these hands had to let it go free
chapter three – slightly broken's just what i need
Summary: In which Peter finds out his half sister is alive, and leaves to find her. Because terrorist and all that aside, Peter still wants to make his father proud, in a morbid sort of way.
Prompt: I just recently finally watched Apocalypse and I bawled right after because it was so beautiful and the characters meant so much to me and everything. And most importantly, the angst between Peter and Erik just got me.
A/N: There is a character here that will show up who in the comic canon has blue eyes but I described as having brown eyes, because a) it's my fanfiction and b) the actress I'm imagining to play her has brown eyes. If you can guess who I have in mind review about it. Also, tons of things happening this chapter, all the main characters are coming together and what not. I hope I found the balance in good descriptions and describing actions and events taking place. Review if you liked it and as usual, not beta'd. And I'm sorry in advance of this gets a little queasy. And also, a lot of questions and stuff will explained next chapter, including one of the last events. One word, FLASH.
Disclaimer: I just don't own the X-Men okay, be it the comics, films or cartoons.
It was all hazy. Needles pierced through his neck, little shocks of electricity tingled across his skin, and serums dosed into his bloodstream numbing his senses and weakening his powers. They'd truly been relentless in their torture or experimentation or—what the fuck ever. They were just men taking orders, sure—they're just as bad as those who ordered them. Peter couldn't care less whoever the fuck they were—they're putting him through hell and that's all that mattered. When he gets out—if he gets out—they're all dead to him.
But Peter had to hold onto some sort of sanity. They were all crazy sure—and so was he—but losing his mind was exactly what these guys wanted. They wanted him to lose his fight and succumb to whatever game they played, and whatever role they had prepared for him. Like hell he'd have them do what they wanted with his powers – only Peter could decide what he did with his own abilities. The whole world could end right then and there, and these men could die and he'd still fight to stay sane. He was not going to forget who he was – a well taught lesson by his mother – and all be damned if anyone dared to make him.
"Agh!"
His scream cut through the air as another shock startled his whole body. He spasmed helplessly against his bindings. The ugly Lab Coat laughed at his suffering form, doll and ragged, bleeding from the mouth—he could hardly breathe. There was a cackle in that old man's voice, so proud of his pleasant work, and Peter shuddered for the first time—scared for his life. Sure, Apocalypse had been scary, and sure the mutant god or whatever had broken his leg. But at least he had reasons to brave the man – because he had powers and he wanted to gain control of the world, fighting for their kind. He felts some kind of kinship with Apocalypse. However, these men were just regular people, with so much hatred in them—enough hatred to put a poor innocent person through so much obscenities just because they were slightly different. Peter did not fear Apocalypse because of what he could do—he feared this men because of what they couldn't do. Mutants—no matter how scary their powers may be, Peter did not fear them. But humans were different, they had no reason to fight back—they just did – because they could and wanted to. The insanity of these men were what scared Peter the most. No wonder his father hated them.
But his mother was different, and he loved her, and Aly was also one of the best things in his life. So death await, he'd never show a feared face because he was fighting for the light of hope that there were still some good left in these people. And most importantly, he was Magneto's son – whether his father knew it or not – and he would not shame such a title in front of humanity's worst. They did not deserve it.
"Time for the third dose of the day."
Lab Coat grinned, cheshire and teeth. He walked towards the captive, hand calloused, and gently patted Peter's cheeks. The boy responded with a spit to Lab Coat's face, crimson dripped from his forehead right down to the tip of his nose.
"My, my, still as disobedient as ever." He slapped Peter, and the boy gagged with more blood spluttering out of his mouth. "You're in my territory boy, don't ever forget that."
"Technically it's Stryker's territory."
Peter had never fading wit, and it thrived the more he was persecuted. Call it what you will—defense mechanism of some sort, or just plain stupidity on his part—but it had been borne out of years of torment and kept him together all those years of alienation.
"Smart."
Another electric shock went through Peter's body and this time it didn't stop for a very long time. Peter screamed, wretched in agony, swinging wildly against the chains. His throat burned stop stop! But his state only made Lab Coat grin wider, and press the button harder. The voltage shot up and Peter was shaking so bad the chains were chipping off. His heart in palpitations, seizures all over his body and breathless in his tantrum. His brain had been fried, he didn't even notice Lab Coat inject in another dose of that wretched yellow stuff he so badly hated. It wasn't until ten minutes later that Lab Coat stopped, and Peter was left a messy heap of broken skin and shattered soul on the wall.
"That's fine. You being slightly broken's just what I need."
Lab Coat padded out the sliding doors. Peter, in his weak state, stilled. Blood clogged his throat and despite spitting out words all that came out was red liquid, tangy like the metal his father had been known for. He felt his heartbeat, slow and rattled. There wasn't a lot of things he accomplished in this lifetime—maybe meeting his father was all that the universe had been waiting for. He thought he finally found something—somewhere—he belonged to. But that was now being taken away from him. Happiness was hard to find, specially when the world moved as slowly as it did for him. And if that wasn't punishment enough, every bit of joy he'd earned for himself never stayed. He's had enough.
He wanted to die.
Peter.
The whole world could end now, he didn't give a fuck anymore.
Peter?
Let the hell swallow him up and burn this whole place down.
Peter!
Eyes fluttered and darted. One more blink, and he turned to his left. There at the top of the basement staircase, his mother stood, a disapproving look on her face. How did he not hear her come down?
"What are you doing?"
He hid the box so fast no normal person could tell it was ever there—they might've thought it was some trick of the light or something. But this was his mom and she knew him better than he knew himself.
"What's with the box?"
"What box?"
"Don't act innocent Peter."
He huffed. Sixteen and pouting, he left to bring the box out again. He poured the contents down on his little sofa.
"I found it in your room I hope you don't mind me looking through your stuff."
"Of course I mind Peter." Magda rolled her eyes. "But I can't stop you even if you do it. In fact, nobody can."
"Why do you have old men stuff in your drawer are they all Jason's stuff shouldn't you return it all to him."
Magda didn't reply. Instead, she let her hand carefully inspect the spilled contents. From the pocket watch, broken pair of glasses, and torn and burnt pictures of an age she could hardly remember. There were even long letters she'd written back then, coffee colored from all those years of being buried under her new life, and a locket that once bound her to the man Eisendhardt.
"You know who these belong to, Peter. Like I said, don't act innocent." Peter faltered. "I should've thrown this all away."
"Why do you still keep it around do you think he'll ever come back?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"I thought one day, whenever I decided to tell you the truth, this box would speak for itself." She sighed and bent down, picked up the pieces, one by one, and placed them back in the box. "But I guess he spoke for himself on that television."
"Was he always like that you know human hating world dominating and probably crazy?"
"He's been through a lot Peter. Your father's not crazy."
"Really?"
"He's damaged is what he is."
"Why did he leave you?"
"He wanted vengeance, I wanted peace."
"So he left his family to become a terrorist?"
"I didn't think he'd turn out like this."
"Why I thought he wanted—"
"He wanted to kill Shaw, but I wanted him to stay. He couldn't stay, he told me to wait, but I couldn't wait. So we parted. His hatred for humans—it all started with a fire. Your older sister died."
"So he hates humans because they were the reason she died."
"Something like that."
"How can he love you and hate your race?"
"I don't know."
"Well I don't mind him as a father he seems kinda cool."
"He's a terrorist Peter, you said it yourself."
"There's gotta be more to him than just that."
"There is."
"And I've met him so I'm not afraid of him."
"You should be."
She looked up, hand on the last piece—the photograph. He looked down into her sullen eyes, slightly sad, slightly terrified. But most of all, there was long lost love. She stood straight, and gently handed him the photograph. He let a minute pass by before he took it. He eyed the image of his broken family, young Erik and Magda, standing together with a baby between them. There was a smile on Erik's face, one he never thought he'd see on the scrunch of the man's frown. His arm was scarred with numbers that once replaced his name.
"This is the same picture from the one hanging up our staircase."
"I know, this was his copy."
"He didn't want it?"
"No."
With a shake of her head, she turned her back to him, and readied to walk up the stairs. But there was a pull in her heart as she eyed from the corner, her son sat down as he inspected the photograph with wide brown of eyes of longing and curiosity. She swallowed hard, and stopped halfway up the first step.
"If you ever meet your father again, return those to him." Peter looked up, alarmed. "I don't want anything to do with him anymore, but closure would be nice."
"You'll let me meet him?"
She turned back to look at him.
"You'll want to, someday."
"But I—"
"Like I said Peter, I can't stop you. Nobody can."
He scoffed, a little smile curved up his lips. His mom was finally up the stairs, out of the basement. He looked back at the box, and placed the photograph on top of everything else. He closed it the box, picked it up, and hid it in a place only he would ever know. One day he thought.
Eyes snapped open. Peter brought his head up, shallow breaths as he looked around and tried to make sense of what was happening, where he was and what he was doing. It took a minute before memory came back to him. After awhile, he just scoffed, another smile, just like the one before. He knew what he had to do. He couldn't die—not just yet. There were so many things he had left to do. So he held onto that memory, a reminder that there was a box beneath his Pacman machine, just waiting to be opened, and given back to its rightful owner.
With determination, Peter straightened up, and began to try and wriggle his way out of the chains. No luck whatsoever, and he bit his lip, ready for another go at getting free. Then suddenly, an idea clicked to him. A little unorthodox, and god only knows what the consequences would be. But he had no other choice. He breathed in deeply. Peter's never tried this before. He had an idea – he didn't read a lot but he liked comics enough to know that it may work. He braced himself.
In a small Canadian village covered in effervescent snow, just a few hours earlier, a girl sat drinking at a pub house, eyes dazed as she stared at her glass of yellow gin. The little place was quaint, wooden with a radio happily chirping old songs. Her attire was simple, one a simple college girl would wear. And she had blonde hair that stood out amongst the dark haired men that littered the small rundown place at one pm in the afternoon. Suddenly, there was a tap on her shoulder, and she turned to face the bar owner.
"Miss Smith?"
He asked skeptically, the pub phone in hand.
"Yes?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"For you."
He handed her the phone, and she looked down at it accusingly. He pushed it further into her hands, and with a roll of her eyes, she took it, already knowing who would be on the other line.
"What do you want LeBeau?"
"I didn't actually think you'd be there." A husky voice whispered through the speaker, and she drank to that. "I need a favor from you."
"Of course, because you never call just to greet me." She hissed, one hand up to gesture for another drink. "It'd be nice every once in awhile to hear a, hey Tabs how are you or hey Tabitha it's nice to see you doing well."
"If you want someone interested in your personal life I suggest you get a boyfriend."
"Whatever." She finished the last drop of her drink, as the bartender moved to hand her another glass. "What do you want?"
"Up in Alkali Lake, there was recent movement by a facility that took mutants and experimented on them."
"I heard it was Stryker again."
"It is."
"When did he move in?"
"A couple of days ago, after our infiltration."
"Well, that guy has always had a fetish for that place. I wouldn't be surprised if the next time he moves he'll just come back in full circle to that place again." She chuckled to herself, index finger tapping the crystal rim of her glass. "Anyway, how do you even know if this is legitimate?"
"I heard the information from the professor himself."
"Look at you using your privileges." She scoffed, taking another sip from her drink. "Meanwhile I have to scrape by with information brokers and black market traders to get any news on the mutant community."
"That's not the point."
"Okay, what do you want me to do?"
"There's a mutant captive—his name is Peter Maximoff."
"Maximoff?"
The blonde girl stood up, clutching the phone hard against her ear.
"Yes, why?"
"I've heard of that last name."
"Where?"
"Have you ever heard of Wanda Maximoff?"
"Sounds vaguely familiar, who is she?"
"She goes to the same university as me, smart kid. She has a twin, as far as I know."
"Now that I think about it, I think Ms Maximoff mentioned something about a Wanda while I was at their house."
"Really?"
"Yeah, this chick is chasing after her brother."
"But she doesn't know Stryker's moved bases?"
"No."
"So what do you want me to do?"
"Get Peter out of the facility and send him back to the mansion. I'll deal with Wanda."
"Excuse me?!"
"What?"
"Are you expecting me, by myself, to infiltrate a highly secured, anti-mutant facility that experiments on us mutants?!"
"Yeah."
"Fuck no."
"Tabitha, you're the only one I know that can do this, come on."
"Fat chance LeBeau."
"Do if for Wanda."
"I hardly know the girl."
"I'll pay you."
Hazel eyes widened.
"How much?"
"I live in a mansion owned by a rich ass professor. Name your price, and it'll be handed to you on a silver platter, no questions asked."
"Is that a promise?"
"Yes."
"Okay, I'm in."
Once the phone was down, the girl stood up, drank the rest of her liquor, and left the cash on the table. She flicked her blonde hair, and gathered all her belongings. The bartender watched her with slow and lazy eyes. Once out the door, he moved to take her payment. There was a piece of card hidden beneath the small wad of cash.
Tabitha Smith, Boom Boom
- Call this number for any odd jobs
Across the other side, Remy breathed in deep, before letting out a sigh as he put down the phone. There were discussions being made as Charles chattered endlessly in the tea room, trying his best to comfort Magda. He could see through the little crack that the professor was eyeing him. He stayed rooted on his spot for awhile, listening to the battle plans Hank was suggesting, as Aly slept on her mother's lap. One person was missing, and as he turned to his left he saw there sat Nina, eyes out the window. Gravely, he walked over to her. She moved one chair up as he got closer, and he sent her a small smile, before he sat down. Silence was all they've ever known between them—and it was not just because of the language barrier.
It took awhile for Magda to calm down. Hank was already scurrying out the room as Charles made to leave. The sound of strolling wheels caused Remy to bolt up from his seat. He walked hastily out the waiting room, missing Nina's outstretched hand for him to stay. Once out, he settled down on the staircase, and stayed to wait for the professor.
"Remy." Charles wheeled to him, tentatively keeping an eye on Remy's blank expression. "I know you feel bad about what happened to Peter."
"Don't tell me it's not my fault because you and I both know you and they blame me for it."
"I don't blame you."
"Maybe you don't, but you know rightly it was all my fault."
"Maybe so."
At least he was honest.
"I'm trying, Prof. I'm trying to help."
"I know you are."
"Then let me go get Wanda."
"No Remy."
"But Prof—"
"You're staying here."
Charles' voice was stern, but there was a tone of gentleness laced within it, that somehow calmed Remy's heart.
"You're children. Things like these—next time, don't do anything wreckless on your own. Tell us."
"We did tell an adult though."
Charles smiled, grimly.
"Unfortunately, said adult is now in the hands of one of the most notorious anti-mutant possible."
With a pointed look, Charles wheeled away, his voice still reverberating in the back of Remy's head—even when he's not trying to get inside Remy's head, he was still in his head. Behind him came Anna Marie, solemn as ever. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, and he looked down at her, not an ounce of energy in his small smile.
"It's been days."
She whispered.
"I know."
He sighed.
"I wonder how Peter is."
"He'll be fine."
"They can't even get in contact with Magneto."
"Trust me, that's like a blessing in disguise."
Unbeknownst to both of them, a man had just been coming up the mansion gates, fedora hat on and a leather briefcase in hand.
Back in the facility, Stryker visited the control room, checking the progress of all other captive mutants. He was pacing back and forth when one monitor caught his eye.
"Carter, what's going on?"
He asked the female agent manning the visuals. She turned to where he was pointing and gasped. There showcased the rapid heartbeat before a flatline came up underneath the video of Peter in his isolation ward. He was unmoving, drooped down as if helpless and soulless.
"Sir!"
"The kid can't die just yet!"
Stryker screamed. He moved to make his way out the door, when the old man in a lab coat appeared before him.
"Let me handle this."
He spoke calmly, although it did not stop Stryker as he shoved past the man.
"I did, and now the kid's almost dead and we haven't even gotten everything out of him just yet."
"Trust me, I can bring him back to life, like what I did with the other girl!"
"Like hell you will!"
Stryker marched down the facility hallways. The man kept chasing after him, pleading.
"Sir, this is a mistake, let me take care of it!"
"No you will not."
At the end of the long hallway, Stryker input the code, before the doors slid open. He locked the old man out, and inspected the damage done to Peter. Carefully he eyed he limp body of the boy, and then growled. He stepped closer and began to unchain the boy. He only had one hand free when a punch met the side of his face, and he was sent flying across the room. There was a trail of blood as he looked up, lead by the very much alive Peter himself.
"Sucker."
Peter muttered, before he kicked Stryker, and then ran off to kick him across the other side again. He was reminded of Apocalypse, that very battle in which his arrogance almost cost him his leg. With that in mind, he delivered one last punch before running out the door – he learned from his mistakes, after all. Finally out, he was met with guards, and as exhausted as he may be, Pete's had enough. He ran as fast as he could with his blood loss and limping leg, knocking down tens to twenty guards in a row. He was about to exit too, when a shock ran across is body and the collar numbed his senses. He dropped down in pain as Lab Coat stalked towards him, that same old evil grin. He took one more step and reached for Peter.
But he didn't get him. An explosion came hurtling towards them, and Peter was blown away to the other side, while debris of cement and plastic glasses fell on the guards. Another explosion came, and this time it set ablaze the entire hallway. Peter would've been a goner if he hadn't had enough energy left in him—but he did. He was out the hall before fire could catch him. And the smoke wrapped the facility, sprinklers of water all forced on as guards and soldiers made their way to the hallway. Peter was quick to hide himself, and thanked god for whoever caused those explosives to go off. Hidden underneath one of the fallen walls, he turned to check the happenings around him, only to come face to face with wide brown eyes.
"AH!"
He screamed as the girl backed away, smirking.
"You're awfully scrawny."
"Who the hell are you?!"
Peter sputtered, hand over his heart as he backed further against the cement.
"Your savior, you ungrateful ass."
"What?"
"All you need to know is I was sent here, and I'm about to bust you out."
She took a step closer, and Peter stayed still. He didn't know whether it was because he was too exhausted to even attempt to run, or it was because of the girl's forward personality—heck, he even thought she scared him—or most importantly, maybe because something in her brown eyes told him to trust her. Which was a big mistake if he ever made one—and he's made a lot.
"I'll save you, but you're going to have to make this easy for me." With one step forward, and little time to react from Peter – which was weird because he was fast but then again he was so beat a turtle would give him a run for his money right about now – she stuck a needled syringe to Peter's neck. "Sorry, but this'll make moving you easier."
Peter dropped to floor unconscious, and the girl knelt down to inspect the damaged she caused. She clicked her tongue, before fingering the collar stuck to his neck. With a grunt, she created a pin sized ball of plasma, and placed it on the collar. It made a small flash that snapped the collar in half. Satisfied with her work, she nodded to herself, and shouldered Peter's arms. She dragged him away whilst the broken facility became more frantic as guards began walking up behind her. She hissed, before creating a bigger ball of plasma – one almost the size of a basketball – and throwing it behind her. Swiftly, she ran as fast as she could with Peter in her arms.
"Five, four, three, two, one." She reached a secluded area with a small pick up parked just behind the trees. "Zero."
And just as she got in, an explosion thundered across the whole forest. Trees swallowed by fire, concrete, glass and metal all shattered and broken, and men crying out for their lives. She threw Peter at the back of the pick-up and his eyes glazed open to the hell wrought by his savior. He smiled slightly, before being lulled to sleep with one thought in mind.
Let hell swallow them all up, and burn this whole place down.