Author's Notes: Thanks to those who reviewed.

Note to Cat2fat900: I am glad that you like my OC, and I will only try to make him cooler. I wasn't really planning on making this a Rogue/Nightmare fic, but now that you mention it I might. I like your Roguemare idea.

So I will ask all my readers, do you want this to be a Rogue/Nightmare fic, or not? Please tell me what you think.

The Professor looked on as Logan placed the large package of Nightmare's belongings on the floor.

The gruff man took his hands away from the box as he turned to the telepath.

"You sure we should be snooping through his things," he asked in a voice that was full of uncertainty.

"I know it may seem immoral," Charles said, "but if Dr. Philips suggested we keep Nightmare's belongings away from him I would like to know what they are."

Logan placed his gaze back on the box.

He soon noticed a small letter on top of the package. When he took it off to read it he discovered that it was from the governor himself.

He read over the letter and his eyes began to gaze in curiosity.

"Charles, read this," he said giving the letter to the leader of the X-Men.

Dear Sir or Madam,

It has come to my attention that you will be bringing a patient of the Bayeville Sanitarium to your institution. As by law the Sanitarium is required to return whatever belongings the patient might have. However in this case these objects sent to your institution with the patient are nod under any circumstances to be given to this individual. Keep them locked away and out of reach from the patient.

Sincerely,

Governor Winthrop

(Author's Notes: I didn't know if it was actually a law to give belongings back to insane people when they were set free, but I made it a law in order to make my story work.)

As Charles read this Logan opened the large package. He slid his claws out from his hands and cut it open.

When the box was open his eyes turned wide.

"Charles," he said, "you better get a look at this."

Xavier took his gaze away from the letter as Logan pulled the three items out of the box.

They were weapons. Razor sharp weapons.

One was a small machete. It shined bright, without a single splotch of rust on it, showing that its owner took good care of it.

The second was a hand held sickle. Its curve was perfect. The light moved across its cold metal surface as Logan placed it on the ground.

And the final weapon was an ax. The head was made from a silver colored metal. Its long handle was smooth and felt as if it gripped perfectly in Logan's hand. And at the end of the handle, a sharp point was carved, to create a secondary way to damage an opponent.

Xavier watched in horror as Logan pulled each on of the instruments of death out from the box.

"Why wood the Governor permit these things to be any where near some one in Nightmare's condition," he asked himself out loud.

Logan did not speak, but the Prof. could tell that he was thinking the same thing.

As soon as all the weapons were out of the box Nightmare entered the room.

It had been a few hours since he pulled his little stunt and the Professor was not too happy with him about it.

But the young madman didn't care. The students had returned from school quite some time ago, and he was hoping that he could get his introduction over with, wishing to observe the other students in order to learn about them.

"May I ask what you are doing in here," he stated.

Xavier and Logan looked up, finally noticing he was in the room.

Xavier tried to answer him in a calm voice. He had already given Nightmare a lecture, and he did not want the boy to seem unwelcome.

"Nothing really," Xavier claimed. "We're just going over a few things before we introduce you to the other students."

Nightmare nodded as if he understood.

He took a few more steps into the room. That was when he noticed his weapons on the floor next to Logan.

He stopped in his tracks and looked at the deadly items. Joy filled up in his heart.

"My old weapons," he said, sounding as if he had run into some old friends.

The two mutants looked at the young killer. Worry overcame them after hearing those words.

"It has been so long since I've seen them," Nightmare said. "It's felt like an eternity."

Xavier looked to Logan, as if telling him to put the weapons back in the box.

The gruff man began to do so.

Nightmare then said, "I would very much like, to hold them again."

"I'm afraid not," Charles said sternly.

Nightmare looked to him. The joy that was in his heart quickly vanished, but he did not reveal his sadness.

"Why not," he asked.

Logan placed the weapons back in the box and said, "if any one outside of this institute sees you with those weapons, we'd be held responsible. Understand."

Nightmare looked to Logan. However he was not angry. He seemed to understand.

"I see," he said. "But if I am not allowed to carry them, then promise me you will keep them somewhere safe."

And he left the room.

Logan closed the box after placing the weapons inside. "He seems really attached to these things," he said.

Charles remained fixed on the door where Nightmare exited.

He placed his hand on his chin as if lost in thought.

He had felt a strange connection between Nightmare and his weapons. A strange bond that normally associated with humans, and other humans. But in this case Nightmare felt a sort of love towards his weapons, as if they were people.

As he thought about this, Charles said, "Logan I want you to keep those weapons locked away. I don't want Nightmare to see them again for a while."

"You don't plan on keeping these things away from him forever," Logan asked.

The Professor rubbed his forehead. "I think Nightmare has a certain need for his weapons. I feel we must try to wean him from them."

Logan said no more. He took the box out of the room and searched for a place to lock them away.

Rogue sat in the living room with the other students as the chatter went on around her.

It had been three hours since they all returned from school.

Luckily only a few of them heard what had happened to Rogue, but she knew it would spread around the institute sooner or later.

The only people who had talked to her about what happened were Kitty and Kurt.

They had approached her earlier to see if she was okay. She had told them she was fine, but she was far from okay.

The other students continued to talk as they waited for the newest recruit to enter. Rogue stayed out of their conversations, leaning against a wall at the edge of the room.

As she waited a very familiar voice came from the side of her.

"Good evening chere."

Rogue turned to see Remy standing next to her. His arm propped up against the wall so he could lean comfortably.

The Goth's eyes turned to shock as she turned away from him. She couldn't even look at Remy now. Not after what happened today.

"What's wrong, petite," he said, "ain't you happy to see me?"

Rogue tried to calm herself.

"Ah'm sorry," Rogue said without facing him. "Ah can't talk right now."

"Why not," the Cajon asked.

Rogue turned back to him. Why would he want to talk to her after what had happened today.

She immediately sunk into his red and black eyes. She wanted to look away again, but she couldn't.

A smile formed on Remy's face. His usual grin that trapped any one of the female gender.

But sadly he said the words that Rogue hoped he wouldn't say. "I heard you took a nasty spill this morning."

Rogue finally found the ability to turn away. Her shame had returned to her.

"Ah take it you saw what happened," she said. It was easy to tell that her pride was still scared.

Remy grabbed gently onto Rogue's shoulder and turned her around easily.

"No," he said, "Tabitha pulled me away before it happened. To bad we were gone, we would have helped you out."

A sudden burst of relief fell over Rogue. Remy did not see what happened. And it also seemed like he didn't care about what happened to her.

"However," he stated, "before Tabitha took me away I did see you walking over to me. Why was that?"

Rogue tried to think of an excuse quickly. She couldn't have Remy know why she tried to approach him this morning. Not now.

"Ah Ah, um" she stuttered.

Remy held his hand up, causing Rogue to stop speaking.

"Stop fumbling," he said, "I know the reason."

He paused as Rogue's expression transformed to surprise.

"You wanted to ask me to the dance didn't you," he asked.

Rogue's eyes turned even wider. "How did you know that," she asks nervously.

"Relax," Remy said, "I've known you've had a crush on me."

"WHAT," Rogue yelled out. She was surprised that the other students didn't hear her.

Remy held his finger up to her lips, careful to not make contact with her skin. He lowered his finger after the Goth calmed down a little.

Rogue looked him dead in his black and red eyes. She became trapped in them yet again; almost hypnotized by them.

"How did you find out," she asked him.

The smile grew on Remy's face. "It's been obvious," he said. "You always seemed nervous when I was around. Plus every time I talked to you, your face turned slightly pink. I new there was something up."

Rogue began to blush suddenly. She had no idea she was that obvious.

"Well, why didn't you say anything," she asked him.

"I wanted to wait for you to get the nerve to tell me," was Remy's reply. "That's why I tried to avoid the other women in our happy home until you asked me to the dance. Sadly it backfired after Tabitha asked me. I couldn't just say 'no' to her; that would be rude. I never mistreat a lady."

Rogue looked shamefully to the ground. This only made her bad day even worse. If only she had asked Remy out earlier than everything would have been fine. But no, she had to stall this entire time.

She was about to speak t Remy again, but the Professor entered the room before she could get another breath out.

All the students immediately became silent. Every eye in the room was focused on the Prof.

Charles waited a few moments before he spoke.

"X-Men," he said, "as you are well aware we have a new student joining us today. He is waiting outside as we speak."

All the students began to look uncomfortable around him. They all knew this new mutant was from an asylum. And now that they were finally meeting him they couldn't help, but be nervous.

Charles spoke again. "I know most of you have not been looking forward to his arrival. However I am sure that we can trust him. His ways may seem strange to all of you, but that does not mean he should be shunned from all of you. Give him some time and you will hopefully get use to him. I want you to treat him like he is one of you. Understand?"

The students all stated that they understood in their own way.

With that Charles nodded and turned to the nearby door.

"Alright Nightmare," he called, "you may come in."

With those words the door swung open slowly and in walked Nightmare.

The students were instantly mesmerized by his attire. Some whispered to each other, while others tried to hold back a giggle.

Bobby leaned over towards Sam as the two sat on the couch and said, "I had no idea Halloween had come early this year."

Nightmare stopped walking and turned to Bobby.

He walked over to the boy and looked directly at him.

"Do you fined my cloak amusing," he asked.

Bobby only shook his head out of fear.

"Calm yourself," Nightmare said. "I will not hurt you if you give me an honest answer."

Bobby swallowed hard before speaking.

"Well, I just think its kind of funny," he said in a shaky voice, "I mean here you are in a weird Halloween costume, and it's the middle of spring."

"I see," Nightmare said. "You find it odd that a person would wear a costume, as you would call it, when the occasion does not call for one."

Bobby only nodded.

"You must understand," Nightmare said, "I live out on the streets for many a year. While most people were inside next to warm fires, I was sleeping on cold concrete. This "costume" was the only thing I had to keep me warm."

He walked away from Bobby, thinking his explanation was good enough. He made his way to the center of the room where he stood so he could face all of the X-Men.

"Your professor," he began, "has told me all of your names. However I have asked him not to tell me which name belongs to which person. I wish to try my luck at finding out who is who."

Nightmare looked about at the people. He could still feel the tension between everyone in the room. It flowed thick between everyone.

"You are not pleased to have me here I know," he stated, "but I assure you that I will not harm anyone within these walls. I am not the monster you all think I am."

He then raised his right hand and said, "I swear on my blood, that I will not hurt any of you."

He then lowered his hand and began to move around the room again. His steps were so quiet that the students believed his feet didn't even touch the ground.

Nightmare continued his movement until he stopped in front of Kurt.

The furry elf had his image inducer on. The disguise was so real that not a man alive could tell he was different. However Nightmare sensed something was amiss.

In a slow and easy gesture he held out his hand and said, "let me see your wrist."

A hint of fear spread on Kurt's face. Still he did not want to make this young madman seem unwelcome.

Slowly he placed his wrist in Nightmare's hand.

The cloaked boy slide his fingers along the watch on Kurt's wrist before taking it off.

Kurt's human form began to blink before he turned back into his normal self. His demon form was now as clear as day.

"Give me that back," Kurt said in a panic.

As he reached for his watch Nightmare grabbed his arm.

"Calm yourself," he said to the furry mutant. "We're all among friends here. There is no need for you to hide your true self."

He handed the watch back to Kurt, but not before saying, "we're not so different you and I. We both hide behind masks to hide who we really are."

He then allowed Kurt to have his holowatch back. But Kurt did not put it back on when it was returned to him. He was relieved that the new guy didn't care about his appearance.

Nightmare then pointed at the blue elf and said, "you're Kurt Wagner."

It was amazing. He knew who Kurt was even though he had never met him before. Even though the students were afraid of Nightmare they were still very impressed.

The cloaked figure moved on. He walked across the students slowly before standing in front of Amara.

The girl eyed Nightmare, as the strange boy looked her over.

He took a few steps over to the girl, and began to sniff the air around her. This caught all of the X-Men by surprise. Why was he sniffing Amara?

As Nightmare sniffed the air he said to the girl, "you use lavender skin lotion. But I can still sense a hint of something else."

He sniffed a little more. "You smell of fire. The smell of flames after they have scorched flesh and left it in a pile of ash You must be Magma, also known as Amara."

Once again he left the students stunned in astonishment.

And so he moved on. Passing by many other students. He moved his gaze to Scott and Jean, standing side by side.

Nightmare looked at Jean, as if trying to see her very soul.

Jean's eyes narrowed at him as she said, "you already know me, we met earlier."

"Yes," said Nightmare, "we have. And I do know you, only too well. I found out who you were the moment I laid eyes on you."

He started to walk away again, but Jean's words stopped him instantly.

"What's that suppose to mean," she asked, "I'm not that obvious."

Nightmare turned back to her, "you wouldn't think so would you? Trust me girl, you are as clear as a sheet of glass."

Jean became angry. "Yeah right, I probably know you more than you know me."

Nightmare gave a slight chuckle.

"Is that so," he asked.

He took a few more steps towards her and said, "humor me."

The red head did it with pleasure. "It's obvious that you're just some nut job, desperate for attention. Why else would you wear that costume?"

"Really," Nightmare stated. He did not seem insulted, only very amused.

He stepped even closer to Jean so that he was extremely close, to close for comfort.

"You know girl," he began, "you could not be farther off from the truth about me."

He looked her up and down before speaking again.

"Do you even know yourself," he said. "You know what I see when I look at you in your tacky dress and your flimsy shoes, you look like a women who seems to desperate to be loved."

"A simple wined up toy, always dressing up in the styles that are in, loving what ever others love, and yet you have no personality of your own, only a taste for what others like. I wouldn't be surprised if you were the popular kid when you were in school."

The rage began to grow in Jean.

"I was popular," she said. "Why, are you jealous?"

The lame insult amused Nightmare even more.

"Not at all," he said. "I never met popular kids in school. I didn't even spend much time there. I left the moment I became this thing you see before you; left my whole life behind. But I still was able to witness the "popular crowed", as they believed themselves to be."

"They always assumed themselves to be better then anyone else. But under their money, their "cool clothes", and their useless makeup, they're nothing more than white trash."

And after that he turned away from Jean.

Scott stood next to his girlfriend speechless. He did not know what to say in defense of the woman he loved.

For his lack of defense Jean elbowed him in the stomach.

Nightmare continued around the room, stopping to look at Remy and Rogue.

"Well, well, well," he said, "if it isn't Remy. Standing shoulder to shoulder with my favorite little Goth."

Rogue moved a little closer to the demon eyed Cajon, still a little uncomfortable with this Nightmare character.

Remy looked into the darkness of Nightmare's hood, and Nightmare looked in the Cajun's oddly colored eyes.

Then the young thief did something completely unexpected.

He reached his hand out to shake Nightmare's.

"It's a pleasure," he said.

Nightmare paused for a moment. Then he reached out and shook Remy's hand.

As he did so he looked down at the limb, feeling it through his black glove.

"You have the hands of a thief," Nightmare stated.

Remy only gave his cocky smile and said, "you're very perceptive."

Nightmare nodded.

"I've always hated thieves," he said before ripping his hand away from Remy's grip.

The Cajun looked at the young madmen shocked, and somewhat offended.

Nightmare spoke to him, "thieves are what changed me into this thing."

He held up his hands in front of him, showing that he meant himself. Then he turned away from Remy and over to Rogue.

The Goth looked at him. Her nervous state slowly raised within her.

"We've already met remember," she said.

"Of course," Nightmare said. "It was a pleasure. I hope we can talk some more."

And he walked away from her, to investigate the other students.

Rogue watched him walk away.

'Why didn't he try to tell the others something about me,' She asked herself in her mind.

Remy leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear, "what's his problem?"

Rogue's only answer was, "Ah don't know."

This Nightmare guy was a strange person indeed. So mysterious and eerie. Why was he like this? What had changed him into this strange man that now lived with the X-Men.

Duncan Matthew's sat in his car in the middle of a dark parking lot with his other Jock friends.

It had been months since they had gotten out of jail for attacking Spyke that fateful night.

They all sat around drinking beer and laughing at stories of old times in the High School.

Duncan opened up another can of beer as he spoke.

"Man, I still can't believe those mutants haven't gotten kicked out of the High School yet."

"Give it time," one of his friends said so confidently. "One of these days they're gonna screw up, and hopefully they'll be locked behind bars where they belong."

"Amen to that," Duncan stated as he clinked his can with his friends.

They continued drink completely unaware of the figures that observed them nearby.

As the jocks began to laugh again a banging sound came from the darkness around them.

Duncan looked towards the shadows, think he would see some homeless man rummaging through the trashcans.

But that was not what he saw. Instead he saw a strange young man standing in front of him.

He was dressed as a WWII soldier with a gas mask covering his face.

Duncan looked at the stranger with narrow eye.

"What the hell are you looking at man." he yelled out to the soldier.

Wardog did not answer him. He just stood with his hands behind his back.

Duncan picked up on of his beer cans and threw it at the odd young man.

Wardog saw the can coming. He took his hands out from behind his back, revealing his huge machete held tightly in his grasp.

He knocked the can away with ease and continued looking at the jocks.

Duncan began to think that throwing the can was not a good idea.

He turned to the steering wheel of his car saying to his friends, "maybe we should get out of here."

He turned on his car. The headlights became bright, and revealed another figure standing in front of the vehicle.

Duncan jumped at the sight of him.

He was a tall young man with a pitchfork clasped in his hands. His body was wrapped in a black coat over a turtle neck sweater and a pair of dark pants.

Just like his partner Wardog, he wore an odd belt around his waist. It contained a butcher knife and a claw hammer.

And over his face he wore a skull mask, with a black hat placed on the top.

This young man was known as Stalker. He stood in front of Duncan's car, ignoring the blinding lights in the front.

He then spoke. His voice was like that of a southern preacher. His accent was obvious, but not that thick.

"How often do people like you ridicule others, and ignore your own faults?"

Duncan revved the engine of his car and said in a demanding voice, "just get out of the way jackass, or I'll run you over."

Stalker did not move. He only nodded his head.

The jocks did not know this, but that was a signal for Wardog to act.

He took his circular caw blade out of his belt and through it like a disk at the car.

It went passed the other jocks and right into Duncan's right hand.

The boy grabbed hold of his injured hand in pain.

Stalker stood in place. A smile formed under his mask, happy about what he had just seen.

Duncan looked at the boy in front of his car.

"What do you want," he asked the stranger in a voice full of pain.

Duncan's friends began to rummage through the car for anything they could use as weapons against these odd young men.

Stalker could see their frantic state and chuckled to himself.

"Don't bother," he said, "you will get no help tonight."

One of Duncan's friends looked at the young psychopath. His eyes were narrow as he tried to use his intimidating face; one that worked so well on the athletic field.

He said, "you think you can beat us. I don't think so. There's five of us and only two of you."

Stalker laughed even harder. He held his pitchfork so its points aimed at the jock that had just spoke.

"Ah think you are mistaken," he said.

The Jock reached around on the floor until he felt a tire iron. He pulled it up into view and stepped out of the car.

Duncan soon joined him despite the pain in his hand, and was followed by the other Jocks.

They all stood, most of them without weapons, hoping that their strength in numbers would suffice in scaring off these two freaks.

Stalker and Wardog watched this. They found it pitiful.

Wardog placed the tip of his machete on the ground and leaned against it.

"How pathetic," he stated. "How desperate must you be, to think that you could defeat us. Are you just too full of pride to just run away."

Duncan stepped forward furiously. He completely ignored the wound on his hand as he spoke.

"We are not gonna run from you," he said. "We've never run from any problem in our lives! We're not cowards, we're doers! At like my buddy pointed out, there are five of us, and only two of you!"

Stalker relaxed his pitchfork and placed its points on the ground.

"Sorry," he said, "but you are wrong, fellow sinner. Ah do not see you as brave men in mah eyes. Ah see you as worthless sons of whores. The sons of a thousand fathers, all of them bastards, just like you. You may seem like worthy people, but you are nothing in mah view. Just separate piles of the horrid human kind that we must cut down."

Duncan became shocked.

"You're a mutant," he asked.

Stalker shook his head. "Far from it. We are nothing like mutants. We are the gifted. Mahself, and all mah brothers alike, are much more."

The dumfounded state of the jocks only grew immensely. What did he mean by brothers.

It was then that four more figures stepped out from the dark shadows that hid them well in the night.

All of them stood around the jocks, changing their enemies from two to six.

The other four were much like Stalker and Wardog, and yet different in many ways.

The first was known as Hunter. He stood wrapped in his hoodless cloak. A black silk bag covered his face, with two eyeholes cut in the front of it.

He had a belt much like Stalker and Wardog. All of them did. And each carried different weapons.

The two weapons Hunter had within his belt was a hook, and a chain, coiled loosely as it hung against his right leg. And in his hands was a pick ax.

Not to far away from him was Butcher. His costume was simple. He wore dark clothing. An apron covered his front, and that itself was covered with stains of old blood. Upon his face was a surgical mask, and a pair of green goggles covered his eyes.

Next to him was Scarecrow. He was dressed in a dark green jacket and an old shirts and pants. He covered his face with a creepy scarecrow mask as an old hat rested on top of his head.

A gaff was held tightly in his hand. In his belt were a sharp gardening tool and a club.

Between all of them stood a very odd young man. He was dressed as a grotesque clown. He wore a pair of corduroys on a dark sweater. His face as would be guessed was covered in a horrible clown mask.

He walked forward towards Duncan, who stood in front of hie group of friends.

The clown had a meat cleaver between his fingers. He twirled it about as he moved to the jock. His belt contained a crowbar and a rope, with a noose tied at the end of it.

Duncan remained motionless as the strange boy made his way over to him. He kept thinking to himself, 'why did I have to get out of the car?'

His heart began to pound as the clown stepped closer to him.

And as soon as they were face to face, the odd young man stopped.

The two just looked at each other, waiting to see what the other did.

The clown held his blade up to Duncan's face. And as odd as it seemed, he started saying a strange rhyme.

It was simple and to the point.

The boy's voice was full of insanity as he spoke.

Hickory Dickory dock.

The clown slaughtered the jock.

The jock was dead, all stained blood red.

Hickory Dickory dock.

Duncan just looked at him in bewilderment.

"What is you problem," he asked.

However the strange boy did not answer.

He grabbed onto Duncan's jacket and raised his cleaver into the air.

"Clowny will enjoy this," the young killer stated, revealing his name as he referred to himself in the third person.

His friends could only watched as Duncan was killed. His screams flowed through the night sky. It was endless and terrible.

And when the screaming died down it was certain that he was dead.

Clowny looked to the other jocks. His cleaver stained red. His eyes seen perfectly through the holes in his mask. They were filled with madness and a hint of joy.

The other killers around them walked to his side.

The jocks all fell to their knees.

One began to beg, "please man, don't kill us. We've got so much to live for. We can't die now, not when our lives are ready to pick up."

"Enough," said the killer known as Hunter.

He held his pick ax firm in his hands.

"You're wasting valuable bleeding time."

All the killers ran to the jocks to finish what they had come for.

The screams of death ran thick in the air. None could imagine what was happening to the jocks. The former kings of Bayeville High.

Not to far away from the seen a lone figure watched the murder from the shadows.

He was not afraid of what he saw. In fact he loved it.

He stood looking at the deaths of the jocks as he said, "my children have done quite well tonight."

He smiled under the black scarf that covered his face.

This man was the leader of the killers, known as Shamen.

He stood wrapped in his trench coat, his colorless eyes watching the scene of death.

Soon the night would be over, but another would come. And The Crimson Hands would enter the darkness to kill again.