WARNINGS: Descriptive talk of past child abuse and scarring.

This was awful to write. It made me cry, that gross crying where your nose runs and your eyes turns red. Not fun. But I needed to get through this, like lancing a wound and letting the puss drain out. So bare with me and good things will come.

Chapter 10- Monster in Dark

Kansas sucked. Clint hated the long stretches of nothing that bored him to tears. He hated the miles and miles of corn, wheat, and whatever else. He mostly hated how much it reminded him of Iowa, and his childhood home. The Barton farm had looked no different than any of the places that Logan and Clint had driven past the last couple days and it made Clint sick to think about. So he tried not to. He focused on petting every single dog he could and tried not to laugh when the poodle and Chihuahua bit Logan. He asked for snack breaks to distract himself from the memories of going hungry. He practiced until his arms shook to keep his head on straight.

The worst part was that he was having fun riding with Logan. If he wasn't such a head-case, this would have been amazing. It was every daydream he had ever had about living on the open road, though most of those had included his brother; at least they had until Barney left and he stopped having that kind of daydream. Logan and Clint had camped out one night and the old woodsman had pointed out constellations. Clint had had his own names for the stars and when he shared some of the stories behind them, Logan had burst out laughing. They agreed that the "Bumbling Elephant" was their mutual favorite. Last night was a cheap hotel in the middle of nowhere. The nearest town was three hours away, but the place seemed to do alright, at least it was clean. Clint fell asleep as soon has his head hit the pillow, since they had driven for hours all day and taken two breaks for Clint to practice. Clint had taken the chance to try out all three kinds of finger guards, which was his excuse for spending so much time with his bow. Everything conspired to ensure that Clint had little time to think and always slept deep and dreamlessly, which was his intention all along.

Clint figured that if he could keep up this pace long enough he would overcome the queasy feeling that the miles of cornfields were giving him, or they would get out of the Midwest and it wouldn't be a problem. He just needed to keep driving himself so he wouldn't dwell on the past. He could do this.

Problem was that tonight, they stopped early. A nice chain hotel outside a small town was just what Logan was looking for to stay a couple days, so they stopped and settled in. Dinner was pizza at the restaurant across the street. The sudden change in pace had Clint itching.

"Um, I'm going to take my bow around back and practice some more," Clint said after they returned to the room. "I saw some hay bales back there, so I won't hurt anything."

"You sure?" Logan asked, raising an eyebrow. "Want me to join ya?"

"Nah," Clint brushed him off as nonchalantly as possible. He didn't want Logan to see him like this. "I saw you eyeing that bar down the road. You can get a drink if you want." Logan narrowed his eyes and Clint wondered if he oversold it. "Okay, I'll be honest. I just need some time to myself, you know?" the archer admitted, looking away.

"I was going to call the X-men tonight," Logan said, still staring intently at the teen. Clint had to fight to keep from fidgeting. "Did you want to be here for that?"

Clint thought about it. He didn't like the idea of Logan talking about him behind his back, but he didn't really want to listen to another phone call about him to a bunch of strangers. He felt like itching powder was in his skin, driving him to do something. "Nah," he said again. "I'm just going to go shoot stuff then take a shower and go to bed. I'm wiped."

Logan didn't look convinced but he didn't argue. Clint liked that about the man. Clint knew he was a chatterbox, but Logan never felt the need to fill empty space with words. Sometimes that was just what Clint needed and Logan never questioned that. Barney had never gotten that. He always figured there was something wrong if Clint went quiet and he poked and prodded until Clint returned to "normal." At least he did until he started ignoring Clint after Jacques tapped him, then he stopped caring about Clint's mood. Arrg, he needed to stop thinking about the past. This time, now, with Logan, mattered and he should focus on not screwing up this chance. Logan waved a hand in acknowledgement as Clint grabbed his bow and ducked out the door like his tail was on fire.

Clint had never been a fan of vandalism, so he checked with the desk clerk before dragging a couple hay bales over to a shed to set up a target. The young man at the desk had been encouraging and even printed out a target for Clint to stick on the bales. Once everything was set up, Clint started practicing. He lost himself in the draw and fire, draw and fire. He let the arrows' rhythm release his tension with every twang of Princess's string. At one point he saw Logan, distinct in his stature and cowboy hat, walking down the road to the bar. The archer ignored his guardian and just kept firing arrows until his paper target was completely demolished. After that, Clint returned to the empty hotel room, cared for his equipment and took a shower. He turned the water up as hot as he could stand and stood under the spray until his shoulders stopped aching. Alone for once, Clint didn't bother bringing the change of clothes into the bathroom with him. He hated doing that really, because of how damp his clothes always felt after a hot shower, but he didn't want Logan to see his scars. Not yet, maybe not ever, though he was staring to reconsider his opinion on that. Though, how can a man who CAN'T scar understand how the marks on Clint's body made him feel?

Clint left the bathroom, steam billowing into the empty room and fogging up the mirror over the sink. Clint avoided looking at his refection and quickly grabbed a shirt and loose pants for bed. His arms ached pleasantly and he clung to that feeling as he climbed in bed and pulled the blanket all around him so he was protected on all sides. He tried to fall asleep, but while he did doze a little he didn't really fall asleep until Logan returned. Only then did the young archer relax enough to fall into a deep sleep.

\\\/\\\/

Logan watched from the shadows as Clint manhandled the hay bales around to set up a target. Logan was worried about his young ward, which was an odd feeling that he wasn't sure how to categorize. The call to the school had gone well and quickly. Professor Xavier had seemed distracted when he answered the phone, so Logan just reported his location and accepted the professor's promise to send Storm as soon as possible. To be honest, Logan was a little disappointed. He could have used a little of Chuck's insight on how to deal with Clint's sudden distress.

With Logan's senses it was impossible to miss how anxious Clint was, but even with enhanced senses he couldn't tell why. He hoped that he hadn't done anything to upset the boy, a worry that intensified when Clint asked for time alone. So, he gave Clint what he said he wanted, hoping that he wasn't making a terrible mistake. After watching Clint practice for a while, he walked down to the bar for a drink.

It was a nice bar, more of a restaurant than a place for heavy drinkers. A few drunks at the end of the bar were drinking their cares away as fast as the barkeep could refill their glasses, but for the most part it was quiet. Logan snagged a barstool and soon had his own glass that the man behind the counter kept full. The beer was good and no one objected to Logan's cigar, so the Canadian settled in to enjoy himself for a spell. He didn't take long, though. Despite his intentions to give Clint his space, Logan worried about the kid. After only an hour or two, Logan was starting to get restless. Normally he could stay until closing, but he decided to head back early. Besides, he reasoned to himself as he drowned the last of his beer and paid his tab, there wasn't much excitement here anyway.

Back in the room, Clint was already in bed. Logan discretely sniffed the air as he prepared for bed himself. The acrid smell of anxiety hung in the air and though Logan checked the room, he couldn't figure out what could have triggered Clint.

The boy's breathing had finally evened out into sleep, so Logan tabled the issue for later. Tomorrow, he'd talk to the teen and get him to open up about the problem, whatever it was. For now, Logan would follow his ward's example and get some shut-eye himself.

After only a short rest, Logan woke up from a sound sleep with a start. He jerked upright and let his claws out with a shnick. He scanned the room, trying to figure out what the danger was and what had awoken him. The room was thick with the smell of sweat tinged with fear and anxiety. A muffled cry in the other bed explained the smell's source. Logan retracted his claws before getting to his feet and approaching the other occupant of the room.

Clint was still asleep, but it was not a restful slumber. The boy thrashed in his tangle of blankets, his face pinched in distress. Tears seeped from his closed eyes and whimpers escaped his lips.

As Logan reached over to try and wake him up, Clint cried out, "No, no, stop." The words broke Logan's heart. The boy sounded so scared and hopeless. It was like he was saying the words for himself because he wasn't expecting the unknown assailant to ever stop, but couldn't help but beg anyway. Logan had a couple reoccurring nightmares that had a similar feel. Unable to stand the sounds Clint was making, Logan grabbed his shoulders and shook the boy awake as gently as he could.

Clint went still, his eyes snapping open as he broke from the nightmare. He gasped as he tried to force air into his lungs, even as he fought not to sob. He was only partly successful. Logan sat on the bed and pulled the child into a hug, not saying a word as Clint grabbed on like a drowning man to a life preserver.

"Shh, shhh, it's okay," Logan said after a minute, after Clint gave in and started to cry into the man's chest. "It's okay, Clint. You're safe. I've got you."

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, though it was only about a 20 minutes or so. Logan just kept up a gentle rumble of reassurance while Clint cried himself out. Finally, though, Clint ran out of tears and pulled away. He ran an arm over his face, trying to scrub away the evidence of his tears. Logan shook his head sadly at the boy's resilience and pride, but got up to get him a warm, damp washcloth to do a better job and maybe sooth the boy's sore eyes.

"Sorry," Clint said as he rubbed the cloth over his eyes a little too hard.

"What for?" Logan asked, taking the cloth back to the sink when Clint was done with it. When he came back to the bed, Clint had pulled his knees up to his chest, curling up into a ball.

"For being such a wimp," Clint mumbled into his knees.

Logan scoffed. He sat down next to the boy and put his arm around him. "You had a nightmare, bub. That doesn't make you a wimp. I get 'em too, you know."

Clint shook his head, disbelieving. "Sorry I woke you," he tried again.

"Well, that happens," Logan said gently. "I don't mind. Hell, it's better than how I usually react to nightmares." He knocked his head against Clint's to get the boy to look at him. When Clint looked up, Logan grinned and held up a hand, flexing to show his knuckles and a hint of the blades hidden within. "I think I've ruined more mattresses that way," he teased. Clint huffed a little laugh; it wasn't much but it was a start. "Do you want to talk about it?" Logan asked carefully.

Clint shook his head, and said quietly. "It's nothing."

Logan pressed, "Didn't sound like nuthin'." He wasn't going to force the boy into anything, but he really didn't want the boy to try and face this alone. They were a team now. He decided to say as much. "We're a team, remember. We promised to be honest with each other." He tapped his nose. "Besides, I can smell ya."

Clint hunched in on himself. "I'm just remembering stuff," he admitted. "All this farm land is making me remember my dad's farm." Logan nodded but didn't interrupt, waiting for Clint to continue in his own time. Clint glanced at his guardian out of the corner of his eye. "Do you have any scars?"

Logan was surprised by the change of topic, but he had an idea where this was going and it made him sick. He shook his head, staring into the distance. "No, not the ones you mean; none that you can see. My healing factor takes care of all that. There are other scars though, ones that you can't see. I think those are worse," Logan explained honestly.

Clint nodded and rested his forehead on his knees. "I do," he admitted. "They are gross and I hate 'em."

Logan didn't know what to say to him, so he just squeezed Clint a little harder, and the distraught young man gave in and leaned against the mutant, taking what comfort he could.

"My dad was a drunk," Clint said quietly after a minute of silence. Logan didn't say anything. He wanted Clint to let this out. "He knocked us around whenever he drank, which was always. Usually he used his hands, but sometimes," he paused, leaning harder against Logan. After a moment he continued, "Sometimes, when he felt like putting in some extra effort, he'd get a belt." He swallowed hard, like he was trying to stop a sob. "Those are the first scars I got."

Logan growled deep in his chest, vibrating both of them. "Clint, that wasn't your fault. And your father is lucky that he's beyond my reach or he'd be sporting six new holes."

Clint snorted. "He would have deserved it," he said, finally perking up a little. He stayed quiet for a minute before apparently coming to a decision. He pulled away and snagged the bottom of his shirt. "Might as well get it over with. I mean, it's not like a guy like you will be scared of a mess like this." He said it with a laugh, but his hands shook as he pulled his shirt over his head. Without looking at Logan, Clint turned around to show his back, his shoulders hunched like he was expecting a blow.

Logan's night vision was pretty decent, but he still reached behind him to switch on the lamp before he looked over Clint's back. The boy was right, it was not pretty. Old scars were layered over and over, leaving a web of pale marks all over his back. The oldest, like Clint said, were belt marks, but most of them didn't look old enough to be from the father; meaning Clint had more than one person who had whipped him in his life. As horrible as they were, the belt marks didn't make Logan see red. That was saved for the small circular burns from multiple cigarettes that were scattered over the boy's shoulders like macabre freckles. Some of them were old, but a few were a bright pink of recent healing. Other evidence of recent abuse were thin, again in some cases still healing, cuts that Logan knew were from a sword. He'd seen cuts like that when he was in Japan after a man was beaten with the flat of a sword. Logan snarled at the thought of someone doing that to a young boy, let alone one as innocent as Clint.

Clint flinched at the sound. "I know, it looks awful. Just goes to show how clumsy I can be, you know?"

"What does that mean?" Logan growled. Clint flinched again, still not turning around to face his new guardian, the man he supposedly trusted to protect him. Logan took a deep breath and shoved the anger down into the pit of his stomach to deal with later. Clint needed him now and the kid was shook up enough that he wouldn't be able to make the distinction between Logan being mad AT him or FOR him.

Clint shrugged and pulled his shirt back on. "My dad was a bastard who beat us for no reason, and a couple of the adults at the foster homes were just plain sadistic, but most of the time it was punishment. I've pretty much always been a screw up. I mean, Barney tried to protect me and stop me from making mistakes, but you know how it is."

Logan chewed the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. "What about those cuts? They're from a sword right?"

Clint nodded. "But Jacques never hit me without a reason, you know? He and Buck were my mentors. They protected me and taught me, even when I messed up." He finally turned around but didn't look up at Logan. "I slacked off a lot or didn't pay attention." He was earnest and believed every word he said and it made Logan sick.

"And the burns?"

"Only if I really missed the target. They were reminders to never miss."

This time Logan bit his cheek until he could feel the burn of healing to keep from snarling again and scaring the kid. "Clint, look at me." The boy curled up tighter so Logan reached out and gently lifted the kid's chin so he had to meet Logan's eyes. Tears were gathering in Clint's eyes again and Logan sighed sadly. There was so much he needed to say and no idea how to get the kid to believe him. But he had to try for Clint's sake. "You did not deserve that. You never deserved any of it because no one deserves that. You didn't deserve that from your dad or your mentors. Things like that aren't punishments, they are torture. Do you understand what I'm trying to say, Clint?" The boy nodded against Logan's fingers, the tears starting to run down his face. Logan was surprised to feel tears running from his eyes too. Damn it, he hated this. What was the point of being a hero, of saving the world when kids like Clint were being hurt like this. "Clint, everyone who hurt you was a bastard who deserves the end of my claws. Just thinking about it pisses me off. I want to hunt them all down and show them what it feels like."

Clint choked and turned away, pulling his chin away from Logan's steading hand. "Don't do that," he whispered. "They're not worth it."

Logan nodded. "I know. But you are, Clint. You are worth my time and instead of hunting down the bastards who hurt you, I'm going to do my best to make sure that no one ever hurts you like that again, okay?"

"I've heard that before," Clint scoffed. "Barney used to say that."

"Your brother ain't here," Logan said, letting a little heat into his voice. "But now I am and I am the best at what I do. I'm Wolverine, remember."

"Yeah," Clint murmured. "But you aren't always going to be there."

Logan sighed and wrapped an arm around the distraught blond. "No, and I can't promise to protect you from everything. That would be impossible and besides, it'd be boring as hell. I will do my best, though, and we can work on training you so you can protect yourself. How's that sound, bub?"

Clint shrugged, but Logan could tell he was relaxing finally. The stench of fear was starting to dissipate as the air conditioner kicked on. They sat there for a while, just calming down. Logan was still raging inside, but he kept it bottled up, away from Clint. The boy started to recover too and Logan expected him to be exhausted and ready to sleep for a week after the whole storm of emotions, but Clint surprised him again.

The boy started to fidget, just sort of twitching in place, but not hard enough to break away from Logan's half hug. "Um, hey, Logan?" he asked nervously as his hands twisted the sheets around and around.

"Yeah, bub?"

"Can we start now?" Clint asked, smoothing the sheets out before twisting them again.

"Start what?" Logan asked, shifting to get a better look at his ward. Clint was practically vibrating with nervous energy now.

"Well, I usually take my bow out after a nightmare. It grounds me, you know? So I can do that if you want to go back to sleep, but I was thinking that maybe a fighting lesson would be more helpful. To fight my demons?"

Logan couldn't help it. He laughed and hugged Clint tighter before releasing him and getting to his feet. "Sure, kid," he agreed, snagging his boots. "We'll go behind the hotel where you were practicing before. I'll show you some moves. I should have done that before now, but we've been traveling." He considered the last few days. "That's no excuse," he admitted to Clint who was grabbing his own shoes and a light sweatshirt. "We've been stopping for your archery practice, so there's no reason why we can't train you up."

Clint nodded and led the way out and around to the back of the hotel. Logan followed thoughtfully. The youngster kept surprising him at every turn and though he knew he was completely out of his depth with taking care of the kid, Logan was actually excited about the challenge.

After almost two hours of practicing punching and blocking, Clint was finally worn out enough to attempt sleep again. He was actually feeling pretty good. Logan had coached him through several different punches and blocks. Clint kind of felt like that boy from The Karate Kid, since his mentor was also short and old, only Logan was Canadian instead of Asian. The practice was surprisingly fun, though Logan promised that next time would be a lot harder. Clint didn't mind, he liked learning new things and pushing his limits. An extra bonus was that his new mentor had reiterated several times that he believed in positive reinforcement over beatings to teach. It sounded really promising, though Clint couldn't make himself trust the promise yet. There was a heavy feeling deep in his chest that kept reminding him how quickly someone could change their mind. Buck had started out with the carrot but it only took a couple mistakes to drive him to the stick. Clint shivered, despite the hot summer night. No, Clint decided as he took a quick shower to wash off the sweat from both his nightmare and the workout, he was not going to let that happen again. He was going to work harder and smarter than ever to make Logan proud. This time would be different.

Clint came out of the bathroom, dressed in a fresh shirt and shorts. Logan glared at the scar on Clint's calf, which was actually due to an accident climbing over barbed wire and was completely Clint's own fault. The surprise of someone being upset over his old hurts surprised a laugh out of the archer and Logan relaxed. The man waved a hand at the bed. "Get some sleep, morning will come soon enough."

Clint glanced at the clock and winced. It was almost three in the morning. He decided not to say anything and just climbed back into his blankets. He heard the squeak of Logan's bed but before he could figure out if it was Logan getting into or getting off his bed, Clint was fast asleep.

As the late morning sun shone through the hotel's cheap curtains right into Clint's face, he remembered that he hated mornings. He'd forgotten that fact for a while, since everything was nice and warm and Logan usually had a plan for breakfast when they woke up; but the truth was that Clint hated mornings; especially mornings after a nightmare and a fighting lesson that left him with sore muscles and a bruise on his forearms. That was going to be fun when he practiced today. His mind felt fuzzy from lack of sleep and the emotional feedback from last night. Clint groaned into his pillow, suddenly remembering all the details of last night. Had he seriously cried on Logan? He had sobbed like a baby into the shirt of Wolverine! He was so embarrassed that he wished he could just disappear. It just came out last night, but now in the light of day, he felt like an idiot. How was he supposed to face his mentor after acting like such a wuss?

Clint was still figuring out how to salvage his pride when he heard Logan chuckle to himself and grab the corner of Clint's blanket and pull hard, whipping it off the teenager. "Come on, bub. It's time to get up," he ordered.

Clint scrambled to grab his blanket, but it was gone, leaving him in the middle of a nest with no cover. "Aw, blanket, no," he mourned.

"I know you're tired, Clint," Logan said gently, "but we've both slept late enough."

Clint growled at his mentor, trying to get the same tone as the feral. It fell short but Logan laughed so Clint chalked it up as a win. He got up, reluctantly, and went to change into fresh clothes. He snagged the shirt and pants on the top of his bag and dragged them into the bathroom out of habit. It wasn't until he was already changing that he remembered that he didn't have to hide anymore, but he was too tired to think so he shrugged and tried to balance on one leg in the small space as he pulled on his pants. He succeeded in dressing without incident and he yawned as he came out. Logan clapped him on the shoulder as he took his turn in the bathroom to get a quick shower. Clint grinned at the companionable touch and made his way to his bed. He was still feeling fuzzy, but he wasn't worried. It would probably go away after a cup of hot coffee. In the meantime, he'd take his sweet time reaching full awareness.

Just as Clint was laying down to doze for a minute as he waited for Logan, there was a knock on the door. He jumped off the bed like a startled cat and knelt to grab his bow that he had under the bed. They were still worried about the SHIELD problem, after all. Though he wasn't sure why their enemies would knock.

"Get that for me," Logan called, apparently not worried at all. "I'll be out in a minute."

Clint sighed and let go of Princess. If Logan wasn't bothered than Clint was probably okay to answer the door unarmed. He got up and went to open the door as whomever it was knocked again. In hind sight, he really should have checked the peephole before opening the door, but he was so sleepy that details like that just fell out of his head.

Clint opened the door to two people. One was a beautiful black woman with long white hair in a brightly patterned sundress. She was a vision with her bright smile and intelligent eyes. As beautiful as she was though, Clint barely registered her presence due to the other being. Clint stared at the tall blue demon with pointed ears and sharp teeth. The yellow eyes seemed to burn as Clint kept staring and when he finally tore his gaze away, he saw the pointed tail waving lazily behind the man. Clint swore he smelled brimstone on the air and he couldn't help it, he screamed bloody murder.

:-)

P.S. Sorry, not sorry. That was mean. Till next time.