The Sad Man
The lone figure sat to himself in the smoke filled room as he sat and slowly sipped on the cold glass of water. He was older than he looked and could have gotten a beer easily, but he thought the alcohol tasted horrible. Why some people liked to drink that swill, he didn't even want to try to know. He let out a deep sigh as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the worn photo. In it was a picture of a beautiful Japanese woman with a well built, burly looking man. The photo had been damaged for a long time and the upper half of the man was missing. Sadly, that also meant the portion of the photo that contained the man's face was gone. He didn't know how the photo had gotten damaged, but it was his most important thing he owned.
The woman was his mother who he hadn't seen in so many years. He didn't even know if she was still alive or not. How he missed her so much. He missed the way she used to hold him when he was scared from a nightmare, and he missed how she used to sing him to sleep. Where was she? Did she even miss him? He knew the only way he might find out was if he found the man in the photo. He didn't know how he was going to, but he had to find him. When he was younger, he had found in when he was snooping through his mother's things. She seemed a little sad when he had asked her about it, but she had told him the photo was of her and his father.
She had told him his father had disappeared and never returned. The damaged photo was all she had left of his father. Well, the photo and himself. He took another gulp of water and sat the glass back down. He put the photo back in his pocket and let out a deep sigh as he glanced at the rest of the bar. Most of the people there looked like something out of a motorcycle magazine cover while a couple of others looked like they were perfect for America's Most Wanted. He glanced down back at the table and finished the glass of water.
How much longer was it going to take to find him. He had been looking for his father since he was twelve years old, and he was now seventeen and getting so tired of looking. From his home in Japan, to this stupid little bar in Montana, he had been looking. What was worse, he didn't know what his father looked like. The photo was damaged, and his the portion that had his father's face was missing.
He kept hoping luck would be with him in his search. He hoped he would find him soon and get off the streets. The only way he had been able to survive was what he was hiding under his gloved hands. Or more to the point, what was in his hands.
He glanced at both of the black and almost worn out black leather gloves he was wearing. He had "borrowed" the gloves three years ago and was amazed they had held up this long. Parts of the gloves were wearing thin and the black was fading into a pale grey. They were a good pair of gloves. A lot of memories were in these old things. Both the good and bad. The only thing left from his home country of Japan. It was going to be sad when he would finally be able to buy another pair.
A few odd jobs kept him from starving to death. Every now and then the money he earned allowed him to either buy some new clothes are spend a night or two in a warm motel room and not underneath a bridge. Sleeping under a bridge always scared him now and then. He didn't know when he would have to defend himself.
"Hey, what's that guy doing in mah seat?" a slurred voice asked from the other side of the room. He could tell that the voice's owner had already had a few too many drinks.
"Come on, Paul. You haven't complained about it before." Another voice said.
"Well I am tonight! I want to kicks mah feet up, and I want mah table to do it!" the slurred voice.
The young man sipped the little bit of water from the melted ice when he felt a heavy hand push on his shoulder.
"Hey you! I want mah chair." The slurred voice said to him, close enough for the young man to smell the heavy amount of vodka on the man's breath.
"Your chair's taken right now, but there are plenty of other empty seats." The young man told the bigger man.
"I don't give a rat's ass! I want mah seat!" the voice said and shoved the young man even harder.
The young man was mentally counting to ten to calm his temper when he glanced to his right to get a look at the man. He was about five foot eleven, he had a thick red beard with a blue bandanna covering hi head. The man looked like he was probably a biker from the smell of exhaust that was coming from him like it was a foul cologne.
"I just want to be left alone, pal. So just walk away and look for another seat." The young man replied as his voice started to get a little deeper.
"Come on, Paul. It ain't worth it." His friend told him.
"I want mah god damn seat, and I'm going ta get it!" the drunk man shouted.
The young man heard the click of a switch blade knife locking into place, and pure anger and instinct took over. He scooted back fast, missing the down stoke of the knife that was in the man's hand. He grabbed the drunken biker by his shirt collar, and slammed his head and back against the hard surface of the table he had been sitting at. Before the biker could move, the young man placed his right fist above the biker's throat. The biker froze into place in an instant as he felt the cold metal of two knives press on either side of his neck. He looked down at the gloved hand that was above his neck and saw that the two knives were actually coming out of his fist! Fear began to grip him as he saw a third knife slowly emerge from in between the other two and felt the tip stop right at his throat.
"I just want to be left alone, got that? Now you're going get up and get the hell out of here. You're not going to say anything, and you're not going to do anything. You're just going to leave. If you don't, I'll cut off your balls and use them as a fucking pair of earrings. You got that?" the young man growled at the drunk as his anger took full control.
The drunk was quickly shaking his head yes as a few tears began to fall from his blood shot eyes. The claws retracted into the young man's hand in an instant and he let go of the drunk's shirt. The man instantly stood up and ran out of the room screaming while everyone just looked at him.
"ANYONE ELSE WANT TO FUCK WITH ME TONIGHT?" the young man shouted to the shocked people. When none of them said anything or moved, he sat back down at the table. "THEN LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!" the young man shouted.
As he heard everyone go about their normal business, he rubbed his gloved hand while he winced in pain. He hadn't gotten used to the pain of those damn things. Every time he felt them rip and tear through his skin, it almost seemed the pain wouldn't ever end. He opened one of the slits in the glove and saw that the open wound was now replaced by a scar. Every time he got a cut, or retracted one of those things, the wound healed almost instantly. Was that why he had gotten those things? Was that why they gave him those claws? Because he could heal fast? Why didn't he just kill the sons of bitches that did this to him? Because that wasn't him, it wasn't in his nature. He couldn't kill.
"That's a good thing to know. It shows that you are better than most of the people you've faced." A voice said to him.
It wasn't drunk, rough, or even angry. Amazingly enough, this voice sounded kind and almost understanding. That voice was most definitely out of place in a bar like this. He looked up to see a bald man wearing a nice suit in a motorized wheel chair stroll up to the table he was sitting at and stop right in front of him.
"What's a good thing?" he asked the bald man.
"That you knew you wouldn't kill the men that did this to you." He simply stated.
"How did you know about that? If you're one of them, I swear I'll,"
"You're not the only one with secret talents." A voice said inside his own head.
It wasn't just any voice, it was the bald man's voice. That's when something in his mind clicked. This old man was like him in a way. He was different from normal people, something special about him.
"What do you want?" the young man asked.
My name is Charles Xavier. I run a school to help young people like yourself gain control over their abilities. I've come to offer you my help." The bald man said to him.
"Look buddy, I've been jacked around too many times. When something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Besides, I'm broke and can't pay any school money to give me a bogus education." The young man said as he wiped his long black hair out his face and stood up to leave.
"I may also have a way of finding someone you're looking for." The bald man said as the young man started to walk off.
"Oh yeah? And who would that be? The tooth fairy?" the young man asked him.
"No. I believe I may be able to help you find your father." The bald man said, and sensed every single thought and emotions in his head come to a grinding halt.
The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. Logan stood beneath a large old oak tree as he kept an eye on the students as they enjoyed their free day. Hank McCoy, or Beast as the students called him, was teaching a few students on how to understand Shakespeare while Scott and Jean Grey sat together. He knew the two teens were in love with each other and just hoped they didn't do anything stupid. The other students were off playing sports or whatever young kids do. Logan glanced to his left and saw Kurt Wagner talking with his sister Rogue. Not even in his wildest dream would Logan ever peg those two as long lost siblings. Who would have thought?
Logan wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he enjoyed days like this. The days where everything was peaceful, and there wasn't a sign of trouble. No Magneto and the Brotherhood, or some anti-mutant nuts trying to hunt them down with a giant robot. The memory of that thing still gave him the creeps.
As he enjoyed the day, he began to wonder when the Professor was going to get back. Charles had said he had found a new mutant somewhere in the northwest and took Storm with him to check it out. For all Logan knew was that it meant another snot nosed runt to train. He remembered how every one of the students thought they could go one on one with him when they showed up, thinking it would be easy. As a matter of fact, he hoped he was bringing back a new student. He could use a challenge.
He just prayed to God whoever he was bringing didn't go joy riding. Logan was angry with the student calling himself Ice Man, and two other students, took the X-Jet joy riding and almost got killed. But when they mentioned his bike? Even though they were joking around about his motorcycle, he was ready to tear them a new one. No student ever broke the eleventh commandment. "Thou shall not touch Logan's hog."
Almost as if he had conjured the man out of thin air, the Professor rolled out of the mansion and onto the field. Logan just gave a small smile as he saw the old man rolling towards him. Charles Xavier was the only man Logan fully trusted with his life. There was only one other man that Logan trusted, and that man was frozen in a lab at S.H.E.I.L.D. headquarters.
"How did the trip go?" Logan asked as the professor stopped in front of the tall man.
"It went better than I expected. How was everything here?" Charles asked him.
"A little too quiet for my taste. I was almost beginning to hope Saber Tooth would show up just so I could get some exercise." Logan said. "So do we have a new student, or did he turn you down?" Logan asked the old man.
"We came to an agreement." Professor Xavier said.
"What kind of agreement?" Logan asked as his brain already to thing of problems the new addition may cause.
"I agreed to help him locate his father if he let me help him control his abilities. Of course, it was easier said than done." Charles said.
"Why do I have a bad feeling you're going to ask a personal favor?" Logan asked him.
"You're not far off. Logan, I believe he is going to need your help with his abilities. As well as Rogue's." the Professor said as he signaled Logan to follow him.
"Rogue's help? Why would he need her help?" Logan asked him.
As far as Logan knew, Rogue was a student who didn't have that much to offer. Not unless you were going undercover in the deep south and had to learn the accent.
"Logan, this student is different from the others. It's rare with mutants, but not unheard of. It seems he has almost two sets of abilities." Charles told Logan as they entered the mansion and went to the Professor's office.
Logan raised an eyebrow at what the Professor just told him. Since Logan had joined Charles' little band of heroes, he had met and seen some strange mutants. He also knew that some mutants had a few talents thanks to their mutations, but this was the first time he ever heard Charles put a mutant's powers in those terms.
"What does the kid do?" Logan asked as they entered to cool confines of the large office.
"Logan, I want you to help him because he shares something with you." Charles said as he looked down at Logan's hands.
Logan was confused by this action and began to look at them. There wasn't anything wrong. They were clean, and had a few scars. Only thing out of the ordinary was his,
"You've got to be kidding, Charles. Not another one." Logan said to the old man.
"I'm afraid so, Logan. I was able to read his mind on the way back, and I can tell you this much. He's not a clone of you, and he didn't even know he was a mutant until he went through the same ordeal as you. But you will also need Rogue's help with teaching him how to use his abilities. Logan, he also has the same abilities as she does." Charles told him.
"Holy shit. It's bad enough having the claws, but Rogue's powers? I'm surprised he hasn't gone nuts." Logan said.
He knew Rogue had it rough. She had friends she could talk tp when ever she needed a shoulder to cry on, but it was her powers that made her life complicated. Rogue wasn't able to physically touch any living being. If she did, she drained them of most of their energy, and also had a copy of their memories put into her head. If it was a mutant, she would also get their powers for a certain amount of time. Now Charles found a kid that was in the same boat.
"Wait a minute. What happens if this kid and Rogue?" Logan asked, but the Professor already knew the question.
"I don't know, Logan. Rogue and this young man have been through a lot, and I don't want to risk anything right now. For the time being, I want everyone to help him feel welcomed." Charles said.
"I'll do what I can, Charles. When does the new kid get here?" Logan asked.
"He's already here. He's in the main foyer right now." Charles said.
"So what's the kid's name?" Logan asked as he went to the door.
"Wolverine, his name is Logan."
X-Men is the property of Marvel Comics and 20th Century Fox. I'm not with either company, and I wrote this for fun.