Scott / Kurt / Ray / Kitty / Jamie vs FOH Thugs (Deathfic, Restaurant) – Requested by Taekwondodo

The red convertible pulled to an easy halt outside the small diner. Kurt had jumped out before Scott killed the engine; the others followed more sedately.
"Shit, Fuzzball, calm down, willya?" grunted Ray.
"Leave him alone," Scott scolded. "He hasn't eaten in almost twelve minutes…"
The Elf stuck his tongue out at Scott. "Hey, do you hear me mocking the shades?" he retorted. "I'm hungry, man. Fast metabolism. What do you want me to do, starve?"
"Not much risk of that…"
Kurt bounded over and slung an arm over Scott's shoulders. "Need I remind you, mein freund, that I'm only here because you begged me?" he asked in a low voice. "And I can quite easily abandon you, and go with Jamie and Ray instead. Then you can have Kitty all to yourself until Jean arrives…"
Scott shuddered theatrically. "Okay, man. I take it back."

"Eeeeeeeeeewww!"

"She's started again," Jamie commented to Ray.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Ray grumbled under his breath. "A forty-minute car ride, and she's been talking for more than thirty. No fucking wonder Scooter doesn't want to be alone with her 'til Jean shows."
Kitty, completely oblivious to the comments being made about her, glared at the sign of Stan's Fried Chicken Diner the way a priest might look at a burning cross. "Like, what are we even doing here?" she demanded. "This place, like, kills innocent animals, then dips them in fat, and calls it food! No way am I eating here!"
"Should've seen this coming," Scott murmured.
"It's okay," Jamie whispered. "She's probably not eating again today."
Kitty turned and blinked. "Huh? Like, why are you whispering?"
Jamie froze. "It's… um… a game…?"
"What were you saying?"

"Um… that we should… look at the menu, anyway."
Kitty sighed. "No, it's no problem," she said. "I was, like, going to fast today, anyway." With that, she turned and trudged away from the car.
Ray glanced at Jamie. "Good prediction and nice save," he hissed. Jamie grinned and ducked his head.
Scott locked the car, and the four males headed after Kitty toward the diner.

----

It was Saturday. Jean was currently at cheerleading practice, and had talked Scott into picking her up afterwards - something that Scott would normally have been more than willing to do, but wasn't too enthusiastic about this time. This was largely because Kitty and Jean had planned a shopping trip, which Scott was expected to go on. Jean had eventually wheedled him into it; he, in turn, had appealed to Kurt to come along and keep him company.
Ray and Jamie had no such plans. The latter had found out about a car rally in town that afternoon; the former, when asked, had agreed to take him. They'd caught a ride with the others, but would soon go their own way.

Right now, however, it was lunch time.

----

"Hi, my name is Chris," said the thin, acne-covered lad behind the counter. He wasn't lying; his name really was Chris, and he had a badge to prove it. "May I take your order?"
Kitty thumped both hands down on the counter. "How do you live with yourself, animal-killer?" she spat.
Hi-my-name-is-Chris paled and took a step back. When Kitty's glare didn't flicker, he glanced over one shoulder. "Stan?" he called in a wavering voice. "Stan? Stan!"
Kitty suddenly felt herself yanked back by a hand on her shoulder.
"If you're not eating," Kurt hissed, "save the complaints until later, okay?"
Kitty scowled indignantly, but the others just looked back over the counter where the till worker was having a rather panicked, muted conversation with over 300 pounds of sweaty flab and receding hairline - Stan himself.
A moment later, Stan waddled off with a suspicious glare at the teenagers; Hi-my-name-is-Chris crept forward nervously and pointed at the entrance with a trembling hand.
"We… uh… have fliers at the door, and… uh… I…" he swallowed. "Can I take your order...?"
Scott looked at Kitty. "Don't say anything," he warned. Ray just muttered something about a pack of (expletive) morons and stepped up to get his lunch.

----

A short while later, they sat in a booth on one side of the diner, their meals in front of them - all except Kitty, who was engrossed in the pamphlet she'd been directed to. Scott shook his head at her.
"Kitty, is it that big a deal?"
She shrugged. "Hey, I've got the right to an opinion," she answered. "There's a phone number here. I'll call someone and get details from them."
As a trio of cars pulled up outside, Kurt finished one of his burgers and looked up at Ray. "So what's appearing at this rally?" he asked, a hint of envy in his voice.
Ray swallowed some fried and grinned. "A few monster trucks, for starters. Then there's some rally cars doing a timed obstacle course, some races, professional stunt drivers, classic car displays, and the final show's a crash-up-derby. Fuckin' ace, huh?"
Kurt glared at Scott. "I'm missing that. Because I let you talk me into going shopping with the poster child for 'the injustice that is fast food'." He picked up another burger, bit into it, and spoke around it. "You owe me, man. Big."

As a large crowd - about a dozen people - walked into the diner, Kitty put down her pamphlet. A moment later she leaned across the table to Jamie.
"Mmrph prphle mph phrrr."
Jamie blinked. "Huh?"
Kitty cocked her head. "Aren't you still playing the whispering game?"
"Whispering…? What are you… oh. Oh! Right. Um…" he blinked again. "No, it… It's over now."
Kitty pouted. "Oh."
"What did you say?" Scott asked.
"I like your hair," she repeated normally. Jamie's hair was held in place with hair wax, sticking up in a style similar to (and perhaps in imitation of) Ray's. Ray grinned, reached over, and swatted the younger boy lightly on the shoulder.
"Suits ya," he commented.
Kurt snorted. "Careful, Ray. You're almost being nice."
"Shit," Ray sighed. "Can't have that. Remind me to be an asshole later and I can make up for it."
"I like it," Jamie said defensively. Scott laughed.
"Yeah, it does look okay. Just be careful you don't end up exactly like Ray, okay?"
"Oh, so it'd be better if he would up like you, Mister fucking Military?"
Kurt chuckled and rose, going to get a refill of his soda.

----

"One ninety-five, sir."
Kurt passed over his money. Hi-my-name-is-Chris placed it in the till and gave Kurt a paper cup filled with cola, still looking like he expected the German teen to start shouting about animal rights in the fast food industry. No such thing, of course, actually happened; Kurt simply nodded, grabbed his drink, and walked away.
And collided instantly with the back of another customer, one of the large group who'd recently arrived. Kurt stumbled back, tripped over his own feet, and fell. The hand holding his drink shot up and the cup sailed into the air out of his grasp.
Time seemed to slow down.
He was aware of everything at once. He felt himself falling as a gasp slipped from his throat and the words watch where you're going, pal reached him. He saw the guy he'd walked into turning, a strange tattoo on his wrist, as the paper cup reached its zenith and turned in the air.
As he landed flat on his rear, the man he'd hit turned to face him - and the tattoo on his wrist came into clear focus. Kurt froze, staring at it, as the cup came down, striking the German boy on the shoulder.
Cola spilled all over his watch. It fizzed, flickered, faded and died.

Time resumed its normal speed. Kurt Wagner sat sprawled on the floor in all his demonic blue glory, dripping soda, unmoving. Staring at the wrist of the man in front of him.
Staring at the tattoo which displayed the letters 'F', 'O' and 'H' in bold, blue ink.
And then the shouting started.

Kurt's paralysis wore off a second before the others' did. Pushing his hands down, he rolled backwards and came to his feet - narrowly avoiding a kick that would have broken his jaw, had he remained sitting. Looking up, he found his eyes level with those of the man he'd bumped into a second ago.
"You're a fucking mutie," he spat.
Ja, tell me something I don't know, Kurt thought. Taking a step back, he found himself pressed against the counter, the group still advancing on him. He prepared to teleport to safety?
"Hey!"
Kurt cursed inwardly as his friends suddenly pushed through the press toward him. Teleporting himself out of danger was one thing; ducking out on his friends was another. If push came to shove, he'd be needed, and so he couldn't leave until he was sure everything would be-
Disaster struck.
As Scott pushed past another angry-looking gang member, the guy pushed back. Scott stumbled and knocked into Jamie.
Two Jamies appeared behind the original.
Scott's glasses slipped, just enough to let a tiny burst of energy out. It burned a hole in the counter.
And after an intake of breath and a collective moment of shocked silence, everyone started moving at once.

----

Scott suddenly found himself grabbed from behind and whirled around an instant after he'd adjusted his shades. The one who'd grabbed him, however, had seriously underestimated Scott. The tall young man brought up one hand to catch the blow, knowing it was coming long before he actually saw it; it thudded harmlessly into his raised forearm and he caught the extended wrist with one hand.
"Look,' he began. "There's no need to-"
A vicious blow from behind found his kidneys and he staggered forward; a third thug brought an elbow down on the back of his neck. Scott doubled over as the first one swung a knee toward his face. The blow never struck.
Scott grabbed the man's leg inches from his face, with one hand; the other hand came up into the man's stomach and knocked the wind out of him. A quick twist of the knee sent him to the floor in a gasping heap and Scott straightened, lashing out with a backhand punch as he rose and spun. The guy behind him staggered back to the counter, blood spurting from a broken nose.
"On second thoughts," Scott announced, "maybe there is a need to get violent."

Kurt, of course, already saw the need for violence. The instant after the group had recovered from their shock at seeing Scott and Jamie, Kurt was moving.
Planting both hands on the counter behind him, he flipped backwards, bringing his feet up over his head. One lashed out at the nearest thug, the one Kurt had walked into; he was knocked back into the arms of his companions as a split-second later Kurt landed upright, the counter between him and his attackers.
He became aware of the terrified till worker cowering away; a quick growl sent him scrambling to the corner, as far from Kurt as he could get without vaulting the counter - something he wasn't likely to do, considering the bedlam just over that tiny barrier. But Kurt had no time to worry about him, because then two attackers jumped the counter and came for him.

Kitty was, at first, left alone - she hadn't done anything mutant-ish yet, and besides that she simply didn't look too threatening; small and neat-looking in makeup and a pink sweater, she couldn't have looked more out of place in a vicious brawl.
After a moment, however, one of the younger gang members noticed the petite-looking valley girl and realised she was with the other, obvious mutants.
"Mutie…?" he half asked, uncertainty visible on his face. Kitty glowered at him and kicked him in the crotch. The man let out a bizarre squeaking sound and assumed the foetal position on the floor.
"Yep," Kitty agreed. "And I'm Jewish, too. Betcha hate me now, huh?"
When another two moved in toward her, it seemed the answer was 'yes'.

The gang members hadn't been quite sure how to deal with Jamie. He was obviously a mutant; the fact that two of him had appeared out of nowhere was a testament to that. He was also, however, extremely small and non-threatening; he really appeared to be more endangered than dangerous. Besides, when a light shove had caused two clones to appear, they were a little apprehensive as to what would happen if they attacked him.
One thug experimentally thumped a multiple in the back; suddenly, there were six Jamies looking around in confusion. But only for a moment.
An enormous man with a fully shaved head suddenly grabbed the original Jamie, whom he'd been watching, and lifted him one-handed off the ground.
"Benny, don't hit him!" one guy said quickly. "It just makes more of 'em!"
The massive 'Benny' glowered at his captive. "You made all dem copies," he growled, a thick southern accent in his voice. "Now you gon' get rid 'o all dem copies right now."
Jamie gulped and nodded awkwardly. A moment later, the other five multiples blinked out of existence. Benny grinned, displaying foul yellow teeth, and hurled Jamie over the counter and into the kitchen behind it.
"I ain't hit 'im," Benny drawled. "Yet."
Then he lumbered over to the door marked 'Kitchen' and passed through it, going after Jamie.

Ray, for himself, hadn't wasted any time. When Kurt had been revealed, he'd been the first one to rise; he'd run over and grabbed the first FOH gang member that had come within reach.
"The fuck you doing?" he demanded.
"The fuck you care?" the guy growled back.
"You're pushing my pal around, that's what I fucking care!"
"He's a fuckin' mutie!"
"You got a fucking problem with that, buddy?"
"The fuck you think?"
"Fuck you!"
Having finished with the formal pleasantries, they engaged. Ray headbutted the guy viciously in the face and punched him in the throat; as he staggered back, Ray rammed an elbow into the stomach of the man next to him, punched a third in the chest, and waded further into the press.

----

Hi-my-name-is-Chris cowered in the corner, scarce feet away from violently struggling figures on every side, sweat pouring down his face, eyes rolling in terror.
Then he saw the phone hanging on the wall next to him.
He snatched it up and sank to the floor in a defensive huddle; he dialled, and when it was answered, began whispering frantically into it.

----

Scott pushed one of his attackers back and dropped him with a swift kick to the stomach, stepping away to view the situation. They were outnumbered, that was plain; but besides that, they weren?t looking for a fight. Rather, they wanted to prevent this one from getting out of hand.
"People!" he called, still eyeing his adversaries warily. "We aren't in this for fun - guys, just get out of here as soon as you can!"
"Fuck you, mutie," a voice hissed nearby. Turning his head, Scott saw that one of the gang members had suddenly pulled out a knife. And that others were reaching for weapons of their own.
Oh, shit…

Kurt saw the knives come out from where he was standing; indeed, he was looking straight at one when they appeared. An instant later, the man holding it lunged at him.
Rule one: no powers outside the Institute… Kurt thought. Okay, fine…
He bounded straight upwards, the glittering blade missing him by scant inches. The wielder, however, could do nothing but gape up as Kurt raced up the wall to the roof, where he perched, peering down at his assailant.
"Get down here," the guy said uselessly. Kurt narrowed his eyes.
"Be careful what you wish for…"
The Elf shot down from the ceiling like an arrow, ricocheting off the counter and slamming into the FOH thug behind the one who'd spoken to him. The man crashed into the wall with a grunt; a savage blow to the head sent him to the floor, unconscious. When Kurt rose again, he was holding a knife, pilfered off the fallen gang member.
"…it may one day come true."
He leaped forward, the knife flicking out, catching his opponent's blade. One foot swung up and connected solidly with the man's head; even as he fell, Kurt was turning away to look over the counter.
"Next," he called. Receiving no immediate answer, he bounded over toward Ray.

Two thugs had grabbed Ray's arms when a heavy blow had momentarily stunned him; now one held him steady as his partner raised a small knife.
And dropped it an instant later as a hurtling blade stabbed through his hand; a second after that, Kurt's second knife sunk into the shoulder of the man holding Ray. A savage kick backwards from the spiky-haired teen allowed him to break free. He looked up as Kurt raced over.
"Good timing."
Kurt shook his head. "We are not out yet. And I think that Jamie could use some help?"
Ray's head snapped around, looking for the younger boy. Kurt just pointed.
"Kitchen."

Benny stalked down the narrow space between the benches toward Jamie. As he came, he reached up and snatched a meat cleaver off one wall.
"You in a whole lotta trouble now, kid," he growled. In desperation, Jamie looked around. The cramped area meant that multiples would be more of a disadvantage than an advantage, and besides that he could only hope to slow Benny down. But first he needed some way to do that…
He saw it.
Benny laughed as he saw his diminutive target snatch something off a nearby bench. "What you gon' do wit' dat, kid? It ain' gon' help you."
"Wrong," said Jamie, and threw it at him.
Benny's head snapped back as the small bottle shattered against his forehead; an instant later he bellowed in agony as the Tabasco sauce ran into his eyes. Unable to see, he lashed out blindly, bouncing off the walls as he advanced.
"You damn lil' sonovabitch!" he roared. "You done blinded me! I'm a gon' kill you! Where you at, kid? Where the fuck you at?"
Jamie ran forwards, diving low, hoping to get under Benny's feet.
He didn't make it.
A raised foot struck him on the shoulder by chance; Benny swiped low and sent Jamie flying backwards to form another five multiples against a wall. Jamie looked up as the enormous man loomed over him, furious bloodshot eyes fixed on him.
"Now you gon' be a dead lil' fucker of a mutie," Benny snarled. He raised the cleaver.
And screamed.
Blue energy arced off him as Ray poured all his strength into Benny's huge form. Smoke rose; a moment later, blood bubbling out of his mouth, Benny collapsed on the floor, twitching. Ray stepped up toward Jamie.
"Let's get the fuck outa here."
And then they heard the gunfire.

It was aimed at Kitty. She'd dropped a second thug without much difficulty, phasing through his wild swings with less respect for the Institute rules than Kurt had showed. Tiring of this, her remaining attacker had pulled out a gun.
He had no more success than before; Kitty phased and the bullets passed harmlessly through her. The consequences, however, were grimmer. A scream, ending in a gargle of blood, came from over behind the counter. Everyone stopped dead to look.
Hi-my-name-is-Chris toppled to the ground, a bloody mess where his face had once been.
And then a door inside the kitchen exploded open.

----

Stan had been in his office when the trouble began; Chris, at the cash register, had used the phone's intercom system to let him know what was going on. Stan had called the police.
Then he'd crossed to a corner closet and removed a shotgun. And loaded it.
And then, summoned by the gunfire, he'd burst out into the kitchen, intent on repelling anyone who crossed him.

As he came out into the kitchen, the first thing he saw was the enormous slumped form of Benny, a meat cleaver still clenched in his nerveless hand. Turning, he saw the retreating backs of Jamie and Ray. He raised the shotgun.
Ray, however, had heard him. Stopping dead, he reached out and flung Jamie in behind him, out of the line of fire; a whip of green energy lashed out and knocked Stan to the floor.
The gun still fired. Both barrels, with some five seconds pause between each discharge.
The first round of shot hit Ray full on.

Jamie screamed with sudden pain as a few stray pellets thudded into his arm; it changed swiftly to one of utter horror as half of Ray's head suddenly dissolved under a hail of lead shot. The impact flung him backwards, dead instantly, and Jamie had time for one awful glimpse of the ruined face before he saw Stan drop the gun, knocked out by Ray's attack.
It hit the floor butt-first and fired into the cooking equipment along the wall.
And the deep-fryer exploded.

----

The blast of sound stunned everyone. Kurt moved first, leaping over the counter - again - and racing into the newly-formed inferno, searching for survivors. A moment later he reappeared, half dragging Jamie. The young boy was conscious, but wounded; both from bullets and a few minor burns. And, of course, was little more than a blubbering wreck after what he'd just seen.
Scott and Kitty's hearts sunk when there was no sign of Ray. But there was no time to worry about that.
A figure pushed in from the side, knocking Kitty to the ground; an instant later, Scott let out a tortured gasp as an oh-so-sharp knife sliced into his belly. Then he screamed.
Ripping off his glasses, he fired a devastating blast of energy into his attacker; the man was thrown back by the blast, barely alive. Kitty scrambled to her feet.
"Oh my God, Scott…" she grabbed his arm. "Hang on, we'll get you to the car, and-"
She heard a clicking sound. She looked down.
The guy with the gun, lying at her feet, was aiming it up at her. She glared at him and phased.
But then he moved.
Fired.
And Kurt suddenly snapped back, a foul starburst of blood exploding from his chest. And then another.

And another.
The FOH thug managed three shots before Kitty, with a scream of anguish, solidified and kicked him in the head, knocking him out cold.

Helping Scott over to Jamie, she phased them all, glancing around. Most of the FOH gang members were down, either unconscious or injured. And the fire in the kitchen was spreading. She gulped.
"Come on. We have to go."
Jamie, concussed, lolled his head. "But… Kurt an' Ray are… still here…"
Kitty bit her lip. Easier not to go there… Oh, god…
"It's okay, Jamie… come on, we have to get to the car."
Protesting faintly, he allowed himself to be led through the wall of the diner with Scott and Kitty. Within a minute they were seated in Scott's car, Kitty in the driver's seat, being the only uninjured one.
As she started the car, she wasn't surprised to find that she was crying.
Sirens wailed as she pulled out of the parking lot, the authorities arriving too late. All they would find was an inferno and charred remains. And questions.

Kitty just hoped the rest of them could live with the answers.