This is a piece of fanfiction based on X-Men from the Marvel Comic universe. I do not own any of these characters or universe and am just barrowing them to play with. I do not make any money in any way from this piece of fiction.
Playing Make-Believe
In the world they pretended was real, there were good guys, bad guys, snappy code names, brightly colored costumes, honor and morals. They would get missions, the information all nicely laid out, and rush off to save the day. Some times they got it right, sometimes not. Sometimes people died and they weren't in time to save them, sometimes everyone lived and they got to be heroes.
In the real world three of them knelt on the concrete floor of the jet locker, all of them dirty, foul smelling and feeling like crap. Logan helped shove Kurt's arm back into the socket while he twitched and tried not to scream on the floor. Marie looked gray, like she was going to pass out from either blood loss or exhaustion, eyes dark and haunted.
Logan had pointed out once that when they fought or went on missions it wasn't real, but no one had wanted to deal with that. It was very strange for him to have fighting not be real. Before he became part of the team fighting had been the only thing in his life that had been real, the only way for him to tell he was still alive. Now with each punch, each slice of his claws he wonder if he's died and just not noticed it yet.
In their made up world they fought a war and pretended they all believed in something. That it was something more something higher that kept them all together. They were respected by other heroes, if not the government, and sometimes fought along side of them. Sometime he wondered if the other heroes thought of their lives as unreal, like he did. In this world bad guys were always bad, out to kill people or end the world and everyone pretended they'd never done any of that themselves once or twice. They were a team in this world; they fought like one, acted like one. In the end the fight was always the important thing, because talking always failed, and it always came down to claws, teeth and fists. It should have been his world, but it wasn't, not really.
In the real world they were a family and they fought one another, fucked, cried and took care of one another, and sometimes tried to kill each other. In the real world they never functioned as a team, a cohesive whole, but factioned off, picked favorites, changed sides and bided their time. In the real world they spent hours on the phone with diplomats and government officials. In the real world they dragged themselves home from missions that cost them lives, sanity, and time, only to find more progress had been made by politicians then all their fighting combined. In the really world they rotated the people who went on missions to give the last group time to heal from the broken bones, dislocated joints, puncher holes, wounds and gouges. Logan was always on the list of people heading out. He ran every mission and still half the team never trusted him. In the real world some of them died, and some of them grew too old to fight. Many of the older members took up teaching, or become diplomats and traveled. They dressed in suits and became indistinguishable from every other politician. Logan never aged, and went on heading up missions even as the teams got younger and younger.
Marie grew up, fought for many years, and lost everyone she loved. She became an alcoholic and drank herself into unconsciousness every night until he broke down her door and hauled her out of her room kicking and screaming, held her down and kissed her until she stopped moving and held still. Later she became a representative to Washington and wore business suits in cranberry red. She would come and see him in Westchester. They would sit and drink coffee on the balcony, and talk of work and politics. Later at night she would kiss him until he sat still and unmoving, watching her like she was a small animal he was afraid of frightening off. Only later would they then they talk of the past.
When the first one died of natural causes, he wanted to run, get out while he still could. He didn't, he staid, because leaving would have meant watching the same thing happen somewhere else and he was old enough to know it. He knew he would never age or died but he would stay until they were all dead, and their cause, such as it was, had been forgotten, and nature claimed the house once more. He knew this and it bothered him, but he had never believed in lying especially to himself, so he dealt with it and went on.
In the real world they fought a war too, but this was a war that never ended, no matter how many peopled died or went to Washington. It was a war they had been born fighting, one most of them would die fighting. Sometimes though, when they were at their most depressed, most desperate, they would close there eyes and pretend that they were really super heroes and this was something that could be gloriously won.