There Must Be Some Kind of Way Out of Here
Chapter 31
Author's Note: You know the routine. Stuff in italics are thoughts and I love you all and thanks for the reviews.
I feel bad for I didn't maintain my 'post a chapter a day' bit. In fact, this would have been the chapter posted on Friday, but Friday was a sucky day, Saturday was a sucky day, Sunday and Monday weren't so sucky, but I had little to no creative juices, so it took quite some time to write this. Real life issues have come up, so I won't be able to update this story as often as I'd like to, but I won't stop updating altogether. I (and you all, I guess) have put too much into this for me to kill it all of a sudden.
Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men: Evolution or anything in it. Marvel and Kid's WB do. I could say that I own my original character, but I don't really. There's no copyrights or patents or trademarks that prove I technically own him. But he's so stupid, no one would want to steal him. So my plan is foolproof.
Oh, and don't read this if you don't like foul language, or if the word 'fuck' makes your head explode. Don't say I didn't warn you...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Come on, Goliath! Let's go pick some apples," a small boy's voice cried out.
"Duh...okay, Davey," replied a low, slurring, uneducated-sounding voice.
Remind me again why I'm watching this crap? Oh that's right. Because my damn arms fall off.
Alright, so it wasn't a viable excuse for John to watch this stupid religious claymation show. But for reasons unknown, he was watching in. It was a dumb religious show about a boy, Davey, and his dog that only he can talk to, Goliath.
Back on the screen, the little boy was climbing a ladder, and picking apples and throwing them into a bucket. From nowhere, another boy and a girl began picking apples too. Soon, the girl was gushing over an apple she found.
"Look Davey. I found this big apple." The little clay girl help up a freakishly large and oblong clay apple.
"Well garsh," exclaimed the other random boy, who's voice and appearance screamed 'Inbred Jed.' "That there's the biggest gol'darned apple I ever did see in all the days that I been borned."
"And it's all mine!" the girl squealed.
"No! You have to share!" crooned Davey.
"Duh...yeah. Share," Goliath slurred.
"I want me some of that there apple, too," said the other random boy. "This here's my paw's apple orchard, so that be my apple."
"Fine," the girl whined. "I'll share it."
"Oh boy!" Davey jumped down from the tree and pulled a knife out from somewhere, and cut the freakishly large apple into three pieces.
"Duh...don't forget about me, Davey," reminded Goliath.
"Oh, sorry Goliath." The little claymation boy cut the claymation apple with his claymation knife and gave it to his claymation dog.
"Duh...I'm a stupid clay dog..." John slurred in imitation of the...well, stupid clay dog.
I'm pathetic. I'm watching a stupid claymation show and imitating the dialogue. And that whole 'arms fall off' thing.
John looked down at his legs and stared for a moment.
Aw hell, those better not start falling off, too...
And then his eyes drifted to the area in between his legs.
If that starts to fall off...well, if it falls off, I'll say fuck it all, and be on my merry way.
John bent his head down and spoke quietly to his member. "Psst. Please, whatever happens, don't start falling off. I'll do anything you want, just don't fall off..."
"Am I interrupting anything?"
Oh shit.
John slowly and cautiously rose his head up and turned around. Mr. McCoy was standing (or slouching? Well, whatever way that he stands) behind John, looking at him as if he wasn't sure if he should be shocked or amused.
"Er uh... It uh...isn't what you think..." John's eyes darted across the room, looking for a means of escape. But then again, Mr. McCoy could probably catch him before he got five feet away.
"I'm sure it isn't," the blue furred man said, smirking. "The Professor informed me of your desire to learn just what it is that covers your limbs upon regeneration. And if you'll come with me, we shall find that out."
"Uh, sure. Ok." John turned off the tv and stood up, and followed the older mutant to wherever it was they were going.
**********
Hank McCoy deftly held the small pair of tweezers in his large hands, and peeled a flake of the substance that covered John's newly regenerated left arm. He was very much into the science bit, wearing glasses and a white lab coat. John, in the meanwhile, stared at his extra arm, watching it flip back and forth at the elbow, mesmerized, acting as if it were the greatest thing he had ever seen in his life. Even better than that world's largest ball of twine he had seen somewhere in Montana. The two were in a laboratory, somewhere deep in the under-belly of the Institute. John had no clue where they were exactly.
But then again, I can't even find my own room.
Hank dropped the flake into a vial of liquid, and took another piece of off John's arm, placing it into another vial. Two more pieces went like that, and a third was put on a slide and underneath a microscope.
"So uh, how long is this going to take?" John asked.
"Hrm. Not that long..." Mr. McCoy murmured, peering down into the microscope. He scribbled something onto a sheet of paper, and examined each of the test tubes carefully, scribbling down notes periodically.
John had no bloody idea what was going on.
Well, whatever floats his boat.
"So interesting..." the blue-furred mutant hummed. "This substance is a strict composition of carbon, sodium dytrosate, and magnesium. There's not a trace of any other elements."
"Huh?"
Mr. McCoy took off his glasses and sighed. "Frankly, I've never come across such a thing in all my years of research. It is obviously harmless, else your body would have succumed to some sort of virul infection by now. I cannot ascertain what exactly it is now, John. Let me take a few more samples from your arm, and then I will perform more in-depth experiments on them."
"Huh?"
"In a few days, I'll be able to tell you."
"Oh, uh. Ok. Can I ask you another question?"
"Sure."
"Ok, uh, well, let's say I work out a whole bunch, and I get some good exercise with my arms. And then my arms come off. What happens then? Was it all for nothing?"
"Well, beginning with tomorrow, we'll begin taking measurements, and when we have enough data compiled, we'll know for sure."
"Uh. Ok, then," John said.
Sounds good enough to me.
Tweezers in hand again, Hank McCoy pulled more flakes from John's arm, before waving him out of the laboratory.
"Uh, how do I get out of here?" John asked.
"Down the hall and take a right to the elevator. Just go to the first floor, and you'll find your way back," the older mutant replied, absent-mindly.
John look at the older arm he was holding and placed it on the table before leaving the room.
Maybe he'll need it for something.
**********
After a few minutes and a few wrong turns, John was back in his room, staring out the window. And it was only 4:30. On a Sunday.
Sunday's suck.
Sunday. Sunday is a bittersweet kind of day. It's the second day of the weekend but the day before you had to go back to school.
I worry too much. I thought I said I'd stop worrying so damn much. That sure lasted long...
"I wonder how badly Pietro's gonna kick my ass tomorrow," John mused. The first thing he thought when he asked himself that question was: I'm screwed.
How the hell did I end up in this? Oh, that's right. Foolish pride.
"I can always fake sick. Or watch my back." Like that'll work? "Or I can quit whining and suck it up. I'll let him kick my ass, and then I'll ignore him." It's a little too late for that now, moron.
"Stupid sarcastic conscience."
"Do yah ahlways talk to yahself this much?"
John spun around, spotted the familiar Gothic mutant resident of the mansion, and murmured, "I thought I closed that door..."
"What?" Rogue asked.
"Nothing. And yes, I always talk to myself this much. I've got issues."
"Really? Who woulda thought?"
"Oh ho. Busting out the sarcasm, are we?" John grinned. "Well, since this is question time, how about I ask you a question. Why do always wear pants?"
Making an ass of myself always takes my mind off my troubles. Like drugs, only this is free.
"What?" Rogue asked.
"Pants. Don't you ever get tired of pants?" John pulled off his pants and threw them on the bed. "See, no pants."
Rogue stared wide-eyed for a moment before regaining her composure. "Ah'll just uh...leave you here..."
"Come back..." John cried, following her out into the hallway.
"Er uh...no thanks. Ah'll just go now..."
"Aw, what's the matter? You've seen me in less clothing than this, when I wasn't intentionally making an ass of myself."
"Yah, but then you weren't so..."
"Forward about it?" John said, finishing her statement.
"Uh...Ah hafta go now..." Rogue said quickly.
And she slowly backed away from John, who wore a stupid grin, waved as she disappeared from sight.
Yeah, so what if I like her. I like the rest of the girls here. It's not my fault. I'm allowed to have some fun, once in a while.
**********
Is it possible for me to have a normal day?
Sure...just not here.
John stared out of his bedroom window, looking up at the night sky. That was one thing he had to admit: the nights in Bayville were beautiful. It seemed to get dark so quickly, but John reminded himself that he was still on the time from home.
Home.
Is this my home? It might be. Or it could be some twisted form of summer camp. I don't know why I'm even here. I don't need to be here. I could have gotten along fine at home, and only one of my arms would be coming off. And I wouldn't be dealing with all of this shit I've gotten myself into.
I shouldn't brood so much. It's unhealthy.
But it still doesn't answer my question. Why am I here? I don't need to get my powers under control. Hell, they came about by accident. Why do I bother to train? Why do I bother to do anything? I should have thought some of this over before I came.
It's not like I've got any real problems. So my arm falls off. Big deal. It's no reason for me to be here. Hell, there's no reason for any of us to be here. Except Rogue and Jamie. And Kurt and Scott. The rest of us are normal enough to be at home. Heh. Normal? Maybe not normal. The rest of us have enough control to not need to be here. Christ, I'm starting to babble now. I've got to get out more. Or get a psychiatrist. Or sleep. Maybe I just need sleep.
John slipped out of his clothes and climbed into his bed. It wasn't even seven yet, but he was still going to sleep.
Better than thinking too much... Wouldn't want that to happen. Or so he told himself, a wry grin on his face.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heh, sorry if that was a giant, jumbled mess. Like I said up at the top, it's been a crazy last few days, and frankly, the creative juices to keep this story going are running dry. I seriously need to start working soon. Maybe being away from the computer and doing something else will actually get me thinking again. It's worth a shot, dammit.
Chapter 31
Author's Note: You know the routine. Stuff in italics are thoughts and I love you all and thanks for the reviews.
I feel bad for I didn't maintain my 'post a chapter a day' bit. In fact, this would have been the chapter posted on Friday, but Friday was a sucky day, Saturday was a sucky day, Sunday and Monday weren't so sucky, but I had little to no creative juices, so it took quite some time to write this. Real life issues have come up, so I won't be able to update this story as often as I'd like to, but I won't stop updating altogether. I (and you all, I guess) have put too much into this for me to kill it all of a sudden.
Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men: Evolution or anything in it. Marvel and Kid's WB do. I could say that I own my original character, but I don't really. There's no copyrights or patents or trademarks that prove I technically own him. But he's so stupid, no one would want to steal him. So my plan is foolproof.
Oh, and don't read this if you don't like foul language, or if the word 'fuck' makes your head explode. Don't say I didn't warn you...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Come on, Goliath! Let's go pick some apples," a small boy's voice cried out.
"Duh...okay, Davey," replied a low, slurring, uneducated-sounding voice.
Remind me again why I'm watching this crap? Oh that's right. Because my damn arms fall off.
Alright, so it wasn't a viable excuse for John to watch this stupid religious claymation show. But for reasons unknown, he was watching in. It was a dumb religious show about a boy, Davey, and his dog that only he can talk to, Goliath.
Back on the screen, the little boy was climbing a ladder, and picking apples and throwing them into a bucket. From nowhere, another boy and a girl began picking apples too. Soon, the girl was gushing over an apple she found.
"Look Davey. I found this big apple." The little clay girl help up a freakishly large and oblong clay apple.
"Well garsh," exclaimed the other random boy, who's voice and appearance screamed 'Inbred Jed.' "That there's the biggest gol'darned apple I ever did see in all the days that I been borned."
"And it's all mine!" the girl squealed.
"No! You have to share!" crooned Davey.
"Duh...yeah. Share," Goliath slurred.
"I want me some of that there apple, too," said the other random boy. "This here's my paw's apple orchard, so that be my apple."
"Fine," the girl whined. "I'll share it."
"Oh boy!" Davey jumped down from the tree and pulled a knife out from somewhere, and cut the freakishly large apple into three pieces.
"Duh...don't forget about me, Davey," reminded Goliath.
"Oh, sorry Goliath." The little claymation boy cut the claymation apple with his claymation knife and gave it to his claymation dog.
"Duh...I'm a stupid clay dog..." John slurred in imitation of the...well, stupid clay dog.
I'm pathetic. I'm watching a stupid claymation show and imitating the dialogue. And that whole 'arms fall off' thing.
John looked down at his legs and stared for a moment.
Aw hell, those better not start falling off, too...
And then his eyes drifted to the area in between his legs.
If that starts to fall off...well, if it falls off, I'll say fuck it all, and be on my merry way.
John bent his head down and spoke quietly to his member. "Psst. Please, whatever happens, don't start falling off. I'll do anything you want, just don't fall off..."
"Am I interrupting anything?"
Oh shit.
John slowly and cautiously rose his head up and turned around. Mr. McCoy was standing (or slouching? Well, whatever way that he stands) behind John, looking at him as if he wasn't sure if he should be shocked or amused.
"Er uh... It uh...isn't what you think..." John's eyes darted across the room, looking for a means of escape. But then again, Mr. McCoy could probably catch him before he got five feet away.
"I'm sure it isn't," the blue furred man said, smirking. "The Professor informed me of your desire to learn just what it is that covers your limbs upon regeneration. And if you'll come with me, we shall find that out."
"Uh, sure. Ok." John turned off the tv and stood up, and followed the older mutant to wherever it was they were going.
**********
Hank McCoy deftly held the small pair of tweezers in his large hands, and peeled a flake of the substance that covered John's newly regenerated left arm. He was very much into the science bit, wearing glasses and a white lab coat. John, in the meanwhile, stared at his extra arm, watching it flip back and forth at the elbow, mesmerized, acting as if it were the greatest thing he had ever seen in his life. Even better than that world's largest ball of twine he had seen somewhere in Montana. The two were in a laboratory, somewhere deep in the under-belly of the Institute. John had no clue where they were exactly.
But then again, I can't even find my own room.
Hank dropped the flake into a vial of liquid, and took another piece of off John's arm, placing it into another vial. Two more pieces went like that, and a third was put on a slide and underneath a microscope.
"So uh, how long is this going to take?" John asked.
"Hrm. Not that long..." Mr. McCoy murmured, peering down into the microscope. He scribbled something onto a sheet of paper, and examined each of the test tubes carefully, scribbling down notes periodically.
John had no bloody idea what was going on.
Well, whatever floats his boat.
"So interesting..." the blue-furred mutant hummed. "This substance is a strict composition of carbon, sodium dytrosate, and magnesium. There's not a trace of any other elements."
"Huh?"
Mr. McCoy took off his glasses and sighed. "Frankly, I've never come across such a thing in all my years of research. It is obviously harmless, else your body would have succumed to some sort of virul infection by now. I cannot ascertain what exactly it is now, John. Let me take a few more samples from your arm, and then I will perform more in-depth experiments on them."
"Huh?"
"In a few days, I'll be able to tell you."
"Oh, uh. Ok. Can I ask you another question?"
"Sure."
"Ok, uh, well, let's say I work out a whole bunch, and I get some good exercise with my arms. And then my arms come off. What happens then? Was it all for nothing?"
"Well, beginning with tomorrow, we'll begin taking measurements, and when we have enough data compiled, we'll know for sure."
"Uh. Ok, then," John said.
Sounds good enough to me.
Tweezers in hand again, Hank McCoy pulled more flakes from John's arm, before waving him out of the laboratory.
"Uh, how do I get out of here?" John asked.
"Down the hall and take a right to the elevator. Just go to the first floor, and you'll find your way back," the older mutant replied, absent-mindly.
John look at the older arm he was holding and placed it on the table before leaving the room.
Maybe he'll need it for something.
**********
After a few minutes and a few wrong turns, John was back in his room, staring out the window. And it was only 4:30. On a Sunday.
Sunday's suck.
Sunday. Sunday is a bittersweet kind of day. It's the second day of the weekend but the day before you had to go back to school.
I worry too much. I thought I said I'd stop worrying so damn much. That sure lasted long...
"I wonder how badly Pietro's gonna kick my ass tomorrow," John mused. The first thing he thought when he asked himself that question was: I'm screwed.
How the hell did I end up in this? Oh, that's right. Foolish pride.
"I can always fake sick. Or watch my back." Like that'll work? "Or I can quit whining and suck it up. I'll let him kick my ass, and then I'll ignore him." It's a little too late for that now, moron.
"Stupid sarcastic conscience."
"Do yah ahlways talk to yahself this much?"
John spun around, spotted the familiar Gothic mutant resident of the mansion, and murmured, "I thought I closed that door..."
"What?" Rogue asked.
"Nothing. And yes, I always talk to myself this much. I've got issues."
"Really? Who woulda thought?"
"Oh ho. Busting out the sarcasm, are we?" John grinned. "Well, since this is question time, how about I ask you a question. Why do always wear pants?"
Making an ass of myself always takes my mind off my troubles. Like drugs, only this is free.
"What?" Rogue asked.
"Pants. Don't you ever get tired of pants?" John pulled off his pants and threw them on the bed. "See, no pants."
Rogue stared wide-eyed for a moment before regaining her composure. "Ah'll just uh...leave you here..."
"Come back..." John cried, following her out into the hallway.
"Er uh...no thanks. Ah'll just go now..."
"Aw, what's the matter? You've seen me in less clothing than this, when I wasn't intentionally making an ass of myself."
"Yah, but then you weren't so..."
"Forward about it?" John said, finishing her statement.
"Uh...Ah hafta go now..." Rogue said quickly.
And she slowly backed away from John, who wore a stupid grin, waved as she disappeared from sight.
Yeah, so what if I like her. I like the rest of the girls here. It's not my fault. I'm allowed to have some fun, once in a while.
**********
Is it possible for me to have a normal day?
Sure...just not here.
John stared out of his bedroom window, looking up at the night sky. That was one thing he had to admit: the nights in Bayville were beautiful. It seemed to get dark so quickly, but John reminded himself that he was still on the time from home.
Home.
Is this my home? It might be. Or it could be some twisted form of summer camp. I don't know why I'm even here. I don't need to be here. I could have gotten along fine at home, and only one of my arms would be coming off. And I wouldn't be dealing with all of this shit I've gotten myself into.
I shouldn't brood so much. It's unhealthy.
But it still doesn't answer my question. Why am I here? I don't need to get my powers under control. Hell, they came about by accident. Why do I bother to train? Why do I bother to do anything? I should have thought some of this over before I came.
It's not like I've got any real problems. So my arm falls off. Big deal. It's no reason for me to be here. Hell, there's no reason for any of us to be here. Except Rogue and Jamie. And Kurt and Scott. The rest of us are normal enough to be at home. Heh. Normal? Maybe not normal. The rest of us have enough control to not need to be here. Christ, I'm starting to babble now. I've got to get out more. Or get a psychiatrist. Or sleep. Maybe I just need sleep.
John slipped out of his clothes and climbed into his bed. It wasn't even seven yet, but he was still going to sleep.
Better than thinking too much... Wouldn't want that to happen. Or so he told himself, a wry grin on his face.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heh, sorry if that was a giant, jumbled mess. Like I said up at the top, it's been a crazy last few days, and frankly, the creative juices to keep this story going are running dry. I seriously need to start working soon. Maybe being away from the computer and doing something else will actually get me thinking again. It's worth a shot, dammit.