Sorry for the shorter chapter, didn't have a better place to end this one without making it entirely too long. Thanks for reading!
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Hours later, already miles away from home and held up at a sketchy truck stop, Carol fidgets uncomfortably under her mother's peircing gaze. It's one in the morning, and they're at a greasy spoon diner waiting to be served up breakfast because Carol won't last much longer without some sustenance. Sometimes she hates her stupidly fast metabolism.
"How long?" The older woman asks, finally breaking a long and tense silence. "How long have you...that is to say, when did you first realize?"
The animal is pacing closer to the surface of her mind that she usually lets it. With good reason, granted, but that makes this all the harder. Carol needs to be up and moving and taking some kind of action. She feels as though she can't do this with her mother now, and yet... "Since - since, uhm, since I was about twelve. I mean... I started showing signs at eleven I think but I didn't understand yet then. I was almost thirteen when I, uhm, when I realized..."
"Realized what you are." Her mother finishes for her. The older woman is upset, most certainly, Carol can sense that. Joan Fletcher reeks of anger and fried nerves, a potent combination at the best of times, let alone the worst.
"Mutant." Carol spits the word out. Not because she hates it or mutants but because she's terrified terrified terrified that her mother won't be able to cope with it. "I'm..I'm..I'm a first class freak is what I am."
Anger overpowers her mother's sent. Wait, no, not just anger. Rage. Pure, intense, potent as hell. "You think I...?" The cold fury is reflected in her voice.
Carol's first instinct, always, is to be on the defensive. "I'm sorry. I just, I wish I could... I tried to fit in at school and, and stuff but I just, I'm not..."
"Carol!" Her mother snaps, a little too loud, but the few trucker's occupying the rest of the diner don't even glance in their direction. "Carol James Fletcher, how dare you?"
Anything else Carol's feeling is instantly overcome with pure confusion. "Wait. What?"
"How dare you keep this from me?" The rage. Carol would never have thought her mother capable of such raw anger. It dominates her scent and sends her heart to beating so hard and rapid Carol hears it and half starts to worry. The older woman goes on, voice low. "I am your mother. How dare you think to keep this from me?" Before Carol can spit a response out the older woman snatches up her hand on the table and squeezes it tight. "That is at least six years of you being the perfect outcast and me wondering where the hell I'd gone wrong, wondering why the hell I couldn't just fix it. Six years of you handling this alone when you didn't need to. Carol James Fletcher, you are my daughter, I knew this was a possibility, and if you ever lie to me like this again I'll disown you for that. That said, there is nothing else you could ever do to make me stop loving you. So I want you to tell me everything I don't know. Right now, no exceptions. Is that understood?"
"Yes ma'am." Carol chokes out, just barely. Tears spill over. In fact, several long moments pass before she can go on, because her whole body is trembling with the sobs. After not too long her mother comes to sit at her side and hold her until the fit of vague hysteria passes and she can breathe again. And then, she starts talking.
"So that's why you're late three times a week."
"Yeah. I..I tried not going a few times, but, uh, I figured you wouldn't be too happy if any sleazy truckers walked out of the diner with their noses broke, so..."
Her mother breaks into laughter. Half incredulous, but genuine. "Well. No, that would probably not be the best way for that to end. Oh, Carol, if I'd only known...it's just. There's some things I need to explain. About your..."
Carol yawns. She doesn't mean to, really tries to hold it back, but a full belly and the odd sort of calm that steals over her after she gives into her tears has her feeling just exhausted now.
Her mother softens, reaching out to brush back a strand of Carol's hair. "Come on. We'll talk more tomorrow. You need to sleep."
...
It's no use. She's awake now.
She's not sure what it is that woke her, but she hadn't been sleeping too deep to begin with so it could have been anything. She is exhausted, but with Wild Thing still so riled up there's no way she can settle down properly.
Her mother doesn't stir. Her breathing is deep and even, her heart rate slow and steady. She's sound asleep.
Sighing, Carol quietly shuffles off across the motel room and out the door. Coming to stand outside just in front of her little red pickup truck, she pauses a moment to look up at a bright, beautiful full moon and just breathe. She still can't quite wrap her head around what's happened. The image of the woman lying dead on the front porch of the home she'd grown up in...the sharp, metallic, distantly familiar stench of fresh blood...the massive feral that could throw her around like she was little more than a child's plaything...it all swims circle in her head.
"Hey." Carol looks up as footsteps sound on the sidewalk, heading towards her. It's Jack, carrying a shopping bag from the truck stop. He reaches into it and pulls out a small carton wrapped in plastic, and a lighter to go with it. "I, ah, was pretty sure these were the kind your friend had that night."
A small but genuine smile of gratitude graces Carol's lips as she unwraps the pack of squares. "They are. Thanks." She pulls one out and offers one to him.
"Your mom know you smoke?"
"I don't think my mom's ever even heard me swear before. She'd for sure have my head over these things."
"Yeah, that's what I was figurin'. I won't tell if you don't."
Carol musters up a smile again. "Thanks." A pause as she takes a drag of her cigarette. "So...where exactly are we headed?"
"Down to the States. New York."
"New York? Like...the city?"
Amusement colors his tone. "No. Though, I'd definitely recommend a trip there too. Bit too noisy for someone like us to call home, but it's fun in small doses. No, we're headed to the countryside. I've got some friends down there, run this pretty old boarding school. They can offer protection, too. You'll be more than safe there. They already know we're coming. I could've called in for their help when I knew Victor was getting close, but I figured you 'n I could manage without all the pomp and circumstance."
Carol rakes a hand through her hair. "We weren't expecting to be heading out of the country. I mean Jesus, I didn't have time to think shit through enough to be expecting anything. We don't have our passports or..."
Jack blows smoke up at the moon and waves her off flippantly. "I've already pulled some strings. Just leave all that to me, sister."
...
"I know where we're going." Her mother says quietly.
A full day has passed in between; they'll probably stop again soon. Jack says they can make it to their destination tomorrow, assuming no one on either end minds a late arrival.
"You do?" Carol asks, glancing at the older woman with an eyebrow raised.
Her mother's staring out the window, seeming older and tired. "I stayed there for a time when..." A pause. She lets out a breath. "When I knew your father." Carol glances sharply at her, but says nothing. The older woman goes on. "It's..kind of a safe haven."
"What, for..for freaks like me?"
A spike of anger tinges her mother's scent. "For people who are gifted like you."
Carol lets out an incredulous laugh. "Gifted? Who calls this a gift? Wish I could send it back like a gift."
"Carol." Her mother snaps. "That's not funny. I know your scared now you've seen what Victor is capable of but he is not the rule, you need to understand..."
"Understand? Mom, do you understand? Normal person gets pissed off, and what, someones nose gets broke? And that's at worst." She tears one hand from the steering wheel and holds it up as a fist, unleashing her claws. "These things will cut through metal. I get pissed off and I could easily kill someone!"
Her mother's startles visibly at the sight of the long spikes of bone. "But you wouldn't. Would you?" She answers, softer now. "That's why you started sneaking off behind my back. You've learned control and there'll be people where we're going that can help you learn it better still. Victor is an animal long since beyond saving. You..you're just young, honey."
But you wouldn't, would you?
The thought dances along a dark path through Carol's mind, I already have.
Frustration wells up within Carol, though at what she isn't sure. Possibly her mother's inability to understand why Carol more often feels cursed than gifted, possibly at her own inability to believe her mother instead. She wants to explain the one thing she hasn't had the guts to yet, but she..she just can't. He's dead and buried and if they ain't found the body yet they probably never will, so what's the point anyway?
The frustration builds further. She's tired and hungry and sick of driving. Without regard for the fact she's meant to be following Jack's car up ahead of her, she veers off sharply into the nearest gas station and screeches into a parking spot. Pulling out the smokes she'd hidden away, uncaring if her mother sees, she gets out of the car and wanders off a few paces to light one.
She can feel her mother's eyes on her. The old woman never actually gets out or says a word, though.
...
It's a mansion.
It's bigger than her grandparents' estate. A sprawling, gorgeous three-story fortress of solid brick, and it's twice the size of her grandparents' estate.
"This is it." Carol asks her mother, staring blankly out the window as they pull up. "This is...?"
"Yep." Her mother answers simply.
"Oh." Carol gets out of the truck, feeling slightly dazed. "Well. Shit."
Jack pulls up next to her truck and gets out, raising an eyebrow at Carol. "You ok there, princess? I know all this has gotta be a little overwhelm-"
"Don't," Carol snaps, shooting him a hard glare, "call me 'princess'. I'll break your nose again, jackass."
"Carol James..." Her mother starts, half incredulous, half exasperated. "I would suggest you start watching your mouth and..."
"Or what?" Carol snaps back. She can't help it. Her nerves are fried. "What are you going to do? You never told me about this." She sweeps a hand out, gesturing towards the mansion. "You knew who Victor was, but you've never mentioned him before. Sounds like you knew Dad better than you made it sound before, but of course, you never told me a thing about him either. So what, old woman? What am I supposed to believe you have the guts to do to me now?"
Joan says nothing. Just stands there, staring at Carol, eyes shining with un-shed tears.
Jack clears his throat. "Take it easy, kid." He says, quieter now. "Lets just get inside."
The outside is large and old and imposing. The inside is... less of all those things. In fact, it's rather cozy. There's still signs of it being old - paintings on the walls, vases set on old wood tables. In fact, most everything's wood. But that only serves to make it feel homely somehow. As Jack leads them further in, they pass a carpeted recreation room of sorts with, among other odds and ends, a large t.v. and a Foosball table.
"I called the boss lady up just a few minutes ago," Jack says as he pauses just before the rec room, "she should -" he cuts off, abrupt, this pause only very brief, "she should be down shortly." But Carol sees...he's tensed. His scent changes. Only minutely, but she recognizes it because it's the same sort of general aura she'd take on if she was almost, just halfway expecting trouble.
He'd said 'she'. But the first person to make an appearance is a man, not a woman.
"Jack." The new face greets in a gruff baritone. He comes up and takes Jack's offered hand, then leans in for one-armed hug - a manly sort of affection, but a genuine affection. "'Roro says she'll be down in a minute. We weren't expecting you to make it here tonight."
Carol thinks nothing much of the stranger for the first few seconds. Mostly, this is because her mother's scent changes as sharply as Jack's had. Carol recognizes this change too, but it's...coming from her mother? Her mother's had boyfriends before, all of them jerks, not to mention her stepfather, but Carols' never noticed this in her mother with any of those men.
And that leads her to size up the stranger. Tall - very tall. Broad shouldered, stocky, nothing but muscle in his plain white t-shirt. Obnoxious haircut. Mutton chops - who even wears those anymore? Smells of cigars and beer. Feral.
Feral?
The last observation...she can smell it. The same way she can smell it with Jack, could smell it with Victor.
And he's staring now. At her mother. His eyes widen and speck with gold (the way Jack's do, the way Carol's do).
Carol drinks all this in and tilts her head in a fashion her mother tells her is almost like that of a curious puppy.
Her mother smiles softly, her voice going low and and almost husky as she stares back at the tall stranger. "Hello Jimmy."
"Joanie." The stranger - Jimmy - breathes the name with an obvious reverence. He glances at Jack. "Where - how - why didn't you tell-"
Jimmy. Victor had mentioned a 'Jimmy'. Carol had made a connection there - her middle name - oh. Oh?
Jack scrubs a hand through his hair. "Bit of a long story, Pops. Sorry, I ah, I thought about warnin' you but I wasn't sure how..."
"Wasn't sure..?" Th change in the stranger is abrupt, the mood swing to frustration an almost violent one. "You told us you found a runaway and instead you show up with - with her?" The emphasis on the word isn't one of disgust or anything like it. It sounds more like, maybe, he just can't wrap his head around something.
"Jimmy." Her mother tries to regain his attention. "Don't be angry with him. How would you have explained a situation like this?"
Jimmy's eyes train themselves back on Joan. He swallows, blows out a breath. "Jesus, it's really you." He takes a few tentative steps closer.
"I'm sorry." Carol blurts, nothing but hostile sass as she inserts herself between her mother and this - this Jimmy. But - no. It's not Carol that blurts it. Just like it couldn't have really been Carol that fought Victor off so ferociously days ago, just like it couldn't have been Carol telling her mother off like she just had, just like it's never really Carol fighting in that cage. This is that other thing that paces circles inside her head, the thing she can cage but never quite control. Wild Thing goes on, tone dripping with contempt. "Who are you, then?"
His eyes, finally, land on her for more than just a passing glance. He sniffs the air, sizes her up, and tilts his head in a way that would almost make him comparable to a curious puppy if he wasn't so big and scruffy a character. "Well I know Joanie ain't a mutant. So I'm guessin' you're the supposed 'runaway'. Couldn't even be bothered to mention she was feral, Jack? Je-esus."
Carol tries to put a lid on it, breathe for a minute, think this through, but something about him has her feeling, just...he's so much taller than her, bigger, an alpha feral she's never seen before with obvious ties to her mother and none of this is sitting right with her. Wildthing won't give her back the reigns, simply refuses to. "Ain't a runaway." She spits back at him. "I got my ass kicked by an oversized man-cat just after he decided to leave me a little present on the front porch. Hell of a mess we made, too, and Jack's the only reason Mom and I escaped, now answer my question."
But he doesn't. He staring over her, past her, at Joan again. "Mom. You're her - this is your kid?"
Her mother answers, calm and quiet and matter-of-fact. "Yes." How is she so calm?
"Yours. Your kid."
"Yes."
"Your feral kid."
"Evidently."
The stranger's eyes land back on Carol. "How old?"
Carol's brows furrow. "Does somebody wanna bother to tell the 'kid' just what's going -"
"How old?" He demands it this time, voice low, gruff.
Carol starts a bit at the intensity of his stare coupled with the tone of voice. "I'm 17."
"17." He repeats. His eyes dart back to Joan, a question in them now.
"Carol James." Her mother tells him, as if that answers the question.
"James. You run off - you - and then you name her - goddammit." He's angry, reeks of anger, brushes past Carol to snatch up Joan's arm and pull her along through a door on the far side of the foyer.
Her mother's odd calm finally breaks, but it's not fear that shows through. Carol knows that expression - it's anger, indignation. She hears yelling, now, but it's distant already, muffled by thick old walls.
Stomach twisting into a knot, Carol moves to go after them, but Jack holds out an arm to stop her, and when she looks up at him, his expression is dead serious. "Now ain't the time. Sorry, kid. Best just - let 'em talk it out."
"That's..." A hand flies to her mouth as realization fully dawns. She stares up at Jack. "That's our father."
"Yep." His ear twitches just visibly as footsteps sound. "Anyway, here comes..." He clears his throat as a woman makes her way down a flight of steps. "The boss lady. Nice timing."
"I'm so sorry," the tall, dark, pretty woman sweeps across the floor and offers Carol a warm smile, "one of the younger students woke up from a nightmare in tears, the poor dear, I was putting her back to sleep. I'm Ororo and uhm, oh." It mostly comes out in one long continuous train of thought, until she takes her eyes off Carol and looks around some. "Where's Logan? What's going on?"
"Hey, that's what I'd like to know, lady." Carol cuts in, notes that it came out far more gruff and aggressive than she'd meant for it too, glances at Jack when he nudges her, takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. "I mean, erm. I'm Carol. Fletcher. It's, uh, nice to meet you." And then, belated, a respectful afterthought. "Ma'am."
The older woman takes a moment to look Carol over and give a knowing 'hmm'. "You've been driving all day I assume, you must be tired and hungry. Come on. I'll take you the kitchen, we'll find you both something to eat while we talk."
.
"...think maybe you could be bothered for once in your long, miserable life to show some restraint, James Logan, for heaven's sake -"
"You come waltzing back in here like this with her and it's been eighteen damn years and you want to talk about restraint, god, Joanie, do you know what it took to keep myself from chasing after you ?"
"A little whiskey and a couple leggy blondes is about all it took, I'll bet, knowing you, and cut the growling, you know I'm not afraid of you!" Silence. For several moments. Deafening silence. And then she goes on, quieter now, calmer again. "Victor found us. I can't imagine why it took this long, but he found us. She fought him, Logan. One on one and...and held her ground, if only for a very short time. I didn't - she never told me she had the gifts. I'm seeing a side of her now...I didn't know until a few days ago, ending up here is a shock to me too, and please. Try to consider how she's feeling."
"Consider how she's..." He shakes his head, incredulous. "Jesus. I can't even decide how I feel about this right now." He pauses. Seems to think a moment, his brows furrowing. "Victor. She fought Victor? That - that little half pint out there?"
"I just said. It's a shock to me too."
"Am I dreamin'?"
"What do you think, yah big oaf?"
"No way. You sound too much like you."
Silence again. And then she chuckles. And then he does too.
"You really named her Carol James?"
Joan nods, smiling softly. "She hates her first name, actually, but her grandmother..it's complicated."
"It always was. Always is." He looks away now, paces the room a bit. "Maybe...I'll make myself scarce, then. Just..for a few days."
"Your version of considering how she feels?" Joan asks, knowing. Years and years, and she still knows him.
"Giving her time to figure out how she feels." He answers. And there is logic there.
A pause. The next comment is biting, but it's a thought that's eaten at her for years. "...A little whiskey. Couple of leggy blondes. Was always distraction enough for you. Suppose that's just what you'll need, else you'll be as intolerable as her. Just let me point out she's let me catch her smoking now, and she holds the damn things like it's already a habit. Even if she didn't have the gifts, she could only be your daughter."
His jaw sets. He studies her hard, stalking forward to ghost a hand against her cheek, and for a moment it almost seems as though... But no. A scowl contorts his features; he turns and leaves before anything more can happen.
Joan just sighs. Old dogs. Never new tricks. She would've expected as much. Now, to see about her daughter...
.
"...and we'll get you settled in upstairs. I'm sure a good nights rest will do you a world of good."
Carol hasn't really heard a word Ororo has said. She's staring down at her empty plate, unable to really even think anymore. She's tired and angry and really just wishes she could be left alone.
Jack answers the older woman when Carol remains silent. "You're probably right. Did you tell the other girls about her?"
"Erm..." Ororo hesitates, but then goes on in the same vein, as if Carol is no longer in the room. "Yes. But I thought I would put her in one of the guest rooms with her mother for the first few nights here, just until she and the others can get acquainted."
Carol can feel Jack's eyes on her, but she still says nothing.
Footsteps sound out in the hallway - one set her mothers, the other a much heavier set clearly belonging to...to... Carol can't even think the word. Her fists clench as the footsteps grow closer.
Ororo brightens as they enter the kitchen. "Oh! Hello." She glances at Him, a question in her eyes, though she doesn't voice it. Instead, she turns to Carol's mother. "I'm Ororo Munroe - erm, the 'boss lady' as Jack so quaintly puts it, although that's only somewhat accurate."
"...mostly accurate." Jack and Logan correct in unison, the tones of their voices suggesting an eyeroll accompanies the statement.
"...only somewhat accurate considering Logan's been quite a bit of help lately." Ororo amends modestly.
"I just do what the boss lady tells me too." He fires back, clearly teasing.
Carol's fists are clenched so hard her nails dig into her palms. Jesus, he sounds so...so...
Ororo huffs, playful. "Hush, Logan, the lady hasn't even gotten to tell me her name yet."
Her mother sounds calm again. Tired maybe, but unbothered. "Joan Fletcher. Thank you for taking us in like this on such short notice."
"Oh, it's no trouble at all. You're perfectly safe here, that's the important part." A pause. Ororo, clearly, is plenty perceptive enough to understand something more is up. "Are you two...is everything alright? I seem to be missing something."
"Nothing." Logan answers. "I mean. I'll explain. Later. After you get Joanie and the kid all settled."
'Joanie'. Her mother's name slips from his lips with too much familiarity. And Carol's just had enough. She shoots to her feet, the stool she'd been sitting on falling over and clattering loud on the floor behind her. Four sets of eyes train themselves on her. Her mother opens her mouth to speak at the same time Logan does, and Ororo almost reaches out as if to lay a hand on Carol's shoulder.
Feeling almost unable to breathe, Carol's feet begin carrying her along without her fully giving them permission to. She darts past Jack and Ororo, refuses to look at her mother, and shoves past a startled Logan, slipping out of the room and back down the hall that should lead her outside again.
The grounds are as massive as the mansion itself and guarded on three sides by a forest.
She runs. She has no idea how much time passes, doesn't much care honestly. She doesn't want to think enough to care. She just wants to run. So she runs, until her legs scream and her lungs burn and she collapses, her body simply refusing to let her go any farther.
She falls asleep among the trees, unable to be bothered with getting back to her feet.
.
Someone comes to fetch her at some point. But it's been three days or so since she's really slept, and what she remembers is like a dream - massive arms scoop her up as though she weighs little more than a feather, carrying her quietly along, urging her to just go back to sleep. She mumbles, mostly incoherent, an honest apology for being so...so herself.
A low baritone murmurs a response, oddly soft now. "It's alright, kid. Yah don't gotta be sorry. I gotchyah now." His voice almost...there's just the barest hint of a waver, as though the words hold more meaning than just the obvious. "Yah're safe now."
She falls back asleep before they make it inside. It's another eight hours before she wakes again, wrapped up cozy in bed with an odd, vague memory of the gruff stranger coddling her like a wolverine would it's kit.
.
He's gone. That's one of the first things her mother assures her of. Logan (her..her..she still can't think it, oh God, she just can't right now) but he's gone. Wandered off for a few days, just until the dust settles.
How long does it take for the dust to settle after a twister hits?
Carol sneaks out with her smokes and lights up one, two, three in chain and hopes He'll stay gone a while.
...
(The hotel is cheap. The nearest bar is a dive, the nearest liquor store a rundown shack whose keeper apparently knows better than to question it when the very large stranger puts a sizable hole in his whiskey selection. And there are, indeed, a few leggy blondes of possibly questionable morals loitering around all three establishments.)
He drinks enough whiskey to poison any normal man - several times over. He doesn't even glance at the blondes, though.
