Disclaimer: I do not own Codename: Kids Next Door, nor do I own X-men and all it's concepts. All I own is the plot.

Thirteen
Bad luck wind been blowin' on my back
I was born to bring trouble wherever I'm at
With the number thirteen tattooed on my neck
That ink starts to itch
Black gon turn to red
I was born in the soul of misery
And I never had me a name
They just give me a number when I was young.
-by Danzig

Thirteen

13

He had seen it with Nigel, with Abby, and with Hoagie, but never in a thousand, no, a million years, did he ever see it happening to himself. Yet there it was before him, the undeniable proof made solid, made real, on the colorful face of a hastily made birthday cake. Thirteen candles. Thirteen wax testaments that stood like graves to symbolize the thirteen years he had lived, and lost. The same thirteen flames that had danced and wavered their loathsome good-byes to a thousand children before him.

The same thirteen candles that had embodied the ridding of old for the coming of new as they melted and cooled across the white icing. He couldn't bring himself to blow out the candles, content enough to watch them became nothing more then shapeless lumps and burnt-out wicks. The moment all the candles dimmed and died, would be the moment his childhood came to an end.

'Happy Birthday' 'Wallabee', the cake said in two different styles, make a wish it implied. He could not tear his eyes away. All he saw was the wish he wanted more then anything to make. His breath was growing heavier as his emotions began to seep through. The regret and anxiety inundated his mind, and in instants he wished more then anything that he could take back the last thirteen years of his life. He wanted to purify them of tragedy, to rid them of regrets. He wanted to continue fighting alongside Nigel, wanted to continue reading comic books and playing card games with Hoagie. He wanted to return some of Abby's good council, give her advice, and most of all, he wanted to sit on the roof with Kuki and watch the sun as it set.

These thoughts led to another tangent, a darker tangent as the voice of guilt swept through his mental guard. He wanted to take back his powers. He wanted to save his mother. He opened his eyes, without remembering whether he closed them or not, and realized he was no longer standing in the tree house. He was in his garage, and it was no longer his birthday, and the cake was gone. In its place sat one single white house candle, and it was three weeks earlier.

His emotions were running wild, a maelstrom of grief, anger, rage and regret tearing at his innards, accelerating his heart and hampering his breath. Tears were sliding down his flushed cheeks, dying at his lips as his fists shook with the pent up anger below.

The garage windows glittered in the light of the tiny fire, and, forgetting his original intentions, he lashed out at them. He was deaf to his own anguished cry, his ears too preoccupied with the sound of shattering glass as shards fell lightly to the ground. He drew back and attacked again, and again and again, his body temperature increasing sporadically with every attack, until his hand was nothing more then a bloody pulp and his body felt as thought it was burning from the inside. But he was too possessed by rage to feel it.

Too overcome with the tide of blinding madness, to see the tiny candle flickering and growing irregularly in the non existent breeze, too blind to see the blood spilling down his twitching muscles and pooling along the ground, to blind to see his arm uncoil too early. His fists fly forward, and he was too blind to see the sudden burst of light leaping toward his tattered hand.

The sound of glass exploding into pieces came to his ears, but the pain never came. Instead, there was fire.

Something crashed.

The funeral candle was gone, the shattered glass, the blood, but the fact his mother had died in an explosion remained and so did the fire. Thirteen tiny flames faltered before his eyes as a gust of air struck him from behind.

"Wallabee Beatles, prepare for decommissioning!" For the first time he tore his eyes away from the flames, and caught Kuki's gaze briefly.

"Ah need more time." He muttered, suddenly aware of all he hadn't done, all he hadn't said. Something grabbed him from behind and he panicked."Put me down! Ah need more time!"

"You've had all the time in the world teenager!" Whoever it was grabbing his arms must have been strong, because no matter how much he flailed, they wouldn't let go. Wally tried desperately to escape, but one look at Kuki, and he knew it was over. "Come on boys, bring him over!"

The two boys complied, but Wallabee Beatles was never truly one to give up. One of the boys tripped over a plank dislodged in their intrusion, and Wally took this moment to tear his arm away from its ensnarement. His eyes searched for Kuki's, but fell back on the face of the birthday cake instead. One of the candles was still alive. He centered all his attention on the single flame, and beckoned it toward him. It grew sharply and leapt into his palm.

With a wild glint in his eyes, he shoved the flame into the second boy's face. The boy leapt back screaming, releasing the Australian in order to stamp out the fire quickly spreading over his head. Wally spun, only to find the other boy running toward the door where a terrified numbuh eighty-six stood frozen, with weapon drawn. Her communicator was raised to her mouth in the other hand.

There was only enough time for realization to dawn on Wally's face before another craft crashed through the ceiling. With the fire still burning in his palm, Wally shot at the operatives wildly, filling the air with a fiery rain, aiming at everything that fell. Soon every leaf was alight, the wood crackling and snapping as the hungry flames leapt from surface to surface without prejudice. The tree house was alive with flames.

"Kuki!" Wallabee yelled as he caught a glimpse of her staring at him from across the room as she cowered away from the flames. "Kuki!"

He quickly closed the distance between them, careful to dodge the flaming debris as he grabbed her hand. "We've got to get out of here."

"But Wally . . . " He yanked her arm. "Come on!"

He dragged her out of the living room just as one of the buses exploded, shaking the ground and throwing them both forward. Wally leapt to his feet without hesitation, but Kuki struggled to keep up as he dragged them deeper into the bowels of the tree house.

Authors Note: This is the prologue, or the beginning chapter. It is a concept that will be continued only if I see that people like to read this. Please review, and if anyone is confused or has any ideas on how I can improve, don't be afraid to email me. Flames are allowed, though I would strongly encourage constructive criticism in their stead.