Disclaimer; I own nothing…
Warnings; M/M action, graphic violence, suicidal thoughts and stupid authoress pranks.
Me; Shut up, Dru!
Dru; 'Don't hafta!'
Me; Either you shut up or I delete you!
Dru; 'Eep! I'm done!'
Me; Now on with the story!
1.Infection- Sweet Spot
'Where are you going, Logan! What's going on in that head of yours?' Scott Summers, code named Cyclopes, demanded of the retreating back. His voice echoed throughout the mansion as he chased his elusive charge through the hallways, past the mahogany staircase and out the front door. It was a large building, partially a school. The whole thing seemed to be made of mahogany, as the properties of the wood seemed to induce control in most mutant abilities. There were three levels and a subbasement, designed for the danger room, Beasts' lab, the war room, a containment room, and the hanger where the X-Jet was currently located.
'The professor said you have to stay here, Logan! You know Magneto's after you! Logan! Get your stubborn, restless ass back here right NOW!' Scott hollered as he chased Logan into the garage. The garage was filled with numerous vehicles that Scott had collected over the years. It seemed to Scott that Logan shared his interest as he had a bad habit of 'borrowing' each of them, particularly Scott's Harley Davidson that he had upgraded himself.
'I'm heading to Canada, dumbass. It ain't likely he'll find me there, now is it?' Logan snapped, hurtling onto Scott's bike.
'You're not going anywhere on my bike!' Scott shot back, wrenching Logan's backpack out of his arms.
'Give that back, One-Eye!' Logan snarled, hopping off the bike and lunging towards Scott.
'Boys! Enough!' cried Storm, who, hearing the racket from her garden, had come to find out what was going on, with Jean Grey one step behind her. Storm was of African descent, her brown complexion giving testimony to that statement. Long white hair framed her young and beautiful face. Some people even claimed her to be a goddess, but that could be either from her looks or her incredible ability to control the weather.
Jean was by no means a hag either. Red locks framed a youthful face and intelligent eyes. She had a peaches and cream complexion and was a constant argument when Cyclopes and Wolverine were concerned.
'Scott! Have you even considered telling Logan why the professor doesn't want him leaving the mansion yet?' Jean scolded.
'I don't have time for this!' Logan snapped, managing to retrieve his bag from Cyclopes by means of brute force.
'No, and what does it matter anyway? He never listens to me,' Scott replied, before a sudden mischievous look crossed his face, 'He's more of a 'show me and I'll learn' type of guy anyway.'
'Don't you DARE, Scott!' Storm yelled, as the two women tried to navigate the vehicles to reach the two men, 'What would the professor say?'
But Scott was beyond hearing them at this point. Before the Wolfman, seated once again on Scott's bike could react, Scott was upon him. He went face first into the ground, Scott's weight keeping him firmly in place. Scott sat up onto his back and Wolverine shivered as fingertips brushed the back of his neck just below his hairline. The pressure was increased, in an almost painful massage. Memories he hadn't had access to in years were released as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.
Logan's Mind
In house at the far back of a large amount of property surrounded by trees, a large and beautifully furnished house, with well tended gardens, the sounds of screaming was hid by the nightly noises of a forest.
'D-daddy, p-please s-stop! You're h-hurting m-me!' a four-year-old Logan screamed as his fathers' fists rained down upon him.
'YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE WRETCH! I KEEP YOU AND FEED YOU AND THIS IS THE THANKS I GET! YOU AREN'T EVEN MINE! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE DINNER PREPARED BY THE TIME I GOT HOME! GET IN YOUR CLOSET AND I DON'T WANT TO HEAR A PEEP OUT OF YOU!' Logan's father screamed at the boy, 'AND NO MEALS FOR THREE DAYS!'
Age 12
'Come here, boy,' the man Logan referred to very loosely as his father commanded, 'I have a present for you.'
The malice in his voice made Logan shiver and he swallowed, knowing that his father buying him something was not a good thing.
'Yes, sir?' he asked quietly, moving to stand in front of his father. A previous beating had made him realize that lurking in the doorway while he responded was not a good idea.
His father was a large portly man with a toothbrush moustache and small, beady eyes. He always dressed in business attire, whether he was going out, lounging around the mansion, or going to work. And it was always a black suit.
'Remove your shirt.'
Wordlessly the boy did as he was told. His eyes widened to the size of saucers as his father pulled a cat-o-nine tails from behind his back, and began circling the boy like a hawk circle its' prey.
Abruptly he lashed out, and the boy screamed, falling to his knees. The pain left him as his mutant healing ability came into play. His father continued his wordless beating, Logan unable to keep his screaming in check. That always made his fathers' beatings last longer and from the looks of it, it was going to be a long night.
Age 14
'What!' Logan asked, incredulously and receiving a backhand that sent him crashing to the floor.
'Do NOT question me, boy,' his father snarled, 'I despise you and your presence here is no longer necessary. William Stryker agreed to take you off my hands and agreed to the fee. I get paid while he performs as many experiments on you as he likes. And I have heard he fancies young men like yourself.'
Age 15
Logan pulled himself into the fetal position trying desperately to warm himself. Never in his worst nightmares had he imagined things could get this bad. Ruefully, he tried to smile, but stopped as a fresh wave of tears coursed down his cheeks. He didn't try to stop them, as he didn't believe he deserved the moisture any longer. He hadn't prevented Stryker, hadn't even tried.
His body had already been weakened from malnutrition, courtesy of his father. His arms and leg were in fact so thin that he had literally had to crawl up the stairs, one at a time, because they were unable to support his meager weight.
"No excuses," he thought angrily, "It's your fault, just like Father said. It doesn't matter what it is, it's your fault. It's your fault, and if you can't stop him from raping you, then you obviously deserve it.'
That was the last time Logan cried.
End Flashback
The minute Logan had started thrashing, Scott had leapt off, completely and utterly surprised. They had all expected Logan's 'sweet spot' to sedate the man, not give him cause to take a seizure.
'Storm! Get Hank!' he yelled, and the weather witch took off using her power to propel her faster, 'Jean…help me hold him still until this passes.'
Jean nodded, but that didn't make the 'this is entirely your fault' look she gave him any easier to deal with. Abruptly, Logan went still. His eyelids snapped open to betray eyes rolling in fear. Agonized moans and whimpers accompanied the wash of tears that flooded his cheeks.
'Nnnnoooo, Father, p-please stop. N-no, Daddy!' Logan sobbed, that last part slightly more akin to a panicked shriek.
Beast chose that moment to enter the garage, accompanied by a very worried looking Storm. He froze for a moment, blue-furred face scrunched in horror, before opening his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by Logan.
'No! Please, No! What did I do wrong? You said Roast Beef, Father! Please don't whip me again! No! Nonononononono!' Logan shrieked, jumping to his feet and backing up against the wall, face contracted in absolute terror, 'Stryker, no! I don't want to! Please, don't make me! Please! Not tonight! I want to sleep! I'm so tired, I just want to sleep!'
Jean abruptly walked over to the garbage and retched into the pail. Storm, glad for an excuse to escape the horror show, went to assist her.
'Logan, it's okay. It's me, Scott. You're going to be okay. Nobody's going to hurt you,' Scott told the other man softly. But Logan was apparently through. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed to the floor, limp as a rag-doll. Scott hurried over and picked him up, cradling Logan in his arms.
'Will he be okay?' Scott asked hesitantly as Hank pulled the Wolverine from his arms. Hank looked at him a moment as if trying to decide how to respond, before saying, rather forcefully, 'Of course, Scott. Logan has faced more than his own mind before. He'll be fine.'
But Scott had already tuned him out after seeing the look in Hank's eyes. Logan would be fine physically, but the dam of memories Scott had just released, could very well leave him traumatized for life.
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