There is no separate category for only Wolverine, so I have to put this fic in the X-Men category.
So for a while now, I have been plagued by several plot bunnies to write a Wolverine fic. I feel like Logan is a really complex character, and he's definitely not Tony Stark, so this is new for me.
I named this one after a line from the song "Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol and Martha Wainright. This song has been haunting me for about a week now. But it really is beautiful, in a sad, lonely sort of way.
I do not own anything. I don't even own a Wolverine t-shirt, but at the way things are looking, that will probably change soon.
On the Cold Ground
He is wrenched from the dream, sitting up abruptly, feral growls emanating from his throat. He is covered in a cold sweat, his muscles trembling as he struggles for control. Logan glances down to see that his claws are fully extended from their resting place within his hands, their metallic surface reflecting the moonlight in strange patterns. He stares at them a moment more before he finally wills them back, away, the familiar yet painful sliding concluded with the repairing of his flesh. After all this time, the sting of his claws slipping back into his hands still hurts him.
No matter how many times he is injured, the pain never dulls, never fails to incapacitate him. He hates it, but he welcomes the pain because it makes him feel alive, human. Beneath all his superhuman senses, he needs something to keep him grounded, and pain serves that purpose.
Logan rises from the bed slowly, the adamantium in his bones feeling even heavier than usual. Moving to the window, he rests his forehead against the cool glass, closing his eyes. Even with the window closed, he can smell the fresh, earthy scent of a light rain in the distance.
The nightmares have been getting worse. Every night, the visions swarm his mind, memories he knows but cannot remember. Terrifying and ugly images, ones that haunt him even when he wakes. They linger on the corner of his mind and threaten to destroy what is left of his sanity.
But, every once and a while, he dreams of her: the girl with dark hair and deep eyes, the one who sings to him and holds him as he struggles to overcome the beast inside of himself. This woman calls to him through his dreams and encourages him to rise above the animal he is on the brink of becoming. She speaks to him in a loving, tender voice, gently caresses his hands, pausing on the very spot where his claws emerge. This woman is not afraid of him. She loves him for exactly who he is.
He doesn't know who she is, but he wants her. The animalistic yearning continuously surfaces in his mind, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. He wants someone to love him, to comfort him through his nightmares. The struggle he is engaged in is not an easy or delicate one, and he is tired of being alone.
The Wolverine needs someone.
So I might make this into a series of short oneshots for Wolvie, but I really don't know yet. We'll see.
Read and Review, please! :)