Greetings and salutations all. I am TragicVisions and this will be the first fanfic I've ever written. Hopefully you'll all find it to be worth your standards. I wrote this after falling in love with Todd/Kurt, and while that will play an element in the story I can assure you it will not be a driving force. This is not a cheap romance fic (Though to be fair those are a guilty pleasure of mine.) Indeed, this story also has an OC quite obviously. But worry not, he's more of a plot device than anything ese. And now without further ado.
===========================================Blind to Fate=========================================================
============================================Prologue===========================================================
His heart was pounding against his breast as he ran. The staccato rhythm kept time to his frantic and clumsy steps. Still Wendell ran through stalks of black crystalline grass taller than himself, his sneakers churning through mud the hue and warmth of blood. There was no light to guide his panicked sprint, any chance of a night sky occulted by the unnatural foliage. He was running blind through the onyx forest and still he could hear, could feel himself being chased; could feel the heat on the nape of his neck as some monstrous thing reared behind him with hot breath panting in anticipation of warm flesh and warmer blood. Wendell pushed himself harder, ignoring the burning in his legs and lungs as he tried to outpace whatever monstrosity that might be pursuing him. There was no losing his pursuant however, and the alien stalks of grass rustled behind him. Wendell dare not look over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of that hideous being again, but could not resist. He could see the blades of onyx glass ripple and part behind him, and it was nearly comic how his foot snagged one of the dried dead roots littered through the thick sludge like mud. Wendell fell heavily, sent sprawling by the root. He broke his fall with his hands; feeling the thick mud squelch between his fingers as he fought for purchase to scrabble desperately to his feet. But where his feet once found purchase was now only a mire of mud that he sank into like quicksand. The mud pulled and dragged at his legs, trying to embrace him in its grasp even as he crawled on all fours through it; the creature still in pursuit.
Wendell rolled onto his back, eyes wide and a hoarse scream of terror choking in his throat. It was not merely the mud that was dragging him down. Closed tightly around his ankle was a human hand risen up from the blood like sludge. Pale and corpulent the hand squeezed tight enough for his bones to grind together. The flesh was putrid and soft, stinking of the same corruption that clung to the mud as well as the stench of decay. He kicked at the horrendous appendage and tried to scrabble back on his heels and elbows but it refused to let go even as the heel of his shoes sloughed the thick bloated flesh from bone. Instead it merely pulled at him, dragging him deeper into mud and pulling itself out. Soon another hand joined the first while the other clawed higher at his belt seeking purchase. He was sinking quickly, dragged down under the quicksand like mud by this creature. Its hands clutched at his shoulders now as its form rose from the quagmire, thick coagulated mud dripping from a vaguely humanoid form. Wendell thrashed violently as the fat and decaying fingers gripped into him and pushed him down farther into the bog. It was sheer terror that freed the scream trapped in his throat.
Wendell awoke with a startled cry, his body jerking up from his seat and his arms snapping up to break the grip on his shoulders. It took him a moment in his panic to recognize the interior of the greyhound bus that he had been riding, and another to look to the driver who had been attempting to shake him awake.
"Whoa now, take it easy there son! I didn't mean to startle you none. Sounded like you was having a rough night, thought you might like to know that we're here."
"No, no I'm sorry. I was overreacting, it was just a bad dream; I get them all the time." Wendell apologized, offering the driver a wan smile as he ran a hand through his mousy brown hair. "Thanks though man, I appreciate the concern.' Shaking the last vestiges of sleep from his head and rubbing the sand from his eyes Wendell quickly reached up to grab his backpack from the overhead. Slinging one of the straps over a shoulder Wendell bent over the empty seats to look out the window only to see that it was late in the evening. There was a roadside diner, old and weathered in ancient hues of peeling white and 60's red. It had two small gas pumps set out in front and a sign proclaiming the establishment as "Sally's Roadside Café" in flickering neon hues of pink and yellow. Despite the obvious age of the establishment it was busy, crowded with semi-trucks as well as a fewer number of cars and vans; even a few motorbikes.
"Where are we? And how come we've stopped?" Wendell asked of the driver even as he started to walk down the aisle to the exit doors. The driver finished slipping into his company jacket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes.
"We're just on the border heading into New York State, and this is the last Pit-stop till we reach Bayville. Don't worry, it's only about 7 and we should reach the town around early morning.' The Driver offered, following after Wendell as they left the bus. The pair of them headed to the diner entrance while Wendell adjusted his bag and the man next to him lit his cigarette before standing next to an ash-pit by the doors.
"We'll be leaving in an hour and a half.' He offered as he took a drag from his smoke. Wendell merely nodded perfunctorily to the man as he shouldered through the doors.
Stepping into the establishment the youth saddled up to the greeter at the front desk. Taking a look around to note just how crowded the small floor space was in spite of, or perhaps because of the interiors retro-nostalgic decor'. "You wouldn't happen to have a table for one would you?' He asked politely. The woman that nodded was neither pretty nor ugly, and most likely around the mid to late thirties. She looked a little worn but otherwise completely unremarkable. Not that Wendell felt himself to be in a superior position by comparison. Certainly not in his travel stained blue jeans, and equally worn hoodie, easily a good two sizes too large. 'Though in this case it suits the necessity.' He thought to himself; not without some sense of sarcasm. Instead he followed his waitress as she came up to lead him to small table set in the far corner of the diner, nestled in opposite the last of the white enamel and faux red leather booths.
Wendell slid in comfortably and leaned back as the waitress dropped off a menu.
"Is there anything I can get you too drink Hun?' She asked, her voice tired but professionally warm.
"Just some coffee if you please: black, no sugar.' He ordered; shoving a hand into the pocket of his jeans to fish out his wallet as the server sauntered off sedately. Prying open the worn leather Wendell couldn't help but sigh as he was greeted with a pair of five dollar bills and about 3 dollars in loose change. Taking out two one dollar coins he laid them on the enamel table. The waitress took them as she delivered his coffee.
He gave an appreciative groan as he took his first sip, the desperately needed caffeine settling comfortably in his stomach and spreading it's warmth through him while providing the jolt he needed to wake up. He let his eyes slip shut in relish and leaned back into his seat; slouching comfortably as he slowly nursed the steaming cup in his hands.
"Mind if I sit here?" Someone asked ruining the small peace he had made for himself. Wendell opened his eye lazily to see the bus driver standing at the side of his small table. "There's nowhere really left." The older man offered by way of explanation with a sheepish grin. The youth cast a quick look throughout the crowded diner and true enough there were no available seats. In reply Wendell sat up straighter and kicked the chair opposite of himself in silent invitation.
"Thanks" the driver smiled as he took a seat before taking off his hat and placing it on the table before running a calloused hand through salt and pepper hair.
"Don't worry about it.' Wendell muttered non-committedly as he took a swallow of his coffee; grimacing as it scalded its way down his throat. Leaning back into the seat laconically once again he slid his eyes partly shut to observe the driver through his hooded lashes. It was simple to tune the man out as the waitress saddled up next to the table once more to top off his coffee. It was harder to ignore the pangs of hunger in his stomach as the uniformed driver ordered a club sandwich and fries. Judging by the look he was getting from the older man he found it difficult to ignore as well.
"Hey kid, do you want anything to eat?' He offered Wendell, causing the youth to lift an eyebrow sceptically. "C'mon, don't be like that. My treat.' He promised seeing the youngers hesitation.
"And why would you do something like that?" Wendell asked suspiciously, one of his hands slipping down under the table subtly while he gesture with his coffee cup to cover the motion.
"No need to beat around the bush kiddo. I know what you are. I can pick out kids like you a mile away."
Wendell's heart began to pound loudly in his ears at those words even as his hands slid around the handle to a cheap stiletto switchblade he had bought off some street punk for $20. It was a cheap knock off, but the switch worked and the tip was sharp enough and at the time that had been all he cared about.
"Oh? And what pray tell am I then, if you have all the answers?" He asked. His mouth was suddenly dry as a desert and just as rough as he drew the handle from his jeans back pocket, his thumb brushing over the switch worriedly.
"Easy kid, I ain't gonna turn you in or nothing. I know what it's like to be a runaway. I had a rough home myself back in the day.' The driver smiled reassuringly as he raised his hands in a placating manner, blissfully unaware of the weapon held in Wendell's shaking hand. Though he did not miss the boy's relieved sigh, or how the tension bled away from his hunched shoulders. "Got it didn't I? You had the look about you, and I know from experience if you're running you're living day by day. At least let me buy you a sandwich and play good Samaritan. I'd feel guilty if I didn't.'
Wendell made to think it over when his stomach growled at him again, this time quite vocally at the treasonous thought of turning down a decent meal. The driver just chuckled and continued to regard him with a warm and understanding smile. For once Wendell returned it with a small grin of his own. "…. Sure, why not." He capitulated with a shrug as the older man waved over the same waitress as before and asked to make that two orders. Wendell however kept the blade in his hand under the table. At least until the food arrived. When it did arrive between the smell of the thick turkey club sandwich, steak cut fries and gravy he couldn't resist and was soon devouring his meal, pausing every so often between bites of food to make the obligatory contribution to the drivers' small talk, the blade slipped unceremoniously back into his pocket.
It was an hour and fifteen minutes later that Wendell was washing his hands in the washroom before getting ready to leave with the rest of the remaining passengers that he caught a glimpse of his reflection. His shoulder length mousy brown hair was tousled in a most unruly fashion, while his forest green eyes where glazed with fatigue only accentuated by the dark bags hanging under them and his normally fair skin was an unappealing shade of pale from lack of sleep. Sighing in exasperation Wendell palmed his hair flat as best he could with the water, reslung his backpack and headed out ten minutes early. The driver who Wendell had learned was named Dave was leaning against the side of the bus, cigarette hanging from between his lips loosely as he took a deep drag.
"Don't suppose you have one of those you'd be willing to spare would you?' He asked with his hands jammed deep into his pockets to ward off the chill. Dave merely looked up at him before tapping off the ashes accumulating on the end of the smoke before reaching into his own pocket.
"Normally I'd be caught dead before I'd hand out smokes to minors, but Christ if you don't look like you've needed this since before you even got on the bus kid." He teased lightly before passing Wendell as cigarette of his own and efficiently lighting it.
"You don't know the half of it.' Wendell smirked sarcastically as he took a deep inhale with obvious relish as the smoke filled his lungs before he expelled it in a slow steady stream. Other passengers where already waiting on the bus or already getting on so Wendell hurried despite himself as he leaned against the bus next to Dave. "Truly nicotine and caffeine are amongst gods greatest gifts to mankind."
"Amen to that kiddo.' Dave grinned before he flicked his butt to the ground and crushed the still glowing ember beneath his shoe. He was kind enough to wait for Wendell to finish before he hauled himself back inside the coach bus, and behind the wheel with Wendell following close behind. "Try and get some sleep kid, it'll be a few hours before we hit Bayville and you look like you could use the sleep."
"I'm looking that bad eh?" Wendell asked with a small but genuine smile as he walked past and settled into his seat. Dave never replied except for a short chuckle. Within minutes they were back on their way, and despite his recalcitrance to do so, Wendell was once again soon lost in a restless and nightmare plagued sleep.
It was in a small and enclosed room that a computer silently whirred to life, receiving data based on brainwave analysis even as Wendell began to toss and turn from more nightmares. Collating the information the small display brought up a math of North America, and there near the city of Bayville a small red light was slowly inching it's way closer. Further away though in the same building a light began to blink on a bedside table, gently waking the sole occupant of a lavish bedroom. Stirring slowly, the figure sighed as he saw the light and tossed the blankets off of himself before gently easing himself into the wheelchair beside his bed with an ease born of years of practice. Gently rolling himself to the nightstand, the man picked a phone's receiver from its cradle and dialed a single number before waiting for a response.
"….Yes Logan? It's Charles. Cerebro's picked up the signal again. Like before it's been getting closer. I'm sorry for waking you so early in the night, but I need to see you in the control room please."