The usual disclaimer applies – don't own the X-men, never will, and will never make any money on this story. Logan and Warren belong to Marvel and I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning: A touch of implied m/m sex, small amount of implied violence, and quite a bit run-of-the-mill swearing.
A/N: I wrote this short story quite some time ago as an exercise to stretch myself as a writer, never intending to post it. After I rediscovered it while rummaging through old files, I read it, and said what the heck…why not upload and see what people think. This weird idea was triggered by a strange dream, if I recall correctly. Haven't done my usual endless editing or polishing, so it's pretty much the way I first typed it out.
Stranded is written with absolutely nothing but dialogue in the form of log entries. I found that both limiting and freeing. Limiting in that you have to make certain the character says enough to provide insight into underlying emotions while also voicing adequate descriptions so the reader can create a picture in their mind of what is happening. It was freeing in that you don't have to worry about communicating thoughts, providing a lot of descriptive narrative, etc. What the character says is what you get.
And, I've never written Wolverine before (another stretch), so if he isn't quite in keeping with Uncanny X-men characteristics, my apologies up front.
With that said, I present "Stranded" and hope you enjoy!
Stranded
LOGAN'S LOG
Day 6
Damn! Wish Cyke or somebody was here that knew better how to work this fuckin' equipment. Says it's recordin' and broadcastin', so what the hell. Whoever out there's watchin', hope this blasted thing's set right.
Name's Wolverine – Logan. Human. An X-men from way back. If ya don't know what an X-man or a Human is, this message ain't for you. Get it to Planet Earth…wherever the fuck that is…to the X-men. They ain't hard to find if ya go askin'.
And I'm recordin' cuz if our messages aren't heard, then we prob'bly been dead a long time. Maybe years. Somebody outta know what happened, just for the record. Got thinkin' 'bout it and don't want everybody wonderin' where the hell we went if there's any sorta chance to let 'em know.
Thought it out, and here's what's gonna happen. I'm startin' at the beginning to get ya caught up, then do updates whenever there's somethin's worth sayin'. Or 'til the damn battery goes dead in this piece of shit shuttle.
Life went to hell five days ago. S'pose to be a routine jaunt from the orbital station back to the X-mansion. Wings…that's Archangel – Warren Worthington with three sticks after his name…he was pilot and I was ridin' shotgun. Just the two of us headin' back to Earth. We was just enterin' atmosphere when all kinds of alarms started wailin' and the shuttle started bucking like a bronco with a burr up its ass. Wings was fighting the controls and yellin' at me to call someone. Like who the hell can come get us when we're falling outta control miles above the ground. Birdbrain!
Then Wings started screamin'. I don't mean yellin', I mean screamin' and holdin' his head like it was gonna explode. I've seen bubs in a lotta pain and he was. So now we're outta control and the fuckin' pilot looks like he's gonna die. So I grabbed the shotgun stick and tried to get us outta of the turbulence when Wings collapses on controls. Now the shuttle was really messed up! Hadda shove him on the floor and try to stop us from tailspinin'. Not sure how, but I managed.
Whatever was messin' with Wings hit me then, too. Felt like was bein' torn in two – kinda like from the inside out. Fucked with my eyes cuz I could swear I saw another me – pulling away from my body. Everything was kinda doubled. Fuck, I dunno how to describe it, but thought my head was gonna explode! Then…everything snapped back – actually felt it hit me. Fuckin' weird!
Then outta nowhere, somethin' opened up in front of us – best way to say it. Swallowed us whole, all kinds of crazy lights and flashes and lots of whirling then…silence….then we're in atmosphere again. Smooth this time, but coming in hot and too fuckin' close to the ground. I pulled up on the stick and barely saved us from making one helluva crater.
Hafta admit, my heart was pumping. But I got us landed in one piece. Wings was still out cold. Tried the comm – nothin' but static. Checked Worthington, heartbeat and breathin' was good, but still no sign of him wakin' up, which was weird with his healing factor and all. Shoulda known somethin' bad got 'em right then, but I was too busy to think more 'bout it.
Kept trying the comm. Then checked over the shuttle – everything seemed good. Took it up for a little spin to see where we landed. Nothin' looked right – no buildings, no people, no roads – just a shitload of nothing. I kept going – hundreds of miles…nothin'. That's when I saw it on the horizon – moonrise, but there was two of 'em. Two moons. Fuck! Double fuck! Looked like whatever swallowed us, spat us out on some godforsaken dirtball planet where nobody lived. I got not a fuckin' clue where we're at – the place prob'bly doesn't even gotta name.
When Wings started comin' to, he didn't look right at all – sorta dazed and…weird. He didn't say nothin', just looked around all wild-eyed. Oh, but that was the calm before the fuckin' storm. 'Cuse me, Wings, but I gotta tell it like it was. He was outta his fuckin' mind! Still is actually. The man went cracked on me. Screamin' and screeching and trying to get out through the fuckin' shuttle window, then the hatch window – fuckin' nuts! Then he attacked me 'fore I could even get the damn shuttle landed. Had to punch him out or we'da crashed.
I found us a spot near a river and set 'er down. Wings started stirrin' so I slugged him again just to be safe. Then I tied him up and waited. Didn't take long. Jesus, what a ruckus! You'da thought I was peeling his skin off with my claws. Never heard nothin' like the sounds he was makin'. Half scream and half screech owl puts it pretty well. Nearly made me deaf! He'd gone either completely wacko or feral. I was leaning toward feral. Could see it in the eyes. Those weren't human eyes no more. Those was animal eyes.
I checked the shuttle's first-aid supplies and found nothin' to knock him out, so I had two choices. Punch him out again or let him wear himself out. He was trussed up tight, so I let him scream. Went on for hours – felt that way. I'll never forget the sounds… Had to leave the shuttle – couldn't take the sight or noise. Nosed around a bit, but mostly just waited.
Think his voice finally gave out and he quit strugglin' – looked like hell, smelled worst, but I took pity and inched my way over to him. He watched me like he was gonna gut and quarter me at the first opportunity.
Did you know that Wings calms down when ya stroke the feathers? Yep, though he'll prob'bly swear I'm lyin'. Took me a few minutes to figure it out. Nearly lost a hand when he tried to bite me and those wings ain't just for flyin' and show – they're weapons as my ass will tell ya. He can kick like a mule, too, even half unconscious from screamin' and flailin' for hours. But I got up behind him and started strokin'. The more I stroked, the less growlin' there was. Did I mention that already? Not like a dog growl, more like a growl-hiss sorta thing. Damn weird. But he finally let go and drifted off. Pure exhaustion, I think. Ya know, he looks pretty angelic was he's sleeping and not wantin' to rip ya apart.
Once he was out, I got us situated not knowing how long 'fore help arrived. It was already dark, so's I buttoned up the shuttle and dug out the emergency rations and water. Tried the comm again and made sure the emergency beacon was doing its thing.
Man, when Wings woke up and smelled the food, I thought he'd break outta the ropes tryin' to get at it. He was still animal and not to be trusted, so I had to feed him. Think he woulda gone through every bite of food we had if I'd let him. I knew Wings had a big appetite, but fuck!
I think the feeding stuff helped him trust me or somethin'. He didn't look like he wanted to rip me apart so much after that. Then, though, I realized we had a problem. Wings likely had to pee at some point. So I rigged up a harness and leash, figuring since he's feral, he ain't gotta clue how to undo knots. That was the theory anyways. If I lost him …well, I tried.
Sometimes I'm not the quickest, I admit. I didn't think about the clothes. Feral brains don't know nothin' 'bout clothes. Wings pissed his pants. He'll hate me for sayin' it, but that's how shitty life is here. I was figurin' shit out as we went. People say I'm a feral, but Jesus! 'Til you've taken care of a real feral, you ain't gotta clue. I tell ya, I was prayin' real hard after that first night that Wings got his brains back and soon. Told myself I was NOT wipin' his sorry ass!
What was that? Jesus, Wings! What the hell is goin' on out there? Shit. I'll be back. Now how the hell do ya pause this flamin' thing…fuck…okay, got it.
###
Day 6
Think I've got this damn thing figured out now. Sorry 'bout that 'fore. Wings was makin' a ruckus and had to check it out. Some poor critter decided to enter his territory. Can we say lunch? Not sure I'm gonna get use to that sight.
Anyway, the clothes. The pants were a problem, so we either had to lose 'em or I had to teach him what to do. Believe me, having a bare-ass Worthington walkin' around is not what I wanna be seein', so my mission is to teach a bird how to drop his drawers and pull 'em back up.
All well and good if the bird wants to wear clothes. This one decided on day two that clothes were the enemy. He had ripped off everything waist up 'fore I even knew what was happenin'. Let me tell ya, anyone who says Worthington doesn't have a nasty temper, ain't seen him when he wants outta something – and he wanted outta those clothes in a bad way.
I won't take ya blow-by-blow through our "discussion," but we hammered out a truce. No shirt, no shoes, and the pants got cutoff to shorts. He is a strong sonnabitch, but I got extreme healin' factor and stamina goin' for me.
Sometimes, you do literally hafta beat someone into submission. I am alpha. I rule this roost. Wings just gotta get use to it. I think I beat it into his birdbrain that the pants stay. Underwear is optional, but pants stay on. He's sneaky though. When I'm not lookin', he tries to ditch 'em. I'm not backing off on this. He'll learn, even if I gotta make him a new pair outta fig leaves every day!
That brings us to day three. At the rate we're goin' through rations, I need to go huntin'. Anythin' will do. Our healin' factors should deal with poisonous stuff, least that's what I tell myself. Wing's screechin' and carryin' on likely scared away any prey for two-miles, but I headed out. Was nice to be alone with time to think 'bout everything. That can be bad, too…thinkin' can, cuz when I realized nobody would know where the fuck we was, things started lookin' pretty dim. Then again, never underestimate the X-men.
Where we'd landed was pretty dry – almost desert, but still plenty of game to be had, but small stuff. Bagged a few critters I hoped tasted like chicken and not like somethin' we wanted to spit out. Was hot, too. Don't like the heat so much, and started thinkin' about moving us.
We ate pretty good that night – meat and berries of some sort. Wings had calmed down and was waitin' for me like some dog chained in the yard. Actually, I think he was happier about the food. The pants were off, but in one piece and with a reminder, we managed to get those back where they belonged.
Day four, I decided we needed to search again for some people. With Wings tied in back, I musta circled this dirtball a half-dozen times. No one home. Scanners confirmed. Decided to settle us somewhere greener than we'd been. Greener should mean more food.
Wings wasn't so keen on the new digs and stayed in the shuttle for hours. He kept sniffing the air and making strange little sounds I ain't even gonna try to describe. Started gettin' on my nerves, so I booted his ass out the door – still leashed, of course. He looked so confused and scared, pacin' back and forth half the time and cowarin' the other half. It woulda gotten to anyone. What was I suppose to do? So I sat on the ground and talked gentle-like to him. He calmed down and eventually sat next to me. Seemed okay after that.
Okay, boys 'n girls. Enough for one day. It's gettin' late and I think tomorrow will be stressful for Wings. Being grounded is started to really upset him, so we're gonna try teaching him to come when I whistle – like a falcon or whatever bird it is they do that with. Food will be my bait, so no dinner for him tonight. He's is gonna be one unhappy bird!
###
Day 7
Just so ya know, I'm not in a good mood. Wing's is gonna die – I'm gonna do it, I swear! Damn chickenshit bit me – twice! Drew fuckin' blood! Gr-r-r-r.
Had it all worked out in my mind – how I was goin' train him like those falcons. Think it woulda worked if he was a falcon – or even a freakin' bird! Shit, he's more like a fuckin' two-year-old gone feral. That's what I'm thinkin'. 'Nuf brains to be a bullheaded dipshit thinkin' he's gonna do what he's wantin'. Well, I can be stubborn with the best of 'em, Wings is gonna learn to come or he can fend for himself. Damn stubborn rich ass can take care of himself!
Oh, and I suppose you wanna know 'bout day five. This here's day seven, case ya haven't gotten that straight. Five day and I was makin' progress with his clothes. Amazin' what an animal learns with the right incentives – food and fear. Figure it's payback for all the shit Wings gave me over the years.
Our new camp was an improvement – more prey and other stuff like fruit. The creek's got fish-like critters that are easy pickins. Less somethin' changes, I'll prob'bly keep us here a while.
Sniffed out a herd of somethin' over the ridge. They look like a cow got it on with one of those buffalos. Big – lots of meat. If they hang 'round, we'll be eatin' good for a long time. I know whatcha thinkin' – gotta have variety. Birdbrain prob'bly ain't meant to be eatin' only meat, so I makin' sure we got some other stuff, too.
Shit, what else 'bout day five. Oh yea. Ya know the drier place had less bugs. Here they're worse, but I can handle it. Geez! How could I forget…the b-a-t-h. Wings was smellin' and it was offendin' my nose, so ya gotta know how bad it was. Figured we'd better hose him down. I was not gonna haul his ass down to the creek figurin' he'd fly off. Found stuff to make one of those campin' showers. Ya know the kind – fill the bag with water, hang it up, and punch a few holes?
I was all ready for a fight, but Wings didn't too much. He kept tryin' to drink the water, flappin' those big wings, but got him rinsed at least. I ain't scrubbin' him down – no fuckin' way. Anyways, who's 'round but me havin' to smell him, so it's good 'nuf. After that, I washed up down at the creek while Wings got this feathers all back the way he likes. Called preenin', right? Think so. Weird to watch, but somewhere in that fucked up brain of his, he remembers how to do it. Kept him from irritatin' me for a good hour.
Damn, sure wish I'd brought my cigars! Startin' to drive me nuts. Decent cup of Joe and a cold brew would be good, too. Don't need much to survive, but cigars, beer, and coffee sure make survivin' better.
You all better be comin' for us, that's all I'm sayin'. This planet won't get to me, but if I'm havin' to live with the 6-foot, 2-year-old dodo bird much longer, I'm gonna go crazy! Prof better be prepared for some serious brain rewiring, too. Wings ain't showin' any signs of snappin' outta it.
Did I mention the water here tastes weird? Prob'bly somethin' in it we shouldn't be drinkin', but so far haven't noticed anythin' our healin' factors can't handle. Same goes for the food, those berry things last meal turned Wings a little off-color, but he was okay a few minutes later.
One thing I am likin' 'bout him in this condition – he don't talk. Sqawks and screeches and growls and makes other weird sounds, but no-o-o talking. Maybe the Prof can leave that part alone. Wings used to really get on my nerves like that.
What the? Shit! Wings got his shorts off again. If that sonnabitch ripped them, I'm gonna beat 'em. Tomorrow people!
###
Day 9
When the hell is anyone gonna show up? Where are you guys? It's day nine already! Day eight was nothin' but me teachin' birdbrain to come at my whistle, which he's finally figurin' out. He keeps yanking at the ropes and tryin' to fly off. Getting' annoyin' as hell. Now he's decided to drive me nuts by voicing his unhappiness at that whole grounded issue. It's a new sound – a new torture device, more like it. I'm callin' it his bitchin' sound. And man is he bitchy! All it was all fuckin' morning is yank the rope, bitch. Yank the rope, bitch. Then he'd chew on it, look at me, and squawk. Motherfucker can't figure out how to shit without dirtyin' himself, but he the hell knows how to tell me he's wantin' the rope gone. Should just do it! Then he could go off, ditch the pants, and be all natureboy. Prob'bly survive just fine, or come beggin' for food whenever he got hungry, just like some stray dog. Fine with me! But you guys would be holdin' me accountable…
The herd came in close today, so I took a small one down before lunch. Only so much Wings and I can eat 'fore it goes bad. No sense wastin' meat by taking down more than we can eat. I'm gettin' the hang of how long to cook the meat 'fore it gets tough. Not like good steaks back home – gets tough quick. Here you gotta cook it only a short bit. Wings would prob'bly be just fine with it raw, but I'm likin' it better cooked. Found a big patch of those berry things and some other stuff today, too.
I'm gonna hafta figure out somethin' for Wings to replace the pants. His ripped 'em bad yesterday. The survival suits in the shuttle might work, but they'll be hot, so I thinkin' he'll like those even less. Might just hafta do something with animal skins – lots of those walkin' around. Prob'bly need to so something 'bout my own clothes, too. It's warm here and somethin' with less coverage would be good. Ha! A project, as Cyke would say. I can see it gettin' kinda boring 'round here, so I might need projects. You guys better get your asses over here soon!
That's it.
###
Day 9 Log 2
I'm sayin' this right up front. Wings is gone. Yup. Kicked his no-good, sonnabitch ass out. A guy can only put up with so much shit. And this was big shit. So I chased him off. Oh, he's hangin' 'round – I can smell him. Watchin' me. Prob'bly planning what to do. Scratch that – he don't plan nothin'. He just…does. No thinkin' woulda told him to try that shit with me!
Need to make this clear – very clear. I did nothin' to encourage him. Not into that. Okay for other people, just not my slant. Didn't think it was Wings either. Thinkin' his brain is wa-a-y more messed up than I thought.
Wasn't gonna say it, but you guys need to know why he's chickenfeed if he shows up here again. As embarrassin' as it is, hafta say it. That motherfucker tried humping me. ME! Of all the goddamn, wacked, fucked up things to try. Mad? You betcha I was mad. No one tries that shit on me.
So he's gone. Don't care no more what he does. Wings can take care of himself.
End of report!
###
Day 10
He's following me. Went huntin' and there he was, hanging up in the sky, circling 'round like a vulture. He is not, I repeat, not allowed back.
Kinda nice not havin' to worry 'bout the birdbrain. Do my own thing whenever I want. No more damn screechin' when he wants somethin' or those damn cooing noises when he's wantin' to be petted like some stupid dog. Did I tell ya 'bout that? God, there's no man left in that brain. No self-respect at all. He'd come up all submissive like and practically crawl onto my lap like a damn dog. Can we say pathetic? Had to do what he wanted just to shut him up. No more. I can sit by the fire in peace now. Well, mostly, 'cuz I know he watchin'. Well, he can watch all he wants, he ain't comin' back.
###
Day 11
He's torturing me again. Bastard's out there right now crying that god-awful howling screech of his. Can ya hear it? Gonna drive me insane! I'm stayin' in the shuttle tonight, door closed. He can screech all fuckin' night – don't care.
###
Day 13
Been a couple days. Call me weak. Call me soft. Whatever. He's back. Bastard wore me down. Don't be quick to judge, though, less ya lived through what I did the past four days. Not even gonna tell ya all the details. You can just fuckin' use your imagination. Goddamn pathetic sonnabitch is back, that's all ya need to know. Course, he came back naked as the idiot jaybird he is. Rigged up some shorts outta a survival suit and I don't give one damn how hot and uncomfortable he is.
Beatin' the shit outta him and kicking him out musta knocked some sense into the two brain cells he has left. Thinkin' somewhere in that head of his, he's got it now, though. I'm alpha. I set the rules and he obeys. He comes now when I whistle. No more I'll-come-when-I-damn-well-feel-like-it crap. Real submissive like. If he had a tail, it'd be tucked up his ass. Gonna try some other commands now that he's got the right attitude.
Tomorrow, it's gonna be 'stay,' cuz if that motherfucker doesn't stop following me 'round like a lost puppy, I'm gonna do somethin' drastic. For the love of god, what's goin' on in that feral brain of his? Jesus Christ! I'll keep ya posted on the educatin' stuff strictly for amusement purposes.
###
Day 14
Fuck, guys, where the hell are ya? You gonna fetch our sorry asses one of these days or not? Hey, fetch! Maybe I can teach Fiddo-bird to fetch! Has possibilities…
Somethin's workin' in that peabrain that wasn't 'fore, cuz he figured out stay after only a few knockdowns. Fear works best on the bastard. Fear of my sluggin' him. Don't judge 'til you're in my shoes, people. He's got lessons to learn and learn fast or I'm not responsible for my actions. I'm living with a 6-foot dodo bird here that don't know jackshit. You try it and see how long you stay sane or nonviolent.
Storms been brewin' on the horizon last few hours – can smell the rain and lightening. Animals are all restless, the big herd moved out a few hours ago. I'm thinking a big blows comin'. Even Wings is acting weird, pacing around then jumping into the air and landing a short while later, just to go up for a look again. Not like him. Usually he's up there sometimes for hours. That's good, cuz he's not in my way then.
He's a curious sonnabitch. Wants to watch everything I do. Damn annoying. That's the two-year-old comin' out. Gotta see. Gotta be messin' with stuff. Ha! Don't think I told ya 'bout his little lesson with fire. He didn't like it much at first – really freaked him, but then he stopped being jumpy 'round it and got stupid. Touched the hot stones and you shoulda heard the screech. Damn near split my eardrums. Course the healin' factor kicked in and the burn disappeared quick, but he's never forgotten. See – just proves my point about pain and fear bein' good teaching tools. Believe me, I need good teaching tools with him!
Case you're wondering, I'm doing alright here. Lots of room to roam. No stupid assholes, no cities, no pollution…must be what it was like back home 'fore people were all over the place. Still miss the cigars, beer, and coffee. Thinkin' of riggin' up somethin' to make alcohol. Ha! Maybe then I'll get Wings drunk for some fun.
Later, people.
###
Day 19
Been several days since my last report. Nothin' much to say, so why bother.
Rained for three fuckin' days. I didn't mind too much, 'cept for all the mud. Wings hated it – being wet and not bein' able to fly. He went out once, then refused after that. By day three, he was orn'ry as hell. Snapped at me with those damn perfect teeth and stayed in the shuttle. Then I gotta smellin' somethin' and realized my mistake lettin' stay inside. Dragged his ass out and told him to fuckin' pee and crap outside the shuttle. Damn moron! And guess who has to clean it up? That'd be me.
When it got done rainin', turned hot and humid. Not fun I'm telling ya. Think Wings gotta bathe more often. Prob'bly me, too, but he's not complainin'.
Got a berry wine goin' if it don't turn to vinegar. I'll take any kinda of alcohol at this point, bubs. A necessity if you're livin' with birdbrain.
Got my clothes the way I want 'em now – much less. Wings is doing good keeping his shorts on. We're as tan as beach bums. Gotta say it looks better on him than me, though.
Hey, he's learned to come, stay, and fetch now. I throw a stick or somethin' and he'll fly after it, act like he's killin' it, and bring it back proud as nothin'. Kinda cute in the stupid sorta way. Jesus, that sounds lame. We're talking 'bout Wings here like he's a sappy beagle or somethin'. But it's the truth. A stick-fetching birdman. That's what it's come down to. Man, my life is pathetic. Jesus! I'm done.
###
Day 20-something
Wings brought me a gift today. Was wonderin' where the fucker went when he disappeared over the hill. Then he was droppin' back into camp holdin' out his prize. Some dead critter I never saw til then and Wings was holdin' it out all proud-like. Then saw somethin' hadn't seen since his brain got fried – a smile. Think he was in toddler mode right then, cuz I never saw a bird smile. Though, maybe if they didn't have those beaks, they would.
Anyways, he was smilin'. Maybe learned it from me. Took awhile, though, since there ain't a lot of fuckin' reasons for doin' that 'round here. So I smile back and made a big deal of it. Then just like that, the smile and the two-year-old were gone and Wings was all-bird again, staring at me like I was daft.
###
Day 30-something
People, if you don't get your fuckin' asses out here and get us off the hellhole, I'm goin' to commit murder. Everythin' was good for days. We've got our routine now. We get up early to hunt, Wings scouting above. He makes a weird call when he spots somethin'. Or I follow a scent til we find what we want. I take it down, we go back, and cook it up. That's mornings. Afternoon's for snoozin', picking fruits or whatever, and cleaning up camp. Evening's we sometimes fish, then eat again 'fore hitting the hay. Sometimes, I'll go out at night to scout 'round, but I make Wings stay put.
Like I was sayin', everythin' was good. Then last night that birdbrain decided he didn't like sleeping on his side of the shuttle. Sneaky bastard musta figured out when I was really out, cuz I didn't hear a thing. Next thing I know, I'm waking up to his face right in mine. Damn near scared the shit outta him when I yelled and jumped up. Then he had the nerve to screech in a pathetic sorta way when I kicked him in the ass. He crawled into a corner like a whipped pup and just stared at me with those damn blue eyes. He wouldn't quit starin' and shakin', so I just left.
Had to work off the anger, so I headed out to find somethin' I could kill legally. When I come back, he's still in the corner and I swear there's tears. Bird don't cry. What the fuck? Jesus, if you'd seen the look – Wings was feelin' bad. Kinda felt sorry for the bastard with everything bein' like it is. Hey, I'm all he's got, so I did the strokin' stuff and 'fore long, he was lookin' better.
Maybe that 2-year-old came out again, ya know? Maybe somethin' scared him that night. I dunno, but if it happens again, I'm thinkin' I won't be so shocked and maybe cut him some slack. Yeah, prob'bly that's what I'll do.
###
Day 30-something else
'kay people, ya need to get our asses outta here! Wings damn near scared the shit outta me today and I'm not lyin'. He started actin' outta it, dazed like, then suddenly was holdin' his head and lettin' loose with that damn screechin' like he was bein' skinned alive. Next I knew, he was on the ground in a ball, and it got even worse. The screechin' turned to screamin' and whimperin' – more human-like. Then back to the bird screeches. Back 'n forth...most god-awful thing I ever heard. The poor bastard was in a helluva lot of pain, mostly in his head I'm guessin'.
The eyes was different when it was screams – like maybe somethin' human trying to get out. If so, it was that two-year-old. He would look at me all scared and like I was 'pose to make it stop. What could fuckin' I do? Nothin'! Just sit there and hold and stroke like crazy while he's screechin' and moanin' and whimperin'.
Went on for awhile – maybe ten minutes. Longest fuckin' ten minutes I lived in years! Somethin's really wrong with Wings and you gotta get us outta here.
He's okay now, though. Ya'd never know anythin' happened. Good thing about being an animal – lotta stuff doesn't stick, ya know? Wings is like that – yesterday didn't happen, tomorrow doesn't exist…there's just now. Less ya repeat it and repeat it, most stuff just doesn't stay with him. Maybe that's a better way to live. No worries. No baggage. Live in the moment, heard it said. That's Wings. Maybe he's not worryin' it happen again, but I the hell am.
###
Day 40-something
Shit, I know it's been a while since I bothered reportin'. Just never seemed to be in the mood. Told Wings the other day that we're likely on our own for good. No one's coming. No one knows where the fuck we are and they prob'bly don't even know we're alive. So why the hell bother with the messages? Just seemed pointless.
Then I gotta thinkin'…X-men never give up. The gang won't stop lookin', I told myself. So here I am. Maybe someone will hear me today.
Way back, I think I told ya I was glad Wings didn't talk. It's been how fuckin' long now since we ended up on this nowhere planet – 40 plus days if the shuttle's instruments are right. Think I was a bit hasty with that comment. Be nice to hear a voice other than my own once in a while. Kinda miss how Wings would wisecrack 'bout me and try to insult in his uppity, I'm-better-than-you smartass attitude. He got me good a few times, gotta admit. Just like I got him. Yeah, the good ol' days of us hatin' each other. Fun times. But now…shit, now he's just this wacked out, mixed up bird in a man's body with a two-year-old workin' the controls. Sucks. Big time.
He sleeps at my feet now, ya know. Happier there. Likes to stay close. Why, I haven't a fuckin' clue. I've whipped his ass so many times, you'd think he'd want to tear me open. But he just keeps comin' back for more. Sad.
Finally got him trained good, so I'm easin' up. He lives to play fetch. Ever hear of a bird playin' fetch? Like I said, he's one mixed up bastard.
Don't know if there'll be winter here, but things have started smellin' different the last few days. Like summer fadin' when things don't smell fresh no more. Could move us to another camp if it gets too cold, but I'm not sure Wings could handle it seein' how it freaked him out last time. No, think we'll stay put unless the weather gets really bad.
So I started piling up wood – at least the weapons on the shuttle are good for somethin'. Built a lean-to at the hatch and now we got ourselves a porch! Pretty proud of that – looks good! Figured out how to soften the animal skins I've been keepin'. Man, does that take time, but now we're getting quite a few blankets. Had to make Wings another pair of shorts and the skins worked for that, too. Did you know that tendons make good thread? Yep, add that to my survival skills.
Figured out how to do jerky and been drying whatever fruit and stuff I can find. I can sniff out the ones we like best, but the season is over and not much left out there. Wings has turned into a hell of a hunting partner. He swoops down on prey so fast he should splatter himself on the ground, but he never does. No wonder nobody could get one over on him in his element. He tackles the smaller stuff he can kill with his hands and I take on the big game. I've got my own style and very few targets get away. Between me and Wings, we're lethal. We're top of the food chain here!
'Cept there was somethin' come nosin' 'round few nights ago. Sounded big. Heard it out by the wood pile first, then closer to the shuttle door. Made my hair stand on end when it grunted and snorted. Wings crouched low to the floor, wings spread, teeth showing, and makin' that growl-hissing sound that still freaks me out. Woulda gone out there, but didn't know how Wings would react. Haven't heard it since, but its smell I got. Did follow its trail for a while the next day, but stopped a couple miles from camp. It was headin' toward the mountains.
###
Day 40-something
Happened again. Poor bastard, went on longer this time – half hour maybe. Less pain I think, but more confused this round, acting like a two-year-old cryin' and whimpering. Kept his eyes closed mostly and was shakin' so bad thought he was havin' convulsions.
I sat with him, stroking his wings – only thing that seems to help. That and rockin' him like a fuckin' baby. Tell ya, if this weren't Wings, you wouldn't catch me doin' none of this mother-shit. Fell asleep after a while with me holdin' him. I was worn out, so just sat there for a while thinkin' bout what might be happenin', but no brilliant ideas. And not like I can ask him!
Like 'fore, when he woke up, was like nothin' happened. He seems okay…well, okay for Wings given he's a bird slash toddler in a man's body. That whole fucked up mess is just wrong! Goddamn, I wanna know what the hell happened in that shuttle!
Umph! No sense wondering 'bout stuff that changes shit. What is, is. We deal with it. Me and Wings – we take what comes. Still, it's all fucked up shit in my book.
###
Day 50-something
A just quick report to tell ya I saw that animal and it is big! Predator all right. Nasty lookin' – all claws and teeth, big head, heavy body. A little like a bear, kinda like a puma, but not really. Too hard to explain, but just know it's prob'bly nothin' to mess with. Need to keep a close watch on birdboy since he's got territorial tendencies – least I think that's how Beast would put it! Wings' too dumb to know he's no match.
Decided we both needed a haircut. You'd think that be an easy one with everythin' we been through together, but no-o-o-o. Told him that the hair was getting' in the way of him seein' always hanging in his face. Don't matter whatcha say to Wings, he don't understand. Finally, hadda tie the hair back and slice it off in one swipe. Then he had the nerve to look at me as if askin' what all the fuss was 'bout. But we both got short hair again.
###
Day 70-something
It is fall folks. This dirtball planet is likely heading into winter. Think it's day 70 somethin', but I suspect that damn energy pod in the shuttle is running low on juice. So for now on, we're conservin' power. Weather's cooler and it's smellin' more like winter all the time. Think we're doing good on stockpiling supplies and wood. Got no idea if game stays 'round in the cold weather, so been keepin' everythin' on the shuttle powered down case we gotta move it later.
Wings' episodes still comin'. No pattern I can figure out or anythin' that triggers 'em. Think he's startin' to remember since they don't frighten him so much no more…longs I'm 'round, that is. The big baby still is wantin' me to told him when they hit. If I don't, then the screechin' and screamin' starts and I can't stand it – hurts my ears, so I give in. I know, I know. Soft. Lame. But you're not fuckin' here, so don't go makin' judgments.
###
Day 90-something
Fuckin' cold days we just went through. Not wantin' to use any power, we huddled under the skins in the shuttle to keep warm. Wind was wailing like crazy last night and Wings was nervous and jittery, so I did what I always do to calm him down. Worked mostly. He hates wearing the survival suit, but he'd freeze if he didn't. Seems to know that somehow and leaves it on.
His wings did help keep us warm – feathers are good insulators, but you prob'bly knew that. So there we huddled, hopin' the blizzard would end soon. Next morning, it had, but we was practically buried. Took forever to dig out. Had to be three feet of the white shit. Then by mid-day, it was melting. Go figure! This planet is fucked up.
###
Day 140-something
Short entry for the record. I didn't kill him. I wanted to. But I stopped myself. Damn winged freak is in heat. Think spring brought it on. Thought only females did that, so what the fuck? Ha! That's exactly what he's wantin' to do with yours truly. He won't let it rest. Tied him up finally to get some peace. God, this better pass soon or I swear I'll kill the sonnabitch.
###
Day 180-something
I don't have a fuckin' clue anymore how long we've been on this dirtball. Damn shuttle clock stopped a while back. Prob'bly couldn't move this hunk of junk now if we wanted. Nothin' much works in it anymore. This may be my last report cuz I'm thinkin' it may not even been transmittin'. Why bother? We'll both die of old age here…might as well face it.
Which leads me to somethin' I never thought I do. You gotta understand first that it's fuckin' lonely here. Me and Wings, we're all we got. He's not much of a talker, word-wise, but if ya pay attention…watch and listen…he talks all the time. All the gestures mean somethin', the different sounds he makes mean somethin'. I'm finally gettin' that. I know, he used to call me dense and slow-witted. Maybe I am. Maybe Wings was right.
He is all I got. There, I said it. Read into it whatcha want. Let your imagination run and you'll likely be right. But he's happier and that's the bottom line. Just so you're straight on this, I'm alpha. I will always be alpha, if ya get my drift. But Wings isn't complainin', so it must be okay with him.
###
Turned on this piece of shit for likely the last time. Maybe there's enough juice for a message, maybe not. I accepted that we're not gettin' rescued, so really don't matter. But in the mood….
Been two full dirtball years here – two summers, two winters…ya get the idea. We're good. Wings' the same as always, but happy, or at least he's not unhappy. I'd know it if he was. Read 'em pretty good now, especially if I listen to my feral side.
Speakin' of that, I feel myself slipping to that more often. Scares me. Might just keep makin' messages even if this piece of shit shuttle doesn't record or send it. Just outta habit and maybe it'll help me stay human. Don't know. Worth a try. Wings is a bad influence bein' feral, so's this planet. Nothin' much to keep me human, ya know? 'Cept Wings. Gotta do it for him cuz he just isn't feral enough. Still too much 2-year-old in that fucked up brain of his. Get himself killed in less than a week if I wasn't takin' care of him.
Since we become…shit, I hate how this is gonna sound, but who the fuck cares? Nobody's ever gonna hear this. Still…
Fuck – just spit it out. Umph! Since we become…mated, he listens better to me – does what I tell him. I'm lead – alpha male. Wings wants it that way. He doesn't hafta protect or chase off predators or make sure we eat. That falls to me. I'm okay with it – prefer it. We stay alive that way.
Wings keeps me goin'. If not for him, not sure I'd bother. He's… When he looks at me with those big blue eyes when he wants to crawl in my lap like some sap dog or little kid, it's kinda…sweet. He loves the strokin' and pettin' – makes this weird sorta cooin' noise. Prob'bly a bird's version of purrin'. Soothing, I gotta admit. We'll sit by the fire for hours like that. His head in my lap, me leaning againt the tree and strokin' the feathers. I talk sometimes and he seems to listen, but I know he ain't understandin'. Prob'bly just likes the sound of my voice, ya know?
Wings still has those episodes, but we just sit quiet-like through 'em. Helps if I rock him – makes it easier somehow. He gets dazed and groans and doesn't seem to be 'here' during the worst of it, if ya get my meanin'. Not sure, but I think his brain goes haywire…best I can come up with. Prob'bly leftover shit from whatever screwed up his brain the first time. When it's over, he's back to himself, but quieter for awhile. Takes a lot outta the poor bastard. Most of the time, he sleeps after.
Those times, I sometimes think 'bout how life turned out. Sittin' here on a planet only god knows where. And it has to be with the last person I'd wanna be stuck with. But he's not who he was. Rich bastard's not here. Warren was taken from Warren – left only his animal side. And well, maybe a 2-year-old in there somewhere. Two ferals stranded on a feral world. That's irony, right?
But we're makin' a life for ourselves, weird and fucked up as it is. I'd a ripped your head off two years ago if you woulda even suggested that I'd end up like this…'specially the part 'bout me and Wings. Guess never say never, huh?
So ya see, we're okay here. Bit lonely, but surviving. And case you're thinkin' I'm blamin' ya guys for not findin' us, I don't. Odds were stacked way too high against us. Just hopin' ya don't blame yourselves.
Well…that's all. Nothin' more to say.
###
WARREN'S LOG
Charles said it would help to journal. Normally, I'm not into self-analysis, but told him I'd try; mostly to make him happy…I just won't mention that little detail.
I'm told I've lost over two and a half years since the shuttle accident. That's 2 Point 5 fucking years! A wormhole or warp portal or some other equally random natural phenomenon apparently swallowed the shuttle Wolverine and I were in and dumped us out on a remote planet in another sector of space. Just by sheer luck, a Shi'ar cruiser intercepted one of Logan's transmissions and decided to track it. That was two months ago.
I remember nothing. Nothing of the wormhole, nothing of the planet we were on, nothing until about two weeks ago when they finally figured out how to reset by brain. In simple terms, that's what Hank and the Prof said they did. Seems my feral brain took over and my higher brain shutdown. Why? You tell me. Hank said the first couple attempts failed, but he was pretty vague on what that entailed, which makes me more than a little nervous. The third try worked. I was having something Logan calls "an episode" when they shocked my frontal lobe and that did the trick. My messed up brain reset and here I am.
Good as new.
That's the theory anyway. Ignore the fact that I lost two years, six months, and four days of my life. Ignore that those two-plus years I spent running around like some animal. Ignore as well that I was running around like an animal with Wolverine. And set aside that everyone here gave us up for dead and quit looking. Add in to the mess that my company was under the control of people that I've since learned I shouldn't have trusted. Bastards! But they will pay dearly for their actions. And just to make the picture complete, forget that I've been in a glorified cage since getting back to Earth. Was for my own safety, they said. Talk about humiliation!
Put all that aside and supposedly I'm back to what I was. Except I'm not. Thing's aren't right up here – in my head. Hank says no brain damage. I'm not convinced. From a…how can I put it…technical side, my brain is working perfectly. I can walk, fly, talk, hear, add, subtract, analyze, remember…all the normal things I should be able to do. The thing that's wrong is something I can't put a finger on – something harder to measure.
I just feel less…me. I feel more…that other part of me. Feral. God, I hate that word and all that comes with it. Know I shouldn't, but I do. It's not me. Not what being a Worthington is all about. We're not ferals, damn it! We're civilized and restrained. When I think about what I may have done on that planet….
Deep breath, Worthington.
Logan's not talking much about what happened during those years. Don't know if the Prof told him not to or if he's being his usual asshole self. Irks me either way.
Well, maybe.
Maybe I really don't want to know.
Hell, I don't know – because I don't know what I don't know!
Is it so fucking hard just to tell me something? Charles says to take things slow, that maybe the memories will come. Why wait? Was it that bad? Fuck, can't be any worse than what my imagination conjures up. What do they think I'll do – go off the deep end? Apparently, been there and done that already. But not knowing is going to drive me over the edge for certain.
And what's with Logan? Not only is he so tight-mouthed it's a miracle he can breath, but he acting weird around me. Nothing like he used to. He use to give me bullshit all the time. Now…now he's walking on eggshells. The sideways looks he gives me – something's not right. I swear he's avoiding me as much as he can in the mansion. Something happened on the planet to change him and it's freaking me out. Damn bastard! It's my right to know!
Jesus, look at me – all worked up again. For the love of god, where's that Worthington cool detachment? See? Exactly what I was talking about earlier. I'm not right.
I'm done with this journaling shit – got me too pissed off.
###
I know I said last time I was done with the journaling nonsense, but Charles is persuasive.
Listening to my first entry, I must admit, I was surprised. Mountains of anger. Think I'm within my rights, however.
No memories have magically revealed themselves yet. I finally collared Wolverine in the hallway last night and demanded he start talking. You know what the bastard told me? "When you're ready." Now I know Charles told him to keep quiet. Logan couldn't come up with that – not bright enough.
Okay, that was unkind. Sorry, Logan. Charles said that I was alive because you took care of me. Have a hard time believing that. Knowing you, I was lucky to survive your "care." Hell, if I was at all irritating you, you probably beat the shit out of me. Probably enjoyed it.
Stop it, Worthington – you don't know that. All speculation. Look at the bottom line – you're alive. You're physically whole. Someone was looking out for you, and whether you want to admit it or not, Logan is the only candidate.
Shit. This whole situation is just… sigh
God, I'm tired. I think I just want to sleep for days. Don't know why I'm not sleeping. It nags at me…and don't ask me what it is because I haven't a clue. Something's missing and it won't let me let go. Just another way I'm fucked up inside, but it doesn't show on any test and believe me when I tell you Hank and the Prof have run every test imaginable.
I'm tired of the tests, of not knowing, of not feeling right. Tired of it all. Just want… ugh God, what's missing? What's wrong with me?
We're done.
###
Haven't journaled for a few days because it dredged up stuff that Charles felt we needed to actually talk about. Mostly anger. He suggested that I start working out in the Danger Room to release some of it on unsuspecting holo-images and it does seem to help.
Still not sleeping right and it's causing me to walk around half conscious many days. Logan came looking for me, if you can believe that. Think Charles put him up to it. He did share bits and pieces of what happened. Like how we were hunting partners and I'd spy prey and he'd take it down. He said I was like one of those hunting falcons. Don't think he caught how much that hurt. A goddamn trained bird? That's what I was? Fuck!
But he said I was good – very good. He acted like he was proud of me. Ha! As if that could be true. I want to believe he's just making it out to be better than it was because he was told to, but there was something about how he said it…
Probably my imagination. I'm in denial most likely. Denial that I could possibly become a wild animal driven only by instinct. Unfortunately, it's sounding like that was exactly the case.
End of entry.
###
Charles is helping me with the anger. Progress? We'll see.
Progress on the sleep front? Some. This is going to sound pathetic, but if I have a one of those big body pillows and I curl up around it, I sleep better. Charles suggested it. Said we sometimes need to feel as it somebody is there protecting us. Trauma, he said, can manifest as odd little insecurities and apparently sleeping alone is now one of mine. Oh, lucky me. Now I'm afraid of monsters in the dark!
Logan actually asked me yesterday how I was holding up. Funny, but I sensed nothing behind the question but sincerity. I riled at first mostly out of habit, but then I told him it was…difficult. Don't know why I didn't lie like I usually would and say I was doing fine. Didn't feel right. He looked at me funny, but didn't say anything.
When he walked away, something weird went through me and I have no idea what it was. I just stood and watched him walk down the hall with some unidentifiable feelings whirling. Strange.
Don't think I've mentioned before how careful everyone is around me. Those that know. It's like they're afraid I'll turn feral again. Do you think that could happen? God, if it's a possibility… Nope, I'm not even going there.
Denial. Denial is a good coping technique.
###
Been eight weeks since I became Warren again. Eight weeks of anger, confusion, frustration – what else? Oh yeah, the denial and embarrassment. And questions. Lots of questions, which no one seems to want me to have the answers to. I want to know what the hell happened on that fucking planet!
Sometimes I go up on the roof of the mansion and just sit, watching the activity or lack thereof from a safe distance. Logan joined me today. He didn't say a word, but just came and sat with one of those damn cigars.
When he did talk, he said he missed beer and cigars the most while we were gone. Coffee was right up there as well.
I asked what we ate and he said a lot of meat and fruit. Then I asked what a typical day was like for us.
"In the morning, we'd hunt," he said. Afternoons we'd lounge if it was too hot or he'd pick berries or clean camp, Logan explained. I asked what I was doing while he did that. "Lounging like the rich brat you are," he said laughing. I couldn't help but smile. He sounded more like the old Wolverine for a moment.
We talked for two hours up there. I asked my questions and he answered. He warned me when something might be painful – like the fact I didn't like clothes. Oh, I can tell you that was embarrassing. But Logan didn't humiliate me about it like he would have before. Just told it matter-of-factly, which helped.
"You were what you were," he said. "What I'd be if I turned feral. That ain't nothing bad – just how it is."
Our talk helped, but I got the feeling it was highly censored. Another thing that was weird is by the end of talk, I felt like I knew a different Logan. This new Logan was…hmmm, I'm not sure I know what I'm trying to say. He was…gentler.
Anyway, it was a good talk. When I thanked him and he looked almost surprised. It was then I realized I probably hadn't done that enough in the past.
###
Watched a Danger Room session today to help analyze the performance of a group of trainees. Most everyone did well, but something was missing in their execution. They were off. Not sharp. A touch sloppy. Logan was all over them afterward, chewing their asses royally, yelling that in a real fight, they'd be dead. I watched him, almost memorized now that I think about it.
Something flashed through my mind – a memory? Logan yelling at me and I'm confused and scared and…and not me.
It hit me like a ton of bricks – a flashback. But quick as that, it was gone and Logan's voice once again was filling the room as he picked apart his team with his usual intimidating style. Without even knowing why, I walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder and the first thing that came to me - I think I maybe even whispered it. "You're frightening them."
That was all it took. He stopped in mid-berating and turned, his eyes flashing. Then suddenly they weren't and he looked at me with wide eyes. Another flash of something pulled me in – Logan slamming me to the ground. I was a little kid. How's that possible? He was so big and so angry. All I had wanted to do was- was what? Feelings of hurt and a need to be safe nearly overwhelmed me and I had to leave. I really don't care what anyone in that room thought.
The mansion was stifling and I had to get into the air. I needed to rein in the feelings and think. So I took off even as I heard Logan call my name. If that was a real memory, did Logan really hit me on the planet? Was I right all those weeks ago when I said he probably beat the shit out of me? Did he?
I flew for a long time, thinking and trying to remember more. But instead of anger, all I got was longing. How do you explain that? Had my feral self longed for Logan's acceptance? He had told me before that he was the leader of our two-person team. Was that connected to the memory and the feeling?
I think I need a little more time to sort all this out and talking with Logan again isn't something I'm going to rush into.
###
I haven't mentioned the dreams, have I? They're all mixed up with stuff of my imagination and maybe even some real memories from the planet. Surreal doesn't even begin to describe them. I'm not going to bore myself with the details, but aside from the strangeness, certain parts bother me. Really bother me. About me and Logan. How we're…close in the dreams. I mean…close. Parts I remember – he and I are sitting together and…and…
Damn dreams! My screwed up brain just twisting things and making me think that those feelings are real. That I would want-
Just dreams.
Aren't they?
Be brave, Worthington. Say what you're thinking – if you're man enough. Say what's been tiptoeing around in that head of yours since the dreams started. Tell this inanimate object of a recorder what you can't tell anyone else. Whisper it if you must, but man up about it. Worthingtons don't hide from the ugly truth.
The truth is- The truth is…that the idea really doesn't bother me.
###
I've done a lot of thinking since Danger Room incident. Memory flashes come and go. I can't be certain how literally I should take them. The Professor warned me about doing that. Feral experience and those memories are filtered through a feral mind, he said. The feelings and perspectives may seem almost alien when analyzed by the higher brain.
Not sure what I'm suppose to take from that. All I know is what I've been feeling when I'm in a memory or a dream. More and more I'm getting images of Logan and I being together – a team. No that's not the right word. We're a pair. Contentment – best word for the feelings. I feel content in the memories. Or happy. Or excited. What happened to the fear and pain of the older memories? What happened between me and him?
And here's the million dollar question. Did we become more than friends? I haven't wanted to know that answer. I've been denying what the dreams and flashes have been showing me.
Then today I stood in the front of the mirror and asked myself what I was so afraid of?
###
Ran into Logan. No, that's not true. I went looking for him. Our talk a while back answered so many questions. I finally asked Charles point blank and he denied he had told Logan to talk to me. Said it must have been his own idea and that it would not have been what Charles would have advised. Charles believes I need more time.
Told Charles that I'm ready – that I needed to hear it all – uncensored. He didn't say much, but had his "are you sure you know what you're doing?" expression. The man can be overly protective at times. I need to know whether he thinks I can handle it or not.
So I went looking for Logan. When I found him, he was tinkering with his motorcycle. A funny feeling hit me in the gut as I watched him for a few seconds, gathering my courage. Nerves? Scared of what I may find out? But I sucked it up and walked over. Worthingtons don't back down to fear or hide from ugly truths. That's what I was telling myself.
If Logan was surprised to see me, he didn't show it. He just nodded in his usual non-verbal acknowledgment of your presence. I told him I wanted to talk about the planet.
"Again?" he asked me.
"Again," I told him. "Everything. Spare nothing."
He studied me for many long seconds. I could feel him weighing and judging. I think I may see have both fear and resignation flicker through those blue eyes. Then he said he'd meet me in five on the roof. Sure enough, five minutes later we were parked on the mansion rooftop and he had brought with him a six-pack of beer. I knew then and there it was going to be a difficult talk.
Logan told me to drink my beer and keep my mouth shut til he was done. He was going to do this only once, he said. After that, it never happened. None of it. My dread grew and I think I downed a whole beer before he even started.
Then he told me. Almost day by day the first couple weeks. God, I could barely stand to listen. I closed my eyes and didn't want to hear, yet I did. I was so fucked up. It was far worse than I had imagined. He told me the things I'd done, how angry and frustrated he'd get and how he taught me to – dear god – taught me how to keep pants on and not piss in the shuttle and how to come and stay and fetch…
I wanted to puke. He shoved another beer in my hand, which I realized was shaking. I downed it quickly.
It only got worse. The incident with the humping and how he beat me and chased me off. How I stalked him and hung around and screeched and called for him.
Then I had to puke. Logan calmly rubbed by back, the space between the wings and handed me a towel he'd somehow known to bring.
"It gets easier, Wings. Stay with me," he told me.
And the story did. After those first few terrible weeks, he and I got into a rhythm. He said he got to understand better how to handle me – that part of me was like a toddler and needed reassuring and made to feel safe. That's where those feelings had come from!
Logan talked about our hunting together and the first cold winter. How we huddled together to stay warm. How I slept at near him and that made me sleep better because apparently I felt safe.
He explained about the episodes and the only things that helped – stroking my wings and rocking me. Again, feelings of being protected and safe. When I dared to look up at him, his eyes were misty.
As the story went on, more flashes were coming…more feelings – it was almost as if I was living the story. He talked about the big predator that'd come around occasionally and he had to keep me inside because of my "territorial tendencies." I could see he liked saying that phrase because he smirked and had to repeat it for emphasis.
I felt as though I was hissing or growling. I remembered the sensation of wanting to kill whatever it was that had entered our place. Then strong arms pulled me down and the soothing strokes melted my need to kill.
They say animals don't remember. Maybe they don't, but I was remembering. Maybe at the time, my feral brain couldn't access the recollections, but they came flowing to me on that rooftop. The memories, the feelings. Likely not all of it, but the most powerful of memories I'd bet.
And when Logan told me about the first time we mated, he voice cracked and he looked ashamed and his whole body deflated. He apologized. He said at the time it seemed the only thing to be done about my condition. How my need to mate was driving us both nuts.
"It's okay, Logan," I told him. "You did what needed to be done."
"Maybe," he said. But it didn't stop with the one time. I kept wanting him and Logan – he said he wanted me. And so we became a pair. I was happier after that he claimed and I didn't doubt that he was right. Safe, warm, protected by another – that's what the feelings were telling me I wanted. The feral in me wanted to mate; the child in me wanted to be loved.
I told Logan that. Told him I understood. The story went on from there, he said, but all that needed to be told, he had said. "We're all we had," he said. "It was you and me, Wings, and nobody else and it was lookin' to be that way til we died. Sorry if you're upset with me – understand why you'd hate me. Won't insult you with excuses."
His blues eyes were full of pain and maybe some anger. He was waiting for me to condemn him. Maybe if the memories hadn't come, I would have. But he was the reason I was alive. The reason I felt safe and content all those months on that godforsaken planet when I hadn't even known how to take a piss with pants on.
Then he said he hadn't done right by me after we got back to Earth. Said he should have taken me out of here, maybe to that cabin at the back of the mansion property, where I could be free and not locked up in a fucking birdcage. He sounded angry with Hank and Charles over that, and angry with himself. "You went nuts, so they kept you doped up. You deserved better than that, but they said if was for the best until they could figure out what to do," he told me and rubbed my shoulder. "I knew better, but was too fucked up over what had happened…too embarrassed about what we'd become. I just walked away. I let you down, Wings. I'm sorry."
The pain of regret was clear on his face and in his voice. I pulled myself up, leaned closer to my once-upon-a-time, pain in the ass, barely tolerated teammate…and I kissed him. Not a peck on the cheek kiss – a real kiss. It felt…strange? Comfortable? Fucking weird? All of the above and more. My head was whirling…so many feelings were hitting me that were both foreign and familiar. I think I pulled my wings around us in some vain attempt to shield me from what felt like emotional chaos.
Still can't believe I did it. I was shocked. He was shocked. Then what did I do? Just sat there with him holding me. Think I was shaking. Know I couldn't talk. Then I realized his was stroking my wings…and it was soothing and I think it triggered some sort of emotional collapse or something. Charles would know the psychological term. Doesn't matter. Logan was warm and solid. I was safe. Then my forehead was on his shoulder and I fucking crying. Me, Warren Worthington the Third, crying like a baby on Logan's shoulder. Hadn't over all this shit until then.
As embarrassing as it was, it felt good. And Logan let me cry for god knows how long. Even more incredible…think I kissed him again. Can't be sure. Maybe he kissed me. It's all a little fuzzy. I do clearly remember what happened after I was done crying. He pushed me back easy like and locked his baby blues with mine. I saw his eyes were red as well. He had been crying, too? I hadn't noticed.
"So we doing this for old time's sake or are you wanting to pick up where we left off?" he asked me with a strange look I've never seen on him before. It took a few moments for my brain to figure out what he was getting at.
I honestly didn't know. I still don't. But on that rooftop, I told him if he wanted, we could see where things went. Logan seemed okay with that. He did kiss me then – nothing fuzzy about that memory.
Don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I told myself after everything he and I had been through on that dirtball planet as he calls it, we should give ourselves permission to explore what the future might offer. We both have emotional injuries that haven't yet healed. Maybe we need to heal those last wounds together. Maybe we should try it for a little while…at least until the healing is done.
### finis ###
A/N: There you have it. Post a review and share your impressions and comments, positive or otherwise...I can take it.
For the Wolverine fans out there, so hope my first attempt with the character meets with at least partial approval. Yes, yes, I know he is straight in the comics/movies (as is Warren), and thus he's OOC in that regard, but this is all for fun, right?
Marvel has a long history of referencing mutants with obvious animal features as having feral tendencies. Must admit, I like playing the card as it allows for behaviors in a character that might otherwise be unacceptable/out of character from both the character's own perspective and perhaps even the reader's. At the same time, I wanted to layer Warren's animal actions with human-like overtones since he is mostly human. I felt if his lower brain was in control, then his higher brain may still be applying a touch of influence and that might manifest in basal, almost child-like needs - to feel safe and loved.
A special thanks to Mad Furry Cheshire Cat for reviewing before the post. As the proud mother of an African Grey Parrot, she gave a nod to the bird-like traits I wrote into Warren's feral side. Thank you, my friend, for the pre-post review!
Echo Dancer
"When you write from the soul, the pen moves itself."