Family matters 1

His fucking mother. The fucking mad bitch.
When they refused to bring back her missus, Irene, she pulled a gun, in the middle of The Council chamber, and blew her son's brains out. Lovely woman.
Which raised a couple of questions. First being, how the hell she got a gun in there, given Chuck had lost his own head, not a month before, what kinda security set up are the idiots running?
And, more important, why did nobody bother to tell me?

So they bring him back, two days later, brand new body, let him out, blam, she gets him through the windows of his habitat with a high powered rifle.

Rinse. Repeat. She makes it known that she's going to keep this up until they give her what she wants.

This goes on for nearly two weeks. And no fucker, on the entire fucking island let's me fucking know that bitch is using my gentle lad as target practice. I'm off island, I'm undercover, but what's the fucking use of fucking telepaths, let alone a fucking phone if no fucker uses it.

I only find out when I get back and get summoned into The Council with the Captains.
Fuck all use they are.

They're after her big time now, she blew up a cafeteria to get him. Lots of collateral damage.

I listen to Summers babble on for five minutes about new plans to apprehend her, before it starts to dawn on me exactly what's been going on. I didn't know. Didn't know the bitch had been doing this. Didn't know these fuckers had been using her son as bait, to draw her out. Didn't know my fucking friend had been killed four times in the past ten days. Didn't know. And I wasn't there. I wasn't there for him.

My hands are clenched, the burn of the blades forcing through the skin is my focus, just the tips of them. The urge to shred the whole, heartless lot of them is huge. Three seats are empty, besides Mystique's. His is empty, because he's currently dead. Storm and Kitty are in Singapore, I know, I saw them about an hour ago. Ororo doesn't know either, bet a million bucks on that; if she did, all of them would be cinders by now.

Jeannie feels my anger building. Looks at me. Looks at me and looks away. I'm more angry at her than anyone, Summers is still prattling on.
"... draw her out again. We..."
"No." I don't raise my voice but it cuts over him. The whole room stares at me. Except Jeannie. I look up, right at Charles fucking Xavier. I can't remember ever being so angry with him but I need to control myself, the claws retract but my knuckles are bloody. I focus on the smell of blood. "Enough. No."
Summers draws breath but he sees my face. He looks away too, coward.
"Logan." Chuck's tone is conciliatory, kind. I walk over to stand in front of him, resting bloody hands on the pristine white table. Kind. Fatherly. Mother fucker.
"No." He doesn't look away, I feel the gathering power from Mags and that bastard Apocalypse. Don't give a fuck. I'll tear him and his precious Council into shreds before they get to use him again. They should never have started this in the first place. They all know this. They all know they are wrong. "When are you reviving him?" I keep my tone conversational.
He holds my gaze.
"Logan, Kurt agreed to..." Of course he fucking agreed, he's a goddamn fucking idiot too.
"When?" I bark. Everyone jumps, even Apocalypse.
It's Summers, behind me who replies. "Wolverine, stand down."
I turn towards him. The red mist is starting to descend. I. Have. Had. Enough.
Then Jeannie speaks up. Probably one of only two voices which could get through to me, and the other is currently in an egg shaped coffin. Thanks, in part to her. "They'll be reviving him in about half an hour. Logan, he'll be fine, we..."
"Right, then I'd better get down there." My tone is conversational, casual. "Wouldn't want him to wake up alone." I look at her. "Without family there."
I walk out. I don't care if I never see a single one of the bastards ever again.

They don't want to let me in at the Hatchery. They can see how furious I am. Bad vibes. And I don't want to go ballistic at them, they're not to blame, but my control is slipping. People are hanging about, waiting for relatives, friends. But little Hope is just going in. She owes me; she remembers this and she leads me through, no one argues with her, she is like a god to them.
It's still fucking weird shit. Even by X-Men standards.
They're reviving all the people killed in the cafeteria when the bomb went off. Must be a dozen of them. That mad bitch has to be stopped. For good.

Oh, god, there. Even among a bunch of us, of mutants, he stands out. Unique. Strange. Beautiful.

Everyone else files out, they're looking fine, he looks dazed, lost. Ah, shit, kid, what have we done to you?

Then he's in my arms. He's shaking. He's scared. Kurt isn't scared of anyone, anything, I've seen him go up against folks four times his size, without any hesitation. And that fucking bitch has reduced him to this. And the fucking Council fucking let her. I hold him close. I never want to let go. He smells odd, not like himself though. He smells new.
"Ah, Elf. I wasn't here. I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry." I have no idea what he's apologising for, or to, he's the innocent one here. I run my hands through his hair, he hides his face against me.

I pick him up, not easy, he's taller than me, but he's not heavy. The orange egg goo is shockingly bright against the blue. He's breaking my heart. There's a long list of people who damn well deserve the shit life throws at them and he's pretty much at the bottom of the list.
I carry him home.

Summers and Jeannie are already up there, guess I disrupted their little shindig. Good.
I ignore them. I have nothing polite to say. We wouldn't be up here, on the moon, if it wasn't the safest place I could think of to bring him. I walk past them both, carrying him into my room.

See, he's not just my Elf, he's ours
All of us. Me, Summers, Jeannie, 'Ro, Petey, Kitty.
Family, we're part of a team, but we're family. You can add Anne Marie, Sean, Hank, Warren, Bobby, probably Betsy now too. And he's at the heart of it. And we protect our own. We look out for them. We don't use them as bait for their insane mother to slaughter.
We made him, Chuck, Summers, me. We turned a circus acrobat into a superb, first class, grade A superhero. He's good at it, great at it, poster boy for everything the X-Men are supposed to be, supposed to stand for.
But we protect him too. Not in a fight, he doesn't need that sort of protection, we keep him from the darker shit, the wet work, the darker, nastier side of what we fight for. He'll never have a killer instinct, the day he does, we'll have lost, both him and the fight for a better world.
I protect him. And if I'm not there, Ororo, or Summers or Jean or Peter.
They know all this, which I why I'm so damn angry.

He comes out of my shower, wrapped in a huge towel, he's still not talking, eyes downcast. He's damaged, hurt, I'm not sure what to do with him, he's fragile. This isn't our brave, charming, fearless Kurt.
He sits on the edge of my bed, looks around.
"Where...?"
"My place. You're safe here." He nods, distracted, lost.
"We need... I need to..."
"No. Enough." I tilt his head up, make eye contact. "They're gonna sort it out. You're staying here."
"But she hurt people..."
"Shh. It's fine, they're all fine." I'm really not liking the vagueness in his voice.

My hearing picks up raised voices in the habitat, I tense and he senses my reaction, eyes searching over my shoulder towards the door, he's shaking. But I recognise the voice. **Jeannie. Let her in.** I might be furious with Jean, but our psylink is still firm.
Ororo flies through the door, like a Fury, hair swirling about her, the air crackles with ozone, her eyes glow.
"Where..." She sees him, cowering, shaking, wrapped only in a towel. And the fire goes out of her. "Oh, Kurt! Beloved." She gathers him against her and he sobs, a frightened, broken sound, he clings to her, like a drowning man. She's crying now, proud, beautiful Wind Rider and they've hurt her too.

Jeannie's *voice* is in my head. **I checked, it's safe, it is Ororo.**
**Thanks.** Still furious with her.

Funny thing, love. Comes in all shapes and sizes. And colours.
Kurt is always there for me. I tell folks he's my best friend because he's the only one who has always treated me like a man, not an animal, but that's only part of it. Even when I am an animal, he treats me like a man. I've called him in the middle of the night, dragged him out of bed to cold, damp motel rooms, greasy diners, empty cliff tops. I've swore at him, thrown bottles at him, puked on him, hell, I've even hit him and, most importantly, I've poured my soul out to him, and he listens, and then, gently, patently, pieces me back together again. And again. And again.

And now, when he needed me, I wasn't there for him. What kind of love is that?
I love him. Only man I've ever said that to. And I meant it. And I'm a better man for having him in my life. And I let him down.
I want to take him away from all this shit, from her, from all of them. Somewhere, anywhere. Barcelona. He wants to see Barcelona, went there as a kid with the circus and spent the whole time sick with the flu in a caravan. So he's always wanted to go back.
We'll go rent a little apartment, hell we'll rent a big apartment, 'Ro is welcome to come too. Forget all this fucking X-Men shit, forget Krakoa, forget saving the fucking world again. We'll just get away from it all.

I watch Ororo stroking his hair, rocking him, letting him cry out his fear.
He's the colour of the evening sky, his hand grasps her arm, those unique hands. His tail around her waist. I can't take him away from here because of what he looks like. He can't be safe out there because stupid, ignorant people see only something, rather than someone, something to be afraid of, something to hurt, to kill, because he's different to them. The anger rolls through me. He's beautiful. His soul is beautiful. Why can't they see that?

I need a breather, before he picks up my anger. I touch 'Ro's shoulder and she nods, he's safe with her.
"Hey?" He lifts his head to look at me, I cup his cheek in my hand, wipe a tear away with my thumb. How dare Mystique do this to him? "Gonna swing by your place to get you a few things, toothbrush, clothes. Ya know ya look stupid in mine. Okay?"
That gets me a weak smile, he's nearly a head taller than me, he's half my weight, not gonna work. He's not going home until it's safe, I don't care how long it takes.

So, it's bombs, is it now, you mad bitch? Well, I know how your sick mind works, see, I'm a sick bastard too. And I think I know what your next move is. And I'm ready for you. And I'm taking you down, for good.