Dean Franks was not a happy man. "God damn freaks," he complained to no one in particular, "gallivanting around in public trying to act like they belong." His brother, Harry, nodded enthusiastically in agreement, which Dean took as encouragement to continue on. "Just look at them over there," he pointed in the direction of the lake where a small group was gathered by one of the picnic areas. "That one is covered in blue fur! He looks more like an animal than a man."

"I know what you mean man, that… thing," he waved his hand in the direction of the furry beast, a disgusted look on his face, "belongs in a zoo or something, not a public park. If my kid looked like that, I'da killed it at birth. Put it out of its misery, and mine." Pausing, he looked at his first born, sitting in her bouncer seat and gurgling happily, with obvious pride.

"That's for sure," Dean agreed. "I'm so glad my kids are all normal."

"That's enough!"

Dean turned and stared at his wife in shock. Diane was generally a soft-spoken woman, only speaking so sharply when she was really angry or upset. Pregnant with their fourth child, and first girl, she did seem to be getting more outspoken recently. Dean wasn't really sure how he felt about that.

"I will not have you spouting that FOH garbage, especially around the children." She turned towards Harry, finger waving just inches from his face, and added, "That goes for you too."

Harry, always a bit too docile in his older brother's opinion, gave his sister-in-law an abashed look and looked shamefully at the ground; suddenly finding a rock very interesting.

Dean considered arguing with his wife, but then thought better of it. For the most part, they agreed on everything. When it came to mutants, however, they rarely agreed. As a matter of fact, on that subject, they never agreed. He hadn't realized he'd married such a damn bleeding heart mutie lover! If he had realized it before the wedding….

Not wanting to get into an argument with her in such a public place, Dean decided that, for the time being, it would be better if he kept his opinions to himself. He smiled at his wife, gave her a peck on the cheek and said, "Yes, dear."

Just then, the oldest of his three boys barreled into him from behind. "Sorry, Pop," six-year-old Dean Junior, DJ, hollered as he hugged the football he'd just caught close to his chest and took off, his five and three year old brothers hot on his heels.

Dean smiled as he watched his kids play. The smile faded though when he heard a loud yelp followed by the same voice hollering "never" coming from the lake. The large hairy freak was somehow being suspended upside by one leg.

"God damn freaks! Think just 'cause the media's starting to buy into their crap, they can act like they're normal," a man muttered to another man sitting next to him." Someone needs to do something about it," the other replied. "This is getting ridiculous!"

*Yeah,* Dean silently agreed. *Someone needs to do something. Since the police won't do anything, and those yellow-bellied politicians are starting to cave, that leaves normal, God-fearing folks like me to pick up the slack.* Knowing Diane would not agree with what he had to do, and fearing she might actually try to stop him, Dean slipped away quietly and made his way to the parking lot. If the government wasn't going to do anything about those abominations, he would!

Dean was pulled from his thoughts by the feel of a hand on his shoulder. He looked to his left to see Harry standing beside him, little Sophie in one arm, her folded up bouncer clutched in his other hand. "Hey, big brother, I hate to leave so early, but Meg called. Her sister is sick and needs us to pick up the kids. Tell the boys I'm sorry I won't be able to go swimming with them like I promised, but my sister-in-law might be heading to the hospital if whatever she's got gets worse. I'll see them at DJ's party. I already said goodbye to Diane."

Nodding, Dean said, "Sure. No problem, Harry. The boys will understand. I'll walk you to your car. I need to get something out of mine anyway." He reached out his arms to take his niece. Making silly faces at the baby, he thought about what it would be like to have a little girl of his own. His first baby girl would be arriving in just a few months and he wasn't really sure he was ready for that. He had no sisters. He was raised by a single father, his mother having died when he was just four years old, who only had two boys. He also had no aunts, and little contact with either grandmother, so he'd had few females in his life as a child.

Sophie gurgled and smiled at him, and Dean thought maybe having a little girl might not be so bad after all. Harry certainly seemed completely enamored with his little girl. When they reached the cars Dean kissed the now sleeping baby on her forehead and strapped her into her car seat while Harry put the baby gear in the trunk. He said his goodbye's to Harry and waved as they pulled out. Once they were gone, he turned to his vehicle and unlocked it. It was time to do something about the freaks.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"You know, Jean, that really was quite unfair," Hank said as he shook like an over-sized dog who just got out of the bath.

Scott laughed, God, how she loved his laugh, at the sight of Hank shaking off the excess water and knew he had the same mental image she'd gotten at the sight of him.

"It really was pretty sneaky," Bobby added with a grin.

"Well, Hank, so was sneaking up on Scott!"

"Perhaps," Hank begrudgingly agreed, "but it was very funny seeing ol' Fearless Leader here floundering in the air like a fish out of water!"

Jean couldn't help but laugh. It really had been pretty hilarious. Especially the look on her beloved's face.

"Hey," Scott exclaimed, feigning hurt. "You're supposed to be on MY side!" He crossed his arms over his chest. He smiled as he felt Jean's amused laugh through their link.

~Always, my love. Always.~

"Perhaps I didn't hang you long enough, Hank." Jean addressed Hank. "Would you care to go for round two?"

"Ya know, furball, for a smart guy you sure haven't learned how to keep your yap shut when you're behind," Logan added, clearly amused at the whole thing. "Especially when the person yer messing with can scramble that huge brain of yours like an egg if she really wanted to."

Rogue and the other's joined in on the banter, until soon the whole group was ribbing each other. Jean stood back a little, amused by their friendly banter and reveling in this rare moment of levity.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean took slow, deliberate breaths. Controlling his breathing was something his father had taught him long ago when he was just a little boy, not much older than his own son, Dean Jr, on his first hunting trip. He was immensely glad that he'd kept this particular rifle in the SUV after his last hunting weekend instead of returning it to the gun safe as he usually did. It was old, a Winchester model 70, given to him by his father for his eight birthday, his very first rifle, but it was still in excellent condition and had great range. He still vividly remembered how excited he'd been when he'd ripped the wrapping paper off the gift. He'd stared at the picture on the box for a few seconds before ripping into the box and, oh-so carefully sliding the rifle out. His father had started teaching him to shoot when he was just five years old, but had refused to buy him his own rifle until he was "older". In a couple of years, for his eight birthday, he'd pass the rifle down to DJ. He knew it'd make his boy happy. DJ would be seven in just a few days, and his shooting lessons would begin then. Would have started sooner, if his mother hadn't been so damn adamant that the boy was too young to handle a weapon. Took at lot of convincing to get her to relent and let him book the firing range for the day after the boy's birthday.

Knowing he'd have to be patient, and that his self-appointed task might take awhile, Dean had lied to Diane and told her he was going for a walk in the nearby woods. He knew Diane wouldn't question him as to why, he often walked alone in the woods when they brought the boys to the park. He'd been perched in his spot for nearly thirty minutes, he guessed, waiting for the perfect opportunity. The freak with the glasses and the red-headed woman, his girlfriend or wife, perhaps, had just settled on their towels on the beach when he'd settled into position. The others were still in the water. He knew he'd have to wait until they were all out. Hopefully, they'd be close enough together where he could pick them all off quickly.

The blue-furred beast exited the water first, about fifteen minutes after the first two, followed closely by the remaining freaks. At least, he assumed they all were. Some were hard to tell just by looking at them. Didn't matter anyway. As far as he was concerned, a freak lover was just as bad as a freak. Through his sight, he saw the guy with the funky red sunglasses stretch, yawn, then get up to join his friends, followed closely by the pretty red-head.

Being further away, he couldn't hear what they were saying anymore, but through his sight he could see they were laughing, which just angered him more. He let them have their fun for a few more minutes as he readied himself.

Dean knew it was time to act. He took one last deep, slow breath, then squeezed the trigger. It was pure luck for the baby-faced, brown-haired man that his first shot missed, barely. His second shot was slightly high, but still struck the blue-furred beast in the shoulder. He knew the instant that he fired them, that his third and fourth shots were perfect as the struck the freak with the glasses in the chest. Grinning, he fired again. Delight filled him as that shot too hit, and blood spurted from the neck of the crazy-haired man.

With years of practice, Dean had become excellent at fast reloading -his father had insisted on it and had made him practice for hours at a time on weekends. Within seconds, he'd dropped the spent magazine and had loaded again. His sixth shot, unfortunately, missed it's target by a fraction of an inch as the red-eyed freak knelt to help the crazy-haired guy. He aimed for a seventh shot, but lowered the rifle. A crowd, small as it was, was starting to form around the group. For the first time, he got a good look at the chaos that had ensued once he'd started firing.

Most people had grabbed their children or significant others and ran away from the shooting. Some people, however, ran towards the victims and were trying to help. As much as he would like to continue and take out all the freaks, he wasn't willing to risk hurting an innocent, normal person who might not even realize he, or she, was helping freaks, not real people. Instead, he looked through his sight again, and reveled in the carnage he had caused. The purple haired woman was putting pressure on the wound of the beast, the red-eyed man was still kneeling by the crazy-haired man, who, amazingly, seemed to be breathing easier! Frustrated, he turned his sight to the man with the red glasses. Yes! Success! There was an awful lot blood on the ground, despite the pressure the redhead was applying. Sirens blared in the distance, getting louder with each passing second, but he knew they were still too far out to help this one.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Despite the fact that she was having a wonderful time, Jean couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to go very wrong. She decided to lower her mental shields, just a little, to see if she could pick up on anything.

A moment too late.

The shots seemed to come out of nowhere. The first struck a tree, missing Bobby's head by a mere fraction of an inch. The second caught Hank high in the left shoulder. The third and fourth struck Scott in the chest a split second later, dropping him to the ground like a stone. A fifth bullet caught Logan in the neck. Shooting stopped for a few seconds, then a sixth shot was fired, missing Remy only because he had knelt to check on Logan..

As suddenly as it started, the shooting stopped. People were running away screaming, panicked. Many raced to grab their children and run towards the parking lot. A few brave souls ran towards the group, some kneeling to check on the wounded.

Jean's head spun as she struggled to grasp at what had just happened.

He was dying. She knew it, could feel it. Not just the warm, sticky blood that flowed freely from his wounds, but the weakening of their mental bond. He was slipping away from her and there was nothing she could do about it. Not for a lack of trying on her part. She tried, desperately, to stem the flow of blood welling from his wounds, but it was to no avail. Every beat of his heart pumped more blood to his wounds. All she managed to do was slow it down just a bit.

A quick mental scan told her the others were fine, or would be. Logan's healing factor was already repairing the damage to his neck, and Hank's shoulder wound was serious but not life-threatening. Bobby and Remy were shaken by their near misses, but were, thankfully, just fine. They were just as scared, angry and confused as she and Scott were, but physically fine.

Jean reached out with her mind. Blinded by white-hot rage and hate, she was ready to rip the mind of the bastard who'd hurt her friends and murdered her husband -there was no doubt he was dying and even her immense telekinetic powers couldn't save him- to shreds.

~Jean, no... Please, don't.~ Scott's "voice" was weak in her mind, but it was enough to stop her. ~You're not... killer. Don't... si… sink... his level... Please.~ His hand flopped as it reached for hers, squeezing it with all the strength he could muster.

Only the pleading note in his voice stopped her. For Scott's sake, and his alone, she stopped. Hesitating for just a second, she changed tactics and, instead of making him a living vegetable, she used her mental abilities to shove every last bit of anger and pain she felt towards him. She wanted him to feel her rage, her fear, to understand her hurt and the anguish he had caused not just her, but everyone who cared for Scott Summers.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Closing his eyes for a moment, he reveled in the knowledge that he'd succeeded in ridding the world of at least one of those damn mutant freaks of nature. He opened them again, and found himself staring into the most anger and hate-filled eyes he'd ever seen. The laughter he'd seen in the red-head's beautiful greens eyes had vanished, replaced by a smoldering, blood-red fire.

Then his brain exploded.

Dean curled himself into a fetal ball, hands clutched tightly at the sides of his head, and willed the mental onslaught to stop. After a roughly thirty seconds, which felt like it lasted an eternity, it finally subsided. Dean didn't move, though. He couldn't. The thoughts, images, and emotions he'd heard and seen and felt seemed to be stuck on a loop. Granted, they faded with each go 'round, but were still enough to keep the tears flowing. He'd never experienced such intense feelings at once before in his life. Hate and anger towards him, fear for the lives of her friends, absolute anguish in knowing her husband wouldn't live long enough for the ambulance to get there. Unexpectedly, he felt joy too, and the deep-burning love she'd felt for her husband. Then anguish again at the loss of her future with him, the babies they would never have together, the son whose father he'd just violently taken from him. Even when it all finally subsided, he lay there, slowly rocking himself as he whispered, "What have I done? Oh, God, what have I done. I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry!"

But he knew, all too well, that "sorry" never really fixed anything. Some things, even with time and sincere regret, could never be fixed. Actions couldn't be undone. Some things were unforgivable. As consciousness slipped away from him, he could only pray that his children would never know the terrible, terrible thing he had done. Pray that his wonderful kids would never know that the real monsters in this world were not those different than themselves, not the mutants that couldn't help how they were born. They weren't the creatures they'd imagined lived in their closets and under their beds. No, the real monsters were their own father, and others like him.

TBC