Author's Pre-Note (1/17/15): The formatting on this chapter got all jacked up a long time ago for whatever reason. I knew this and ignored it but hey. Why not fix it. This is kinda my legacy. Even if I sometimes want to just delete this story, it was a big deal to me during an interesting phase in my life.

There Must Be Some Kind of Way Out of Here

Chapter 11

Author's Note: Stuff in italics are thoughts. I love you all. And I realized something. Feedback is like a drug - you can't get enough of it.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from X-Men: Evolution - Marvel and Kid's WB do. However, I do own John, and um, a bunch of old Iron Man comics.

John lay in his bed back at the Institute and stared up at the ceiling and wondered what the hell he was doing here.

He had been asking himself that question since he came home from school. The only clear answer he could come up with was that fate was working against him. All of the cosmic powers that make the universe work were against John Jashback living at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. It was the only logical answer. Why else would all of this have happened to him? But everything led back to Lance Alvers, for the lack of a better word, jumping him from behind.

A hard rapping at the door jolted John out of his thoughts. He hopped up off the bed and went over to the door, opening it. He was confronted by the person he least expected to see.

XXXX

"Alright kid listen up," growled the voice over a speaker. "Since this is your first time, we're gonna take things real easy. All you have to do is make it to the end of the course without gettin' yerself killed. Shouldn't be too difficult, right?"

John nodded, trying to ignore the tank-sized butterflies floating around his stomach.

Simple enough... I mean, how hard can it be?

"Ok kid. GO!"

A loud buzzer sounded and all hell broke loose. A large gun popped up out of the wall and began firing at John. He ducked the first few shots before taking off in a sprint along the course. The next thing John knew, giant spikes began to rise up out of the floor. His floor slipped on the slope of one and lost his balance, landing hard on the metal floor. Another spike popped up awfully close to John's head causing him to nearly wet himself.

"Hurry up kid," the gruff voice on the loudspeaker warned.

John stood up, half-hunched over, trying to dodge floor spikes and sentry guns. Up ahead, a large steel wall began to come up out of the floor. John sped up his pace and dove over the wall that had been steadily rising and came to a rolling stop just beyond it. His heart pounding in his chest - John wasn't out of shape, but he wasn't exactly ready to run a marathon either.

He darted forward past more spikes, now coming out of the floor and walls, but stopped in his tracks when another sentry gun appeared. He wasn't quite fast enough to evade it this time.

The first burst missed and the second hit him on his exposed left arm. The third hit him square in the chest, knocking him backwards hard against the metal wall. John howled in pain as the buzzer once again sounded.

John howled in pain. Screamed, even. He didn't care. It hurt so much.

A door slid open and Logan, the man they called the Wolverine, came running into the Danger Room and crouched beside John.

"Relax kid," he said as squeezed John's shoulder. "You aren't dying."

"Got the wind knocked out of me. And my arm stings, bad."

"Your suit helps absorb some of the shock, but since you've got no cover on that arm, you've got nothing to protect you. C'mon," he said, pulling John to his feet. "Let's get you an ice pack."

"For my eye, sure," John said. "But I don't need one for my arm." Wincing, he took a tight grip on his left wrist and pulled hard, the joints between his body and arm cracking. He held his arm in his right hand and waved it at Logan. "There, it doesn't hurt anymore."

Logan looked at him sideways, and gave him as much of a smile as the gruff man allowed.

"That's a handy talent you got there. Any other parts do that?"

"No uh, only my arm, and I'm glad. It lets me retain as much of my normalcy as I can."

Logan grunted and began to walk away. "C'mon kid, let's get you that ice pack. Maybe we can find a less dangerous way to get you in training."

John slowly and unsteadily lowered himself with his one arm. Once his body was back against the ground, he slowly and unsteadily pushed himself up with his one arm.

He lowered himself slowly, and exhaled loudly when his body hit the floor again.

"Don't stop kid. Only thee more to go. Come on. You don't want happened at school to happen again, do ya, bub?" Logan told him.

"You know the right buttons to push, don't you?" John said before he resumed his push-ups with a renewed vigor. And Logan did. It didn't matter what he had told Jean earlier. The incident in the Danger Room made him realize how vulnerable he was, and it made him feel weak. Lance had made him feel weak. He could have cared less about him after what happened at lunch, but what he did afterwards was cowardly and low. John wasn't one to hold a grudge, but exceptions could be made in his case.

John was so busy murdering Lance in his head that he didn't hear Logan tell him to stop. The older mutant smiled and quietly left the room. The younger mutant kept up his one-armed push-ups for another minute before collapsing with exhaustion.

"H..hey Logan? How many was that?"

More silence.

"Mister Impolite I-Don't-Answer-People-Half-The-Time-They-Talk-To-Me?" John asked. If he heard me say that, I'm dead.

John swallowed hard and rolled his head around to look at where Logan had been sitting, but he was gone. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, both in relief and tiredness. His eyes searched around the room, seeing no Canadian mutants hiding in the room and hoisted himself up with his one arm. He wiped his face off on his shirt and forced out a new left arm. Rolling back onto his stomach, he returned to his push-ups.

John opened his eyes and looked around groggily. He was still in the weight room. Sitting up while wiping his chin off with a shirt sleeve, he looked down at the mat he had fallen asleep on, and the small pool of saliva.

Aw Christ. I drooled in my sleep.

Using his shirt again in one of it's unintended purposes, he cleaned up the puddle. His arms ached from all the exercising he had done. John sat for a moment, running his fingers through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts, before finally noticing the person standing in the doorway.

Eyes wide, he said, "H-hey. Wha-what... What are you doing here?"