Cough Syrup, a x-men fanfic

"Shoot them. Now."

"…"

"Shoot them, or I will. Then you'll have me to contend with afterwards."

BANG!

The gunshots had rung out loudly in the almost deafening quiet of the rest of the room that they had been in. Afterwards….silence. The mother and child he had been forced to murder lying dead in front of him. Eyes cold and expressionless as they stared into his soul, and ripped his heart into millions of pieces. Those eyes haunted the mutant day and night for two weeks…and they were all that he could remember of his life.

Life's Too Short Too Even Care At All, Whoa.

I'm Losing My Mind,

Losing My Mind,

Losing Control.

Frankie knew his name, how old he was, and where he was from. But for some reason that he just couldn't understand, he didn't remember anything else. He had to be reminded each day who everyone else around this place was. All but Henry. That nightmare of a man was burned into his brain as well. The way he watched him, waiting for Frankie to pull the trigger…the look of complete satisfaction when the man had done as he was told. The way his shoulders had slumped in defeat, and how he had been told that this was his life now. How there was nothing else for him.

If I Could Find A Way,

To See This Straight, I'd Run Away.

To Some Fortune That I Should Have Found By Now.

Frankie went through the motions of the day to day activities that were his life. His mind was getting worse though. At first he had been able to remember names and faces for at least a few days. But now, even though he knew that he was seeing these people day in and day out…he just couldn't remember them. It killed him when he would ask that pretty red head for her name each day, tears in her eyes because they were apparently best friends and he couldn't ever remember her. He asked why he was like this, but she never answered him, only would look at him sadly before excusing herself from the room, probably to cry in private but he couldn't be sure.

It was days later that he finally found out why his mind was in such shambles. Why he dealt with random headaches that sometimes had him stopping whatever he was doing because he just couldn't see from the pain. He learned of the man that was the reason for all of this. Henry McCoy…the Dark Beast. The man that insulted him for his memory loss, the man that said he was only useful because of his powers and that, if it weren't for them, he would have been thrown out long ago. He was a useful puppet, and that was why he was still living here. If you could call what Franklin was doing living.

And So I Run Now To The Things They Say Could Restore Me.

Restore Life The Way It Should Be.

I'm Waiting For This Cough Syrup To Come Down.

He tried to be strong, tried to show that man that he could take whatever was dished out. But he couldn't do it. He wasn't strong enough to take all of this. He was tired of the killing, of the pain for which there was no relief. He was tired of the pleads for mercy from people, knowing that Henry probably enjoyed how it hurt Frankie to go through this. He tried to work through it all…but he couldn't.

The gun in his hand was the one that Henry had given him for his very first kills. A simple revolver, but it got the job done none the less. He stared at it, sobbing silently and steeling himself to use it. He didn't want to have to do this…wished it hadn't had to come to this. But he couldn't go another day. He just hoped that Jeanie (he only just recalled her name and that was after a little struggle with his damaged mind) wouldn't be too hurt by this.

He looked at the Tigger plushie that was on the bed he was sitting on, neatly resting on the pillows, his mind struggling again to remind him today that Jeanie had given him that when he had first come here. He stared at it for a solid two minutes before looking away, looking at the wall opposite him as he brought the barrel of the gun to rest under his chin. His hand shook violently…his breathing was the only sound….

One More Spoon Of Cough Syrup Now, Whoa-oh

Oh…..