Silence had fallen over the cell like a blanket. It was almost stifling, but Victor and Henry had very little to say. Not to each other, and not to themselves. Most of the time was spent either sleeping off the isolation and hopelessness, or sitting quietly and contemplating things that no one dared speak of.
On Hank's part, he was still trying to come to grips with what could be happening at the X-Mansion. He was terrified of what damage the Dark Beast could do to the rest of the X-Men, and even more terrified that they would think it was him committing those acts. He missed them, and badly. The Professor, who was so supportive of him while he worked. Cecilia, who worked with him on occasion, learning Biochemistry. Even Marrow with her wonderful upbeat personality. He longed for them, all of them, and prayed to God for his life back before too much damage had been done.
For Victor, it was thinking on a much more primitive level. Simply put, he was confused. Confused at the compassion, confused at his own submission to it, and mostly trying to pick up what few bits of dignity he had left. He kept back in his own corner of the cell, silent and brooding. He couldn't very well taunt and tease at the man who had likely saved his life, nor could he find it in him to talk civilly. His own pride wouldn't allow for it. Inside he raged that anyone had seen him in such a state, that he had so hopelessly allowed Hank to help, and that he still couldn't do anything about it.
There was one bright spot in all of the anger and frustration that covered Creed, though. In his great plan, the Black Beast hadn't remembered to take out his fangs or his claws, and they were coming back in at a good rate. He flexed them every once in a while, if only to remind himself that he wasn't quite so defenseless as before, and took comfort in the feeling of those retractable claws smoothly extending. If the trend continued, even beaten and starved, he would have his defenses back in a matter of a couple days. It helped. Inside his mind, he swore to himself that McCoy would never again render him that helpless... even if it meant his life.
One mirror, flecked with blood and dirt. It wasn't shattered, but it was old and hung from an equally old wall. The mirror saw, and saw everything.
He looked into it, head tilted slightly and eyes narrowed. What wasn't he seeing? There was something there, just out of reach, like a mist or a ghost; intangibly reaching out in some moments and retreating back behind the mirror in others, behind the blood and dirt.
He traced a finger down the glass, watching it smudge. Behind it was untainted glass, and behind that, untainted silver. A little more sure of himself, he wiped more off, head still tilted. Soon there was a clear spot, then a blotch, then a more solid reflection.
A boy, gold hair like a halo, face wearing a look of innocent hurts and that of injustice. His face, he realized with a slight frown, reaching out to touch the reflection.
Shattered.
The mirror flowed, breaking from the confines of solid and taking on the liquid state. It flowed and swirled, coming back together ever so gently, then stood solid again. More blood than dirt this time, and the face looking back was a little older, more bitter. There was an animalistic gleam in the green eyes, but behind that was still an innocence, an incomprehension of injustice.
Cracked.
Everything became distorted in red, frightening and soothing all in the same moment, all in the same breath of ecstasy and fear. A sense of freedom, a sense of loss, a sense of being out of control.
It only flowed for a second, then became solid again. More dirt, less blood, the twenty-some year old. Not much different in the face from himself, but more calm, more in control. He grasped at it, trying to remember the fragment, but it was just out of reach again. He can't ever remember being that at peace, ever. Then the mirror shattered violently.
It pooled like mercury for a moment, then the pools became one and the mirror came together. Older, feverish look of wild, feral anger. Bitter and cold, twisted into hate and behind the hate lay fear. Then the glass spidered, cracking, leaving behind confusion.
Solid.
Himself as he knew. Tired and angry at the world, tired of being any part of the world. Hating man, hating everything, and perhaps, hating himself at the same time. He touched the mirror, surprised when it didn't break under his fingertips like it seemed to every other time. He could see through clearly, and he saw through the mirror to behind himself, and to Birdy as she looked over his shoulder, but when he turned around no one was there.
Looking back into the mirror, and the fading image, he allowed himself a faint smile, reaching over to touch her reflection. And, for the first time since she had died, he allowed himself to tell her, "I miss you."
Then she was gone... but the mirror remained.
"I have a gift," the Black Beast announced, looking through the grate with Hank's face but his own ruthless smile.
Hank looked up at him, but didn't make the effort of replying. Given the rattle of chains as his counterpart had approached, he could only guess what that gift might be. The logical part of his mind told him that to get those chains on him, he would have to enter, but it rarely worked out so easily. Discreetly he threw a glance in Sabretooth's direction, but his cellmate was either out cold or playing dead very well.
"Oh, I wouldn't count on a repeat performance of last time," McCoy said, smirking. "Unless you really desire that. Now, do I have to tranquilize you, or will you slip these on nicely?"
"I don't have much of a choice either way," Hank answered, keeping his voice as mild as he could manage.
"True," McCoy chuckled, going to unlock the door.
Hank tensed, not entirely certain what to expect. For a moment, he was torn in indecision, trying to weigh whether he should risk a rush on the door and end up wounded even worse than last time, or whether he should bide his time. The moments slowed to near infinity as he contemplated the ramifications, his brain firing ideas at a speed that would startle even a genius...
...when Creed made the decision for him.
The door opened and Sabretooth moved like a streak of lightning, stretching as far as the chains would allow him and managing to get one hand wrapped around the door. Before the startled Black Beast even had time to process the sudden motion from someone he never expected, Victor was barking at Hank, "Move it, damn you!"
That was all Hank needed. He leapt with equal speed, just as McCoy was pulling the door from Vic. He managed to wedge his arm into the space, crying out when the door pressed into muscle and then bone, but not letting go. McCoy was yelling, but neither man heard what he was saying.
Hank held on. He tried to push the door open more and relieve the stress, but it hurt... tears flooded his eyes from the agony, and everything seemed to scream at once to make it stop. He barely heard McCoy, but he did hear Victor's cold threat. "Ya let go of that door, an' I'll fuckin' rip you to shreds." Even near incoherent with pain, Henry believed he would.
Gritting his teeth, Beast got his other arm around and dug into the door with his one good hand, pulling with every ounce of strength he could find. An inch gave, McCoy was holding on with both hands to the grate, trying to close the door. Another inch. Slowly, painfully, the door opened further and further.
The battle apparently lost, the Black Beast let go and leapt backwards, calling for his mutate children. Hank shoved the door open, leaping on his counterpart. One arm was practically numb from shock, and his right hand still hurt, but he struck out anyway with his fists, ignoring the pain for the sake of escape.
The fight was short and brutal, but it left the Dark Beast dazed for long enough. Hank grabbed the keys, throwing them into the cell for Vic to unlock himself, then prepared to face the mutates. He could hear yells of confusion heading in from the hall off to the right, and he wasn't entirely sure whether they would be able to escape everyone. Steeling himself for a battle, he moved to a spot just out of view of the door.
Creed fumbled with the keys, cursing violently until he got first his legs, then his hands unlocked. Getting the collar off was a bit harder, but he found the keyhole and slipped the key in, then yanked it off with rage burning through him hotter than the sun. Fueled on by vengeance, he all but dashed out and without even a pause landed on the Dark Beast clawing.
Hank looked back for a moment, calling, "Creed, we're about to have company!"
"Let 'em come," Victor growled, pinning McCoy. He dug his claws deep into the furry wrists, planting his knee in the larger man's gut.
A group of mutants, some of which were recognizable and some not, rushed in. Seeing their master pinned and bleeding, a few of them stopped with a gasp. Hank prepared himself for an attack, having a harder time ignoring the pain in his arm and hand with every passing moment.
"Let him go!" One of the bolder ones came forward, her voice trembling.
"Here's the deal," Creed said, not taking his eyes off of McCoy, who was beginning to shake off the daze. "You an' yer little friends go real nice like inta that cell over there. Make one move... even breathe wrong, an' you'll see his internals all over the fuckin' floor."
"H-how do we know you won't kill him anyway?" the girl asked, speaking for the rest of them. Hank thought she looked like someone he should know, but he couldn't honestly remember. Half-shocked, he just watched the exchange and prepared to intervene.
"Ya don't." Vic smirked, digging his claws in deeper when the Black Beast tried to pull away. "Test me, bitch."
That was apparently enough, and they began to file towards the cell, all of them being very careful to keep their movements steady. McCoy groaned, and was on the verge of saying something when Sabretooth swiped him across the face hard enough to stun him all over again. The troop cried out, moving quicker, and Hank finally prodded himself into motion, grabbing the keys and locking the door behind them.
A long moment hung in the air, and Creed took a second to toss Hank a look. "Get outta here."
"But--"
Victor snarled, "Go, or yer next, dammit!" He didn't have time for this, and he wasn't about to let the moralistic Beast stop him from getting his ounce of blood. Or guts, for that matter.
Hank scowled, but he left as quickly as he could. If he could get to the surface and to a phone, he might be able to keep anyone from dying. As much as he hated his dark twin, he still didn't believe in killing -- but even if the Black Beast did die, there was no telling what Creed would do with his followers. It wasn't a pretty picture, at any length. Moving as fast as he could, he tried to find his way.
Victor Creed was in his glory. Taking the shackles intended for Hank, he chained the Black Beast to the door of his lab, then knelt in front of him. He could feel how unsteady he was and just how much of a toll being locked away had taken on him, but it was nothing like the pure hatred he felt. He had been abused, violated, and had near every shred of pride stolen from him, and now he was going to take every single bit back that he could wring out of the furry flesh.
McCoy drifted back around, closing his eyes not even a moment after he had opened them because of the blood running into them from the swipe. "Ah, the labrat has gotten loose. I should have--"
Victor's eyes flashed, and he slammed his fist across McCoy's mouth as hard as he could, feeling at least one tooth break. "I was thinkin', Doc. Thinkin' about how long I should torture ya before I let ya die. An' all given, I'm thinkin' a good long time."
"But you promised!" one of the boys yelled from the cell.
"Mongrels don't keep promises," McCoy answered, spitting blood.
"Nope," Creed answered, an icy smirk crossing his face. He flicked out the claws on his right hand, reaching over and cutting an incision down McCoy's chest that would make a surgeon proud. He smiled wider when the scientist gasped, trying to pull away futilely. "Heh... what've we got here? I think I'm gonna have a Beast skin rug when this is all over."
"Bas-bastard," the Black Beast choked, weakly pulling against the shackles.
"Nah. Completely amoral killin' machine fits better," Victor said, smiling. Truthfully, the smile was as fake as it could get. He was still raging mad, from the hurts, from the humiliations, and mostly from being rendered helpless. There was no bloodlust this time -- he was as coherent as he could possibly be. Slowly, with the same precision, he sliced his claw across McCoy's abdomen, not deep enough to pierce anything but skin. He could feel the heavier man jerk, but that did nothing to dissuade him. "Let me amend that... very pissed off completely amoral killin' machine."
"It... it..."
"It what? Was all fer science? Fer pleasure? Not yer fault?" Down the rugged sides, both at the same time. "Bullshit."
"Please..." McCoy pleaded, perhaps realizing his life was going to come to an end.
Victor was the picture of forced pleasant, but his eyes practically glowed from the thousands of feelings coursing through him. "Not a chance." Across the chest, just below the collar bone. "Don't let that keep ya from beggin', though."
Hank finally found himself a manhole to the surface, and every rung on the ladder made his wounds scream to the point where he nearly blacked out. Hanging onto the third one down with his good hand, his arm felt like it was going to rip at the muscles and remain hanging on the ladder. Grinding his teeth, he tried to push the cover off with his other arm.
After a few tries and a few close calls with unconsciousness, he managed to get the cover out of the way. Sunlight flooded in, half-blinding him and he could hear cars not too far away. Pulling himself up with a pained moan, he squinted to get his bearings.
An alleyway, just off of a fairly busy avenue. He couldn't recognize the place offhand, but so long as he found a phone, the X-Men could track him. He wasn't sure how he would explain everything. All he could think was, "I want to go home."
Sabretooth was still toying with McCoy below. Rather than go any further on his little surgery, simply because he wanted the monster awake when he killed him, he moved on to a few other things. Alcohol dousing on the cuts, which was good for earning a cry of pain. Kneeling back down, he looked into the shock twisted face. "Feelin' better?" he mocked, softly. "After all, yer comfort's pretty important ta little labrat me."
"Just get it over with," McCoy moaned, coughing weakly.
"Nah. No fun in that." Pulling out a couple of hypodermic needles he had found in a drawer, Creed eyed them. "Now hold still. Wouldn't wanna break these off or nothin'."
"Wha--?"
Sabretooth smiled through tightly clenched teeth, grabbing a handful of the Black Beast's hair and yanking his head back. Slowly, with very deliberate movements, he brought the needle down towards McCoy's right eye. McCoy struggled a little harder, squeezing his eyes closed and almost screaming in terror, but Creed just held on tighter. The shrieks as the needle pierced the eye echoed through the tunnels, bringing screams from the frightened mutants in the cell.
Hank dialed the Mansion number collect, breathing a prayer under his breath that they would answer. One ring, two rings, three...
Hypodermics sticking out of both eyes, tears of blood and fluid running in rivers, the Black Beast was as close as he had ever been to Hell. And Creed wouldn't have it any other way. Sabretooth was just warming up, as he dug through the drawers again to find a stimulant in case McCoy passed out from pain or shock. There was no way that the fucker was going to sleep through a minute of the torture. Most of the bottles were labeled odd names that made no sense to Victor, but he knew enough of prefixes and suffixes that he could figure out which were uppers and which were downers. Selecting a bottle that looked about right, he walked back out.
The Dark Beast was hanging limp from his shackles, his breath coming in hitches. There were small, pleading noises from his throat, but they fell on deaf ears. Creed knelt back down, yanking one of the needles from his eye to use for the stimulant, and bringing forth another scream.
"Hurt?" Victor asked, almost amiably, filling the reservoir with the clear-ish liquid.
McCoy's only answer was a choking noise.
"Yea, kinda figured that. Know what it feels like ta be helpless now? Not too nice, eh?"
"An... anyth-thing... just stop..." McCoy stammered, weakly.
"Would you've stopped if I begged ya?" Creed asked, allowing a little more of the anger into his voice than he wanted to. "How 'bout when ya yanked my teeth soon as they came in? Know how that felt?"
"N-no."
"Maybe it's time ta find out."
Hank slumped against the alley wall, closing his eyes. Cyclops, Phoenix, Professor Xavier, Wolverine, Gambit, Cecilia and Marrow were on their way. He just hoped they got there in time.
Creed shot the stimulant into the Black Beast, then sat back to admire the fang he had gotten before the other man had blacked out. It was easily as long as his own, the top still holding blood and tissue, and the root broken off. Held in a pair of vice-grips...
"Now you hold him!"
Victor flinched, dropping the pliers to the floor. Fuck, but his head as a mess -- there were so many things going through his mind so quickly that he barely had time to recognize them before the next wave hit. Growling low to himself, and feeling the rush of anger beginning to wear out and the damn weakness setting in, he forced himself back to concentrating at the task at hand. He wasn't sure how long he had to wait until McCoy was awake, but he had given him enough of a dose that it wouldn't be too terribly long.
It took longer than he expected, though. For a short time, he was almost sure he had ended up killing the Black Beast unintentionally, but after a good ten minutes, a low and weak moan proved him wrong. Steeling himself for another round, Creed pointedly ignored the pliers. He had wanted to... damn, but he had wanted to, but he couldn't honestly bring himself to do that. One was enough to get his point across, and for some reason it sent a shiver down his back; not of mercy but of self-recrimination. It wasn't quite a full circle, but it was way too close.
Instead of resorting to that, he went back to slowly skinning the monster. He didn't even bother talking this time, as he made his point that much more eloquently with his claws. Hearing McCoy gasping, choking, and begging wasn't near so gratifying as he had hoped it would be, but that wasn't going to stop him from finishing what he had started. The monster had to die... if he didn't, Creed would never be able to sleep again. He knew that, hated himself for it, and understood it all at the same time.
Concentrating solely on the task, he didn't hear the far off sounds of a group entering the tunnels.
Hank was almost stumbling to keep up with the rest of the X-Men. Cecilia had wanted to take him back to the Blackbird, but he had insisted on going. Now, as he could hardly keep his footing and his arm throbbed steadily and persistently, he wondered if he shouldn't have taken her advice.
Marrow was in the lead, and Hank had no doubts that if someone didn't rein her in, Sabretooth would be fed his own liver, without the benefit of fava beans or a nice Chianti. Still, Scott was right behind her and he doubted that the fearless leader would let her go ballistic. Digging down deep, he got his second wind.
The sounds of approach finally broke through Creed's absorption, as a small pile of blue furred skin lay to the side. McCoy was just barely conscious, his breathing unsteady and his head lolling. Frowning to himself, Sabretooth looked in the direction, sniffing to see who was there. No scent, but his instincts were telling him X-Men.
Not even a moment later, a girl he was sure he recognized came through the door with a bone club in her hand, silently. He was just about to rake her when a pinkish glow surrounded her, stopping her in midair. "Let me go!" she snarled with a ferocity Creed might have admired if he wasn't worried about the pink glow. That reeked of Jean Grey, and that was one woman he didn't feel like dealing with.
Sure enough, the rest of the X-Twits rushed in. The one-eyed wonder was in front, his redheaded pitbull was right behind. A growl rose in his throat when he saw Logan, and he was almost sure that Wolverine was going to rush him next. Beast was in the back, panting, looking like death warmed over.
"Step back, Creed," Cyclops ordered, a flash of red running across his visor.
Victor wrapped a hand around the Black Beast's throat, extending his claws. "Piss on a live wire, Summers."
"Let me deal with this trash," Logan growled, unsheathing his claws. He was about to take a flying leap when Hank took his shoulder, whispering something. Logan pulled out of the grip sharply, but paused.
Scott stepped closer, his voice almost booming in command. "Dammit, Sabretooth, back off. Don't make me put you through the wall."
Creed almost smiled to himself. He wasn't about to just up and listen, particularly given all of the circumstances. He could hear Logan's rumbling growl and the bone-girl's raging in the telekinetic field, but he didn't honestly care in that moment. With a surprising calmness, he looked past Cyclops to Hank, catching his gaze for a moment.
Hank's eyebrows drew together, his look taking on an asking air. Not pleading, but asking -- he didn't want to see Creed blasted. He may never call him a friend, or even an ally, but he still didn't want to see him killed. But the blazing green eyes that looked back were adamant, and in a way, Hank did understand that. In a way, he did know exactly why this was going to have to be... and in the deepest part of him, he almost agreed. So he did all he could, and closed his eyes.
The movement was swift and certain, as Victor tore McCoy's throat out. Not even a heartbeat later the optic blast slammed into him like a runaway train, flinging him against the wall like a rag doll. But even as he felt the blackness rolling in, he also felt something he hadn't really known since the beginning of the ordeal.
A sense of honest relief.
A house of mirrors.
Some were twisted. Some were normal. Some were broken, some were just cracked, and some were in motion.
He stood in the center, not sure where to look. They were everywhere, and the ones that were moving were making him dizzy. He was tired, and he felt that weariness through his whole body. It wasn't unpleasant, but it made standing difficult.
Slowly, not entirely sure on his feet, he walked to one of the straight mirrors, resting a hand on it and leaning on it, his head bowed. After a moment he looked up, into the silver.
Himself, chained in a basement, not much more than six or seven. Shivering and wrapped in a dusty old blanket, he was holding onto something or another. Frowning to himself, he looked closer to see that it was a little toy of some sort.
Grinding his teeth, jaw knotting in a brief moment of anger or pain, or maybe both, he looked away.
A mirror twisted. Shadows rather than solid figures moved across it, speaking in a garbled and unrecognizable language. He could almost make out a word here or a word there, but nothing completely certain, and nothing to indicate what it could be.
Turning again, he saw a cracked mirror, bearing the reflection and something behind it. He could hear those words, but it only took one sentence to make him whirl and run shakily the other way.
"You killed her, boy... why?"
Stumbling after only a few paces, he nearly went down to his knees, trying to block out the memory. He remembered it like it was a breath ago, yet it was a good deal longer... still it was cracked. Something wasn't right in it.
Looking up, he was face to face with a liquid mirror, and then to the right a solid mirror. Tentatively he half-walked, half-staggered over to the solid one, hoping to find something better. Something more...
...hopeful?
Damn...
Leaning his forehead on the glass, groggily, he kept his eyes closed for a long time. How long was beyond him, but time was relatively meaningless anyway. It flowed past like the silver did, smoothly but uncertainly. In what direction was a mystery.
Eventually he forced his eyes open, pulling back slightly. A... cabin? Woodbeams behind his younger reflection. It was the first time he noticed it, the first time he actually saw beyond himself in that particular image. Focusing back on his own face, he looked at the closest thing to peace he had ever known, yet never known.
He wished for it.
The unbidden question... what was he missing? What wasn't he seeing there?
He traced a finger down the cold glass, shoulders slumping and head nearly bowing to his chest. Damn, he was worn thin, tired out and too exhausted to feel much more than relief, pain and longing.
Leaning his shoulder against that mirror, and letting his head rest against it, he closed his eyes, sliding down to his knees. Somewhere in some time he thought perhaps there was a ray of sunlight, a moment of peace, and this time he grasped it with both hands, clinging for dear life.
Maybe it was an echo that spoke to him, or own his fevered imagination, but he could have sworn he heard, "I miss you too."