Chapter 2:
I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun!
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Creed Farm:
Twelve-year-old Graydon Creed sat at the kitchen-table, slowly eating his dinner. It was steak, well cooked, which was a rarity in their house. Every meal was served with meat, including breakfast, but it was very rare if it was well done, or actually cooked at all. His father actually preferred his meals raw, and had tried feeding it to Graydon a few times, but he had never been able to get his taste buds around it.
Thankfully, though, he did cook a few things, mostly bacon, as even he loved crispy bacon in the morning, though most of the stuff he cooked didn't seem fit for a dog (his dad didn't have a lot of experience in the kitchen). He had once asked him if they could have something different, like a salad or pasta, and his dad's only response had been to tell him that if he didn't like it then he could go hungry.
Living with his father was a constant struggle. It was like living on a safari, in danger of being attacked by ferocious beasts at every turn. In his case, however, the only beast was his father. One moment he could almost be considered cheerful (a true rarity), the next cold and solitary, and the next moment he could be explosive.
His dad had a violent temper.
He wasn't with him tonight, as he had left a few hours ago to, as he said, pay an old friend a visit for his birthday, which he did every year. Graydon didn't know who this friend was, as his dad had never told him, but whoever he was he had to be very special for him to go visit him every year.
He always left him at this time, as well as various other times around the year, leaving him alone for days or sometimes even weeks at a time, which he had done since he was about eight. When he wasn't visiting his friend, all he said was that he was either going hunting or he had business.
The first time he had left him, it had been a few weeks after his eighth birthday. His dad had picked him up from school, drove him home and then dropped him off on their doorstep, telling him he was leaving for a bit, so he had to take care of the house till he got back.
Graydon had been nervous to say the least, at being left home alone so young, but his dad had told him he was old enough now, and he had a long overdue appointment with an old friend of his whose birthday was coming up…whatever that meant.
The first night had been the scariest, particularly as there had been a big storm. He remembered lying half awake, clutching his bed-sheets tightly, jumping at every creak, bang and crash of lightning all night, wishing only that his dad would come home. At least with his dad home, he could have rest assured that no one would have been crazy enough to try breaking into their house.
He had been gone less than four days, but Graydon remembered how relieved he had felt when he eventually walked through the front door. He would have rushed right up to hug him if he hadn't known how his dad felt about such emotional displays.
He had ended up leaving again soon after; this time saying he had to go do some work, though Graydon hadn't known what. He had asked if someone needed some work done on their farm? To which his dad had simply shrugged, and then, most curiously, he had left dressed up in an odd brown and orange outfit, which he had just laughed and said was his business suit.
Graydon had long since learned not to ask anything of his father's business dealings, and after the third or fourth time he was actually grateful for him being out of the house. It gave him some peace whenever he was away, not to mention a half decently cooked dinner.
The front door suddenly banged open.
"Graydon!" his father's loud voice snarled. "Get here now!"
Graydon dropped his fork in surprise, and hurried to the front room where the man in question was now waiting. He was half naked, as his clothes were in pieces, though Graydon wasn't actually bothered by that. He was used to seeing his father wearing very little, as he would often go hunting in the forest, usually returning with his clothes in tatters and covered in blood.
Today was no exception, as they were all torn and bloody, though none of the blood looked like it was his own, but that didn't mean anything. He knew all about his father's accelerated healing, which meant that any wounds he might have had would have long since healed by now.
He couldn't help but take a look at his father's huge claws, which unsurprisingly were dripping with blood, with bits of flesh hanging from them.
'He said he was going to visit his friend,' he thought. 'He couldn't have lied just to go on another hunting trip, could he? And where's the prey?
His father took a step toward him.
'Uh oh,' he thought, bracing himself for what he knew was coming.
His father held out his hands and cupped his son's head in them, smearing some blood around his face, and pressed his own face right up against his, their noses touching each other, and started sniffing him. Graydon did the same thing, smelling him while trying hard not to blanch at the stench of blood and Lord knows what else.
It was their own special greeting, how they welcomed each other home. Although Graydon didn't have his father's enhanced sense of smell, he had always copied his dad's movements when he was a kid, and this form of greeting of theirs had just sort of stuck.
They started sniffing each other's noses, and then moved down to the sides of their necks, and ended there. He hadn't used to mind it when he was younger, but now…it just felt so freaky!
And all the blood and bits on his dad didn't help matters much either.
"Run a bath!" Sabretooth then said, releasing him. "Then get your things together. We're leaving tonight."
Graydon looked up at him, his eyes wide. "Leaving?" he asked, astounded. "But…why?" They had lived in this house for as long as he could remember. Why would his father want to move now?
"Don't matter!" Sabretooth snarled. "Just get the bath drawn and get your things!"
"But…" he started to say, but stopped at the dark look his father gave him. He had his fist balled, looking like he was eager to hit something.
He was soon proven right, when Sabretooth raised his fist, looking like he was about to punch his lights out, but at the last second he turned and rammed his fist right through the wall.
Graydon kept silent, as his father pulled his fist back, shaking some of the debris plaster from it.
Sabretooth didn't say anything else as he marched past him, heading into the kitchen, most likely for a beer. He didn't say sorry, good boy or anything like that. He never did.
Graydon knew better than to antagonise his father (no one was brave enough to do that).
Most boys would be terrified their father was going to hit them in a situation like that, but not Graydon. His father never hit him. He would terrify him, make him do extra hard and back-breaking chores, among other things, give him the odd clip around the ear, but he never hit him…not anymore.
But there had been a time, once, when he had…
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Eight Years Ago:
"Graydon!" Sabretooth's voice roared through the cabin-like house where they lived. "Get up here NOW!"
Four-year-old Graydon Creed sat shivering at the kitchen-table. His daddy had obviously just discovered the hole in his bedroom wall, together with the handgun that he usually kept in the back of his wardrobe, now laying on the floor. He thought he didn't know, but Graydon had watched him often enough when he went to his wardrobe (he also kept a few bottles of Jack Daniels in there).
He had been curious about the funny toy that his daddy kept there. Was it a special toy that only he was allowed to play with? For some reason, he kept it in his wardrobe, away from him.
Needless to say, Graydon was curious, so while his daddy had been out working in the fields (he often left him on his own), he had sneaked into his room to find out what was so special about it.
After taking the gun out of the wardrobe, he had turned it around in his hands, finding nothing especially interesting about it. It didn't seem to do anything, nor did it even have any bright colours on it like some of his toys did. He had stuck his finger inside the big funnel at the end, sniffed at it like he had seen his daddy often do, but still nothing.
What was so special about this thing that it had to be kept hidden?
The gun had been a little dusty, having never been used and hardly ever removed from its box. Sabretooth was not one for using so crude a weapon, or any kind of weapons actually, as he generally preferred using his claws and strength instead. He only kept it on the off chance he might need it (it never hurt to have an extra weapon handy in case of an attack).
Graydon had then noticed the small trigger underneath it. Curiously, he had fingered it…
[BANG!]
Graydon had squealed and dropped the gun on the floor. He had just stood where he had been, the sound of the gunshot still in his ears. Luckily, the gun had been pointed away, aimed at the wall behind him.
He had been able to do nothing except stare in shock at the huge hole that now occupied his daddy's bedroom wall, right above his bed.
He had backed away from the gun, afraid that it might go off again, resisting the urge to cry. Not knowing what else to do, and only being four, Graydon had just left it where it was, and went downstairs to wait for his daddy to return. After a few hours, Sabretooth had returned, wiping a layer of sweat from his brow as he walked in through the front door. He had soon spotted his boy sitting in the kitchen, and went up to him on his way to get a beer from the fridge.
The first thing he noticed was that his boy hadn't giggled like he usually did whenever he pressed his nose to him. And then, there was the smell…
"What's that?" he had asked, his nose turned up at the smell of gunpowder coming from upstairs. He had then gone up to investigate, followed soon by his roar.
"I SAID GET UP HERE NOW!" Sabretooth's voice roared again.
Slowly, Graydon got up and made his way upstairs. Once he got to Sabretooth's room…his daddy's giant hand snapped out and grabbed him, grasping him by the front of his shirt.
Graydon wailed, as he was dragged into the room, lifted up from the floor and practically pressed up against his daddy's monstrous face.
"Mind telling me what the fuck happened here?" Sabretooth growled.
Graydon whimpered, as he dangled from his daddy's strong grip. "I-I-I-I…"
"Stop stuttering!" Sabretooth ordered, shaking him. "What are you, some frightened old woman?"
He sobbed.
"And stop that crying, too, or so help me I'll give you something to cry about!"
His son looked up into his menacing eyes, forcing his tears back. "Yes, daddy," he said quietly.
"Now what happened here?" he asked again, indicating the used gun on the floor.
He swallowed. "I… I was playing and I…I banged into the wardrobe and…"
"WHAT WERE YOU DOING PLAYING IN MY ROOM?" Sabretooth shouted, shaking him again. "Don't you fucking dare lie to me, boy! Did you deliberately go through my stuff after I told you not to?"
The boy started sobbing again. "I-I-I was…"
[SLAP!]
"I SAID NO CRYING!" his daddy snarled, slapping him across the face.
This time, Graydon couldn't keep the tears back, as they began flowing out his eyes and down his cheeks, his cries becoming hysterical. Luckily, his daddy hadn't hit him that hard, which was good because a full hit from his giant clawed hands would have snapped his neck.
"Shut up!" Sabretooth demanded. But Graydon was too upset this time to obey, as he wept loudly. "I said shut up! No boy of mine is gonna cry like a wimp!"
He began shaking him, but all that seemed to do was intensify the boy's cries.
"SHUT YER TRAP!"
[SLAP!]
Graydon blubbered to the point of screaming, as he was slapped again, this time even harder than the first.
"IF YOU DON'T…"
Graydon's shirt suddenly tore, as Sabretooth shook him violently, and he fell to the floor with a loud bump. He was too frightened, however, to be concerned about being hurt. The second he hit the floor, he got up and raced out the room.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Sabretooth yelled, but Graydon didn't listen, wanting only to run somewhere, anywhere, he would be safe.
Sabretooth didn't run after him, because he would be able to find him anywhere he went, and there was nowhere he could go. They lived in a cabin-house, located on a small farm in the middle of the Canadian countryside, surrounded by mountains. The town was a good several miles away, as was the nearest neighbour.
Sabretooth had bought the place shortly after Graydon had been born. Although he had plenty of money, from his years as a paid mercenary, and could have bought a huge mansion, he had wanted to raise his boy someplace quiet and ideal for the both of them. The farm was located right by the wilderness so he could hunt whenever he wanted, it was well isolated thus ideal to hide out in, with no other people about, and there was plenty of space for them to run about in.
Graydon ran out the room and down the stairs, looking for a good hiding place. He briefly considered his own bedroom, under the bed or in the closest, but his room was right next to his daddy's so he'd see him go in there.
In the end, he decided the cellar was the next best place. His daddy rarely went down there for some reason.
He hurried downstairs, all the way down into the cellar, and quickly found a hiding place under the stairs. He sat underneath them, clutching his knees to his chest, sobbing quietly.
Soon after, he heard him coming. He covered his mouth to stifle his own sobs, watching as his daddy's big feet with the long claws walked down the steps in front of him. His daddy never wore shoes except for when he had to go out into town.
When Sabretooth reached the bottom, he stood still for a moment, sniffing the air, and then turned around and made his way straight over to Graydon. How had he found him?
"Think you can run away do ya, boy?" his daddy said, enraged. "Why'd ya run, huh? Only cowards run from their enemies, boy, and I ain't fathered no lily-livered cry-baby!"
Graydon wailed, as he watched him take his belt off and began beating it into his hand.
"I told you before!" Sabretooth swiped at some of the boxes that his son was hiding behind. "STOP THAT CRYING!" He reached out and grabbed what was left of Graydon's shirt.
"No, daddy, please!" he screamed in fright, the tears flooding down his face, as Sabretooth raised his belt up high.
At first, Sabretooth made no sign of listening to him, except for the weak and pitiful tears his own flesh and blood was crying. He raised his belt, getting ready to strike, when…
"I'm sorry. I'll be good, I promise!" Graydon sobbed, holding his arms up in front to protect himself. "I'll be good!"
Sabretooth, aka Victor Creed, felt his mind go into overdrive. It was like he was falling, as his son's words, together with the place they were in at the moment, in the cellar, suddenly sent dozens of images flashing in his mind. He saw himself as a child, chained up in the cellar of his old house, crying as his father came down the stairs, brandishing a pair of pliers in his hand.
"He's some kind of animal! Full of wickedness! That's what it is. But don't you worry, son. Zebadiah Creed knows how to get the wickedness out of you!"
"No, please, paw! Not again! I'll be good…I'll be good...I'll be good!"
In that moment, if Graydon had been able to look up, he would have seen an expression on his father's face, which neither he nor anyone else had ever seen, and probably never would again.
The expression he wore was one of fear…painful fear. The fear he had felt as a child when his father had abused him, and the shocking realisation that his son was now in the exact position that he had once been in.
Sabretooth stared down at his son, seeing not the baby he had once been, the one who had had no fear, but a boy gripped by outright terror…of him.
When his father's belt didn't come down, Graydon risked himself to lower his arms and look at him. He still didn't get a chance to see his father's face, for in the blink of an eye, Sabretooth suddenly dropped his belt, shot out his arm and pulled him close, wrapping both his arms around him almost protectively.
Graydon gave out some muffled cries, as Sabretooth practically crushed him into his chest. This was a whole new thing to him, as his daddy had never hugged him before. He always said that only women hugged, not men. The only sign of affection he ever gave was when he would press his face against his.
He twisted his face to the side, managing to breathe more easily, but still his daddy wouldn't release him. He briefly considered asking him to let him go, but in the end he decided against it.
Partly it was because he was afraid what he might do. If he asked his father to release him, then he might get angry and decide to pick up where he left off with the belt. And the other reason was… He couldn't recall his daddy ever showing this much affection for him before, even if he couldn't understand the reason why. So he kept quiet.
They remained like that for several minutes, Sabretooth holding him in a fierce bear-hug, until Graydon finally dozed off in his arms. As he fell asleep, he thought he could make out his daddy silently saying "I'll be good," over and over.
When he next opened his eyes, he was in bed, all tucked in.
It was now nighttime, but curious about where his father was he went downstairs. However, he couldn't find him anywhere.
He looked all over the house, and had even tried going into the cellar, only to find it locked and bolted. There seemed to be some new locks placed on it for some reason. So he went into the living room, and sat on the couch to wait.
After a few hours, Sabretooth returned, coming back from what appeared to be a hunting trip, judging by all the blood he had on his claws. It must have been a pretty big hunt considering the shape he was in. But however bad he looked, Graydon knew that whatever he had been hunting had to be in even worse shape.
"Daddy!" he said excitedly, running up to try and hug him again, but Sabretooth just held out his arm, keeping him away.
"Keep back," was all he said, lowly, and walked past him.
Graydon said nothing at first, but watched as he went into the kitchen to wash himself up. He came back in a few minutes later, dressed only in his boxers after throwing what was left of his clothes in the bin, and a cold beer in his hand.
He sat down on the couch, opening the beer and taking a swig.
Once he sat down, Graydon tried to get close to him again. In an attempt to try and recreate the closeness that had happened only hours ago, he sat down on the couch, and began edging slowly towards him.
The second he got within a metre of him, though, Sabretooth shot out his arm and pushed him to the floor.
"Don't…touch…me!" he said warningly, ignoring his son's cries. He hadn't hit him, but to Graydon his push had hurt way more than any punch or slap could have done.
"Get to bed," he told him, his voice a hiss.
Graydon didn't reply, but merely did as he was told, as he got up and made his way to the stairs.
"Graydon!" his daddy suddenly said.
He looked back, but his daddy wasn't even looking at him. He was still sitting on the couch, his beer still in his hand, looking at the blank screen of the TV.
"Tomorrow, I'm gonna be showing you how to use the gun, okay," he told him. "I figure I'd better at least show you how not to blow your own brains out."
Graydon's tears dried a little, but he did not smile. "Thank you, daddy."
He grumbled, taking another swig of his beer.
Just as Graydon was about to carry on back upstairs, Sabretooth spoke again. "One last thing, boy… From now on, I want you to stay away from the cellar, all right? Don't even try opening it."
"Why?"
"Don't matter! Just do what I say, all right?"
Graydon swallowed and nodded, before remembering that his daddy wasn't looking at him and thus couldn't see him nod. "Yes, sir," he replied.
He waited another minute or two, in case his father wanted to say anything else, but when he didn't, he slowly made his way back upstairs to bed.
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His father never spoke about that day, about what had unsettled him or why he had held him that way, and Graydon had been glad to forget about it…or at least most of it.
He remembered the next morning when he had come downstairs, and his father had just acted like nothing had happened. He had been busy burning bacon and frying eggs, taking time only to give him his usual sniff good morning, and then telling him to sit his butt down and have his breakfast. Afterwards, he had taken him outside with that gun, and started showing him on how to use it.
He had had mixed feelings about that morning. On the one hand he had enjoyed spending some time with his dad, and having him teach him something. On the other hand, though, he had still been feeling pretty rattled from his experience with the gun, and would have been happier if he had never seen the thing again. He still couldn't bring himself to even go near it.
Although he was glad his dad hadn't been angry any longer, he had always held onto the memory in the cellar. It was one of the few times when his father had shown any true feelings for him.
It wasn't, however, the last.
There had been other times when his father had shown kindness towards him. But those had been times that he could have done well without.
One of them had been when he had first started school…
To Be Continued…
