Author's note: Thank you to kmj1989, anonymouscsifan, NotMarge, .2016, and .Quinn for the reviews! Anonymous, we will definitely explore the Babineaux siblings' background. I think it plays an important role in how they all fall in with the Brotherhood.

Again, thank you to everyone who gives this story a look!

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men.


Fortune's Fools

I had a feeling Myles would be in bad shape when we freed him from Stryker's clutches. I mean, not this bad, but I knew he wouldn't look like he'd just gotten back from a week in the Bahamas, either.

Still, I guess I thought everything would be fine once we got him out. We might have to nurse him back to health for a while, but that was ok. That's the kind of thing you do for family.

And then afterwards, we could get on with our lives and try to put this whole awful episode behind us.

Boy, was I wrong.


February 13, 1973

We've settled into an apartment in New Jersey for now, until Myles gets better. I know we won't be here much more after that because we never really stay anywhere for long. Mercenaries and occasional fugitives from the law don't exactly keep permanent residences, it's just bad business. I give us two months here, tops.

The first sign that something's wrong in Little-Brother-Land comes almost a week after we steal Myles back, when he speaks for the first time since that night.

"Sissy," he suddenly says while I'm putting ointment on his burns. They're healing up pretty well, as are the bruises and minor cuts. Unfortunately the skin on his back will take more time.

I grin at his name for me. He hasn't called me "Sissy" since he was seven.

And it's also just good to hear his voice again. He's always been such a chatterbox, the silence has been pretty freaky the past few days.

"Yeah, Myles?"

He giggles and reaches out to touch my nose. "You have spots on your nose," he tells me.

Uh, ok.

It's not exactly something I'd expect to hear from my eighteen year old brother, but I go with it. "They're freckles, silly," I gently scold. "You have them, too."

"I do?"

"Yeah," I reply, slightly uncertain. "Here, I'll show you."

I grab my compact out of my seldom-used purse and hold it out to him.

"Take a look."

Myles just kinda frowns at the disk for a moment, clearly stumped. I tell myself that's forgivable- I mean, he's a boy, what does he know about makeup?- and obligingly open it for him.

His expression starts out puzzled as he peers at the mirror.

And then he just goes completely ape shit crazy.

He throws the compact across the room and starts flailing around, screeching his head off. The tender, healing wounds on his back tear open again so fresh blood oozes out on the sheets.

"Myles! Myles, knock it off!" I shout, over his screams. "James!"

I hold Myles' arms down by his wrists and hop up onto the mattress, but before I can get to his legs he plants a foot on my stomach and gives me a solid kick.

I let out a hiss of pain as I do this really embarrassing half-fall off the bed and knock into the side railing. But I don't let go.

"James, get your ass in here!"

Finally, finally James bursts into the room. "What the hell-?"

"I don't know," I yell, "just grab his feet! His feet!"

For a minute there I think our only option is to hold on to Myles until he exhausts himself.

But then I get this bright idea to start singing to him, the way I used to when he had nightmares in the months following our parents' deaths. Just this nonsensical Cajun lullaby Dad used to sing, but it only takes a few seconds for Myles to chill out.

Wow. I can't believe that actually worked.

Once he seems calm enough I decide to chance giving him some gentle orders, so I can re-bandage his wounds.

"Ok," I murmur. "Ok. Myles, turn over for me please."

He complies like an obedient child, like the past few minutes didn't happen.

I quickly get to work, just in case this docility doesn't last.

"Why were you freaking out, Myles?" James asks in his best attempt at a gentle voice. It still would put John Wayne to shame.

"Huh?"

"Why'd you lose your shit on Vivien?"

Myles giggles. "You said a bad word," he says teasingly. "Hey, you have freckles, too!"

Oh sweet Jesus.

James and I exchange dark looks. As quickly as that psychotic episode came on, it seems like our brother has no memory of it at all.

"Alright, Myles," I announce cheerfully. "I think it's time for a nap. You comfy?"

He nods. "But can you sing more, Sissy?"

"Of course."

I sing until he falls asleep, then head to the other room and put on my shoes.

"Where do you think you're going?" James demands, grabbing my arm.

I jerk away from him. "I'm going out," I snap. "I haven't left this apartment for almost a week, I just found out my little brother's lost his fucking marbles, and I need a goddamn break."

"What kind of break?" he asks suspiciously.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Vivien," James replies. Suddenly his hazel eyes- pretty much identical to mine- are pleading, an expression that just looks weird on him. "You- you're not going to check out on me, are you? I need you, Sis."

Well don't I feel like an asshole now. Thanks for bringing that up.

When our parents died I held it together for about two years before I... I went off the deep end for a while.

I was thirteen and stupid and so fucking tired of having to make adult decisions for all of us. James was so angry at the world all the time, and Myles... Myles wanted Mom back, which was obviously impossible. I couldn't be his mother, I was just a kid myself.

So I went crazy.

Partying, sex, drugs, that whole rock-and-roll lifestyle. Anything to forget how messed up my life was, even though it was all waiting for me when I came back down from the high.

And then I got my shit together and stopped.

I realized how stupid I was being, how disappointed my parents would be if they saw me like that. They died so I could live, and I couldn't throw my life away anymore.

I made a promise to myself that I would never lose- well, myself, like that ever again.

Seeing James so anxious now makes me feel ashamed of myself and guilty for what I put him through all over again.

I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek. "I'm just going for a walk, James," I assure him. "Now stop being so vulnerable, it's creeping me out."


As a feral I don't get cold the way other people do, thanks to my body temperature being a lot higher than the Average Jane's.

But because it's February and people will think you're a hooker if you walk down the street in just a romper and boots I put on a jacket for form's sake, with a beanie to hide my ears.

For a while I just walk without any real destination, trying to calmly collect my thoughts.

I end up in a park a few blocks away from the apartment. The weak winter sun's pathetic attempt to warm the dead-looking trees fits my wretched mood.

Everything was supposed to be alright now that we have Myles back. And it isn't, it really isn't. I mean, what if he never gets better? What if he's always going to be like that from now on? A child one moment, a screaming nutjob the next?

It's not fair.

Myles has his faults, yeah, but don't we all? He's just a kid, a goddamn kid. What the hell could he have possibly done to deserve this? How can this ever turn out alright now?

I guess right now I'm feeling betrayed by the universe, which is obviously really stupid. Like the universe even gives a shit about Myles, or my parents, or all of the other mutants stuck in Stryker's labs. It doesn't care about any of us. How else can you explain this?

You know what? On second thought, fuck being calm.

With a snarl I bring my foot up and put it through the slats of one of the park benches, making the stupid thing collapse into a pitiful heap.

A homeless guy on the next bench sits up with a start, making me jump slightly. I hadn't even noticed him there, between my sulking and the fact that he's covered himself in newspapers for warmth.

"Sorry," I mumble awkwardly. I didn't really want my burst of temper to have an audience.

"You ok, girlie?" the man asks gruffly. But not in a mean kind of way. More like a I-just-got-woken-up-by-an-angry-blonde-throwing-a-fit-and-now-I'm-confused kind of way.

"I'm fine, sir," I reply, giving him that winsome, sugary smile I have down to a science by now.

I'm short, freckled, and the Breast Fairy (that bitch) felt like being a penurious shrew when she paid me a visit during puberty. Trust me, I can easily pull off the sweet little girl act when I need to.

He looks at the pile of wood that used to be a park bench and raises a questioning eyebrow.

"The wood must've been rotten," I offer with a shrug. "Better be careful, there."

The man just chuckles and lays back down without pushing the issue. Within a minute he's fast asleep again.

Huh. I guess you get used to weirdness, living on a park bench.

I feel bad for the guy, really. It's freezing outside, and here he is trying to keep warm under newspapers, of all things. How'd he get out here, in this situation?

I guess I'm not the only one having a run of bad luck.

Just another one of Fortune's fools, I think to myself bitterly. Poor guy.

On impulse I take off my jacket and gently lay it on top of him. It's too small for a grown man, but it's definitely better than the funny pages. For good measure I take a ten dollar bill out of my boot and shove it in his fist for him to find when he wakes up.

It's not much, but it's all I can do.

Bad things are happening to good people, and I'm completely powerless to stop it. It's eating me up inside. I wish I could help somehow, but what good can one person do against an entire world's worth of ill will and indifference?

God, it'd be so much easier if I could stop caring so damn much.

With a sigh I head back to the apartment, returning the askance looks I get with a defiant glare.

You have a problem with how I look, say something. I dare you.

Today I have absolutely no fucks to give to people who would rather spend their time judging instead of actually addressing things that really matter.