tone with whom she presumed was her doctor.
And the last time, still in a hospital bed, Marie was able to overhear her mother and Cody's mother, talking. Someone was crying softly and croaking out, "He's not going to wake up. He's not going to wake up." Over and over again.
---
Finally, the last time Marie woke up, it was for good. Though her head felt fragile with a pounding headache and her body felt limp and weak, she was able to stubble onto her feet.
The coldness of the tiles on the floor sent shivers through her body. The room was plain white and discomforting; it was like something out of a thriller movie.
Noticing the small pile of clothes on the chair next to the hospital bed, Marie quickly slid on the shorts and t-shirt, feeling awkward about the thought of leaving the room in only the patient gown.
Opening the door slowly, Marie walked out of the room, her eyes searching for anyone familiar. Wandering off, she found herself in the middle of a nurse's station.
"Ma'am?" she caught the attention of a middle-aged woman in light blue scrubs. "Do you know where Cody Robbins' room is?"
The woman's mouth was pulled into a tight smile. "Are you a friend of Cody's?"
Marie nodded. There was no need for her to elaborate.
"His room's right down the hall to the left, C17. Though you better hurry, visiting hours are almost over."
Marie walked off after a muttered thank you.
Finding the room was easy, it was opening the door and walking through that was hard. She hadn't thought about it before, but what if she had something to do with his seizure –or whatever it was that happened- to him? Though that still didn't explain the sudden random flashes she had running through her mind that day. But maybe that was just all in her imagination. Because really? How could she have taken part on anything that happened to him?
Taking a deep breath, Marie opened the door and walked in, firmly closing the door behind her.
She gasped and tightly clasped her hand around her mouth so that she wouldn't be able to make another sound.
There was Cody, still as pale as ever, lying motionlessly on the hospital bed, with practically a million wires and needles hooked up all over his arms.
"Oh Cody…" she whispered, tears wielding up at the corners of her eyes. She slowly sat down next to him, conscious of ever sound she made. "What happened to you?"
A sob rose in her throat and threaten to spill out.
She reached over, and nervously placed her hand over his.
A second later, another flash that she was terrifyingly familiar with streaked through her mind. Shocked, she pulled her hand away from Cody's. The heart-rate monitor next to her was going wild.
What just happened? Her heart was racing along with his. And more importantly, why was this happening to her?
Slowly, she inched her hand closer to his, concentrating. Placing merely her finger tip on his bare skin, the same sensation that had overcome her before was thriving to wash over her now. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of veins on his hands and wrist coming up to meet where her skin touched his. Slowly, more veins, thicker this time, rose and spread along his arm.
Realization hit home. "I did this to you?" she asked fearfully. "Oh Cody…I'm—I'm so sorry…"
---
Hours later, Marie found herself at her town's small and only train station, with a duffle bag filled with all the money she had and only a week's worth of clothes.
She pulled her green hoodie closer to her body, and careful not to have any skin to skin contact with any other passengers, guiltily boarded the last train of the day, not caring where it took her.