More Than An Animal, a post-Wolverine Origins fan fiction.
Chapter One: "Come Home With Me?"
A/N: First M rated fic. Rating for language, reference to extreme violence, and future sexual content. There is no pedophilia in this fic, nor will there be any deviant sexual practices present in it. Eventually though there might be some sex. If any of these things offend you then please do not read this fic. I do not welcome flames but I do welcome constructive criticism.
I own nothing but my OCs and the plot. I hope you enjoy.
~ Jane
The alley was dark and quiet as the behemoth, Victor Creed, strode down the black, littered pavement, his heavy footfalls echoing in between the two rundown apartment buildings. Rats scurried this way and that, trying to escape the crushing force of Victor's black leather boots.
Dark crimson drops fell from the large man's retracted claws. Drip, drip, drip. Death, death, death, they seemed to say as they hit the asphalt.
Victor was fresh from another exhilarating kill. He could still smell the little prick's fear when he'd wet himself. Victor grinned at the memory in delighted remembrance, his sharp nails extending and retracting gleefully. The thrill of a good kill stayed with him for hours after. The taste and scent of blood was positively arousing. He couldn't understand how Jimmy could give it all up for playing a Boy Scout superhero.
The glee left Victor's face at the thought of his younger brother. Jimmy. It shouldn't have still hurt to think about him. There shouldn't still be an empty ache in his chest when Victor allowed himself to think even for a second on how alone he really was.
Victor pushed the thoughts and feelings away – again – and tried to focus on the things that made his blood sing. Bloody limbs, shredded corpses, the mangled bodies of little children, rape – oh, definitely rape… Bone-breaking, deliciously satisfying rape-
"Hi."
Victor froze, his blood-dripping claws extending instinctively. The voice had come from the right, near a dumpster. His heightened vision managed to distinguish the very small form of a little girl.
"You know, when someone says 'hi' you're supposed to say it back. It's rude not to," the girl's petulant voice announced.
"Is it?" Victor asked, his lips pulling over his canines in a deliberately chilling grin that had made grown men piss themselves before. Victor was, to say the least, stunned when the girl's lips spread into a delicate, warm smile. He could practically feel her sweetness and innocence enveloping him. It made him want to wretch. Or at least that's what he told himself.
A light suddenly came on, illuminating a fire escape above the girl. The light came from an apartment window that was quickly opened by the form of a man.
"Clarice!" the man's harsh, slurred voice shouted out the window.
The girl retreated into the shadows, a look of absolute fear coming over her face. Her eyes went wide and her breathing became labored. Victor could hear her trembling. It made his blood boil in anger, though he didn't know why. Maybe it was because this pathetic little fuck shouting out a window made her nearly piss herself in fear and she had only smiled at him. He was a monster, a scary mother fucker if ever there was one. He killed just for the pure pleasure of it – though he generally saw that he got paid for it – and this girl had smiled at him, like he was fucking Mr. Rogers or something. This kid should've been shitting herself. Though looking at her now, he realized she almost was. Her heart rate had sped so much it was a wonder she hadn't had a heart attack or something.
"Clarice! Get the fuck in here, you little bitch!" the man screamed from the window.
Victor nearly ripped the man's throat out just for irritating him.
"Leave her out of this, Mac," a woman's bleary voice called from inside the apartment.
"Shut the fuck up, Marge! You little bint! Who do you think you are!?"
The man moved away from the window, apparently distracted for the moment from his pursuit of 'Clarice.'
"Is he gone?" the little girl whispered meekly.
Victor looked back at the kid, still trembling and quaking like that guy was the baddest mother fucker on the planet. Kid didn't have a clue that the beast in front of her was worse than any nightmare she'd ever had about that other little prick.
"Looks like it," he said shortly. "He your old man?"
The little girl nodded slowly, still mostly hidden in the shadows.
"Come 'ere, kid," Victor said.
Hesitating only to look at the window fearfully, the little girl slowly rose from the ground and walked toward him. She stopped directly in front of him, staring up at him in awe, her little mouth open as she took in his massive height. And suddenly, she laughed.
Victor frowned, irritated her laughing at him.
"What's so funny, half-pint?" Half-pint? Where the fuck did he pick that one up? he wondered to himself silently.
"You are so tall, mister. Never met nobody as tall as you before," she said, that same awe in her voice that was on her face.
"That so?" Victor said, a smirk forming on his mouth. The kid was kinda funny, so amazed by how tall he was and shit.
"Yeah. Oh!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening in horror.
Here it comes, he thought. Kid finally got it.
"Your hand!" she cried out. "It's hurt!"
Victor looked down at hand in confusion. When he saw the blood it dawned on him that she had misunderstood, that the blood wasn't his but belonged to the man he'd killed.
"I can fix it," she said hurriedly, picking violently at the seam on one of her long sleeves. The thread gave way and she ripped the sleeve off. She stepped closer and took hold of his hand without hesitation, wrapping his supposedly injured hand in her sleeve. She carefully tied it off on his right hand, and her other sleeve soon followed, his left hand receiving the same treatment.
Not much threw Victor Creed for a loop, but this innocent little girl trying to help him, mistaking the blood of his victim for his own, and trying to heal him was beyond his comprehension. He was a monster. She was a child. He was evil and rotten, and proud of it. She was innocent and pure, and downright nurturing if the care she took with his hands and her makeshift bandages was anything to tell by.
He should've been pissed. He should've wanted to snap her neck, rip out her intestines, so something bad to her. He should've hated her concern, scorned her for pathetic and weak. But he didn't. He didn't even move, or hardly breathe while she was tying off the sleeve bandages.
And then words were falling out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"You wanna come home with me?"