"Erik?"
He brings me out of my reverie. "I'm sorry, Charles. I was distracted." I look over the board to see what his move had been; he castled. I follow suit.
Those memories caught me by surprise. I hadn't thought of that time of my life in years. Those were dark days for me- but certainly not the darkest.
"What were you thinking about?"
"This game," I answer, then shake my head. "What you just said. If Wanda hadn't been there I don't think I- Well, I am just glad Wanda and Pietro had each other."
Charles nods. "Yes. I have never seen two siblings so close before. You should be proud."
"I am," I smile. Or is that just a wish?
Pietro finally managed to stop crying into his pillow. He felt absolutely disgusted with himself. If he actually acted like his father's son, he'd have been able to take his punishment without tears. Dracu, he wouldn't have had to take it at all!
No, he couldn't do anything right. He was only good for ruining things. He didn't know why his father didn't just kick him out- No matter what people said about Magneto, he was a great man. The fact that he kept around such a useless risk to his important mission proved it. Pietro didn't deserve the second chances he got.
He rolled, ignoring the pain, and reached under his bed for something. Just as his fingers wrapped around it there was a knock on the door.
He groaned and moved back to his pillow. "Who is it?" he called out hoarsely, quickly wiping his eyes.
"Who do you think, mut fundul?" Wanda walked in without waiting for his permission and sat on his bed. "I could hear you screaming all the way down the hallway and I wanted to make sure you were ok."
Pietro blushed and hid his face in the pillow he had been holding. "I wasn't that loud… I don't know what you're talking about."
"No, you weren't," she leaned over and rubbed his back, "I just have a sense for these things, I guess. That and you only sit around in just your boxers and shirt after you've been spanked. Now don't you start lying to me, baby brother; what'd you do to get our father mad?"
"Baby brother?" Pietro looked at her indignantly, "I'm only younger than you by thirty seconds!"
"Still a baby brother, now answer the question."
Pietro sighed and lay his head back down. "Papa sent me to give Vikki a message for him. I couldn't find Vikki so I tried going into the mansion to look, but they caught me."
"Did they do anything to you?" Wanda clenched her teeth.
"Well, they scared me a little," Pietro admitted, "But nothing worse- Ow!"
"What were you thinking? Don't you know what could have happened?"
Pietro grumbled as he rubbed the back of his head where his sister had hit him. "I know. Trust me, you're the third person to lecture me today." He shook his head and hid his face again. "I can't help it if I'm a failure…"
Wanda's face softened. "Pietro…" She sighed and ran her fingers through his hair. "You aren't a failure. The only reason anyone's upset is because we don't want you getting hurt or being taken away from us, not because of some stupid mission."
"Not true with Papa," was Pietro's muffled reply, "Or Victor. Only you."
"He loves you, Pietro," Wanda began to rub his back again. "He just doesn't show it well."
Pietro didn't respond. After a few quiet moments he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but could you leave me alone for a while?"
Wanda hesitated, then nodded. "Alright." She leaned over and kissed the top of his head, then stood. "Don't do anything stupid or you'll have me to deal with."
"I won't," Pietro promised, "Thank you."
She walked to the door. "I love you, baby brother."
"Don't call me that," Pietro scowled slightly, "I love you too."
He waited for the door to close and made sure she was gone. He loved his sister and she always did make him feel better, but he didn't want 'better' right now. He wanted to feel numb.
He searched under his bed again until he felt a bottle, then picked it up and uncapped it. He took a large swig and sat back on his bed. Good ol' vodka, it was reliable, unlike he was. Pietro took another sip and felt the burn settle in his chest.
Wanda was wrong. His father didn't love him, but he was perfectly acceptable of that. What was there to love? Not much. Sure, he had his speed, which was probably the main reason his father kept him around. But power is useless if the person controlling it is an idiot. His father was a smart man- he had to know that the costs outweighed the benefits in this case. Why was he still there then?
Pietro took a long drink from the bottle and shook his head. It must be to make a good impression on his recruits. It wouldn't look right if he abandoned his son, even if said son deserved it. No, his father was manipulative and knew that was something that would make him look bad, so he wouldn't do it.
Oh yes, he knew how manipulative his father was, even doing it to his son, and it didn't bother Pietro at all. As long as he was being manipulated to stay then he must have some use, no matter how slight, and that was all he wanted, really. He wanted to be worth something. And being manipulated was better than being ignored.
He was past half the bottle now. As the depressing thoughts continued Pietro drank more, and the more he drank the more he turned to self-loathing. When the first bottle was gone he reached under his bed for another. He wasn't quite drunk- not yet. His power came with a quick metabolism, and with that it took a lot more alcohol to get him drunk than it would one of the slow ones, and he always had a big stash at the ready.
Only one person had caught him so far, and that was only because of his heightened senses. Not that this particular person cared, except to blackmail him. Nenorocit.
Four bottles later and Pietro was pleasantly numb. He sat still, staring out the window. His annoying feelings were out of the way and now he could think about it rationally- if a bit slowly.
His father didn't love him. That was a fact. Mutants should be above these emotions, they held them back. Pietro was weak and he needed to work on that. His father still found usefullness in him, somehow, so he would stay. There was nowhere else to go anyway. Even if there was, he could never abandon his father or sister. He wouldn't force his worst fear on someone else.
His door opened. The bottles were all scattered on the floor, hidden by his bed, so he didn't turn to whoever entered.
The sound of sniffing. A growl. "Brat?"
Vikki. Pietro didn't respond.
A deeper growl. The sound of the door shutting. "You're drunk again? Do you have to do this every time you get punished?"
Pietro stared out the window.
A frustrated sound this time accompanied by muttered curses. "You need to learn how to take criticism, brat. How many have you had?"
No answer.
Boots stomped over. A hiss. "Four?" A giant form blocked his view. His eyes didn't follow.
"Pietro! Look at me!" A pair of fingers snapped in front of his face.
His eyes finally turned towards the feral. "That doesn't startle me, you know. Nothing really does."
Victor glared down at him. "How many more do you have?"
Pietro shrugged apathetically.
Victor rolled his eyes. "I'm takin' them." He crouched to look under the bed.
That got a reaction. "What? No, you can't take them! They're mine!"
"I can take them and I am," Victor stood with an armful of bottles, including the empty ones, "I'm not lettin' you drink yourself sick, brat. If your daddy found out he'd find a way to blame me somehow."
Pietro glared and tried to get to his feet. "No! I need them!"
"You're too young to need alcohol, brat," Victor growled, narrowing his eyes in warning, "Quit fussin' or your daddy isn't going to be the only one to hit you today."
Somewhere in his muddled head was the sense to shut up, so Pietro stared, then scowled and lay back. "You already hit me today."
"That was a love pat compared to what I'd do to you," Victor rolled his eyes again and went to the door. He sniffed, then walked into the hallway and closed the door behind him.
Pietro whined and slumped over on his bed, hugging his pillow again. Now he couldn't even have one of the few things that made him feel better. Well, he probably didn't deserve it anyway.
After a few more moments of self-pity Pietro managed to slip into a light, dreamless sleep.
A few hours had passed before he felt someone shaking his shoulder. He groaned and curled up into a ball, not wanting to wake up yet.
"Pietro, come on. We're having dinner soon," he heard Wanda say.
Dinner? He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it when light made his brain ache. "Ah!"
Wanda brushed his hair back and looked at him with concern. "What's wrong?"
"Head… hurts," he managed to say as he glanced at her.
"Were you crying again after I left?" she frowned, "Your eyes look red. You should take a shower and wash up, alright?" She kissed his forehead and moved back to give him room.
Pietro simply nodded and clumsily got to his feet. "I'll be fine… Don't worry. You go on ahead."
"If you say so," she messed up his hair, then scrunched her nose. "Was Remy in here? It smells like alcohol…"
"Vikki was," Pietro answered, "I'll open a window."
Wanda was satisfied with that answer and sat down on his bed. "I'll wait for you, we'll go to dinner together."
Pietro gave her a slight smile. "Thanks."
"Anything for my baby brother," she grinned.
Pietro shook his head, too hung over to argue.
After a five minute hot shower, he felt much better. Well, more able to hide the pain, anyway. His head still hurt, and his backside still hurt, but his eyes weren't red and he looked fresh and alert when he finished dressing and walked out to meet his sister. She took his hand and they walked down the hallway to the dining hall together.
Erik and the others had already started when they arrived.
"You're late," Erik commented.
"Yes we are," Wanda sat down, "Sorry about that, father. I had to talk with my brother about something."
Erik simply nodded in reply, accepting that excuse.
Pietro gingerly sat down, trying not to wince too obviously. Of course, someone noticed.
"Ah, is that the high-and-mighty brat I see squirming?" Todd Tolanksy sniggered.
Pietro grit his teeth and ignored it, fixing his plate.
"It's about time," St. John smirked, "He's been asking for it for a while now. What'd you do, throw another tantrum?"
His cheeks flushed. Victor growled.
Erik cleared his throat. "That is enough. Pietro is not a brat nor do you need to concern yourselves with what goes on between him and me. However, if you would like to keep up on the subject, I'm sure Sabretooth would have no problem discussing it at length with the two of you over in the next room."
Pietro looked up in surprise, then looked at his food again. His father probably felt like he had to say something only because it was his son under attack.
Victor grinned and cracked his knuckles. "Sure. My claws have been aching to inflict pain on something all day. A toad and a firebug would be perfect for them."
St. John and Todd exchanged a nervous look and continued to eat.
"Spoiled little daddy's boy never gets in trouble," Todd couldn't help muttering.
Erik simply waved his hand in a dismissive gesture towards Victor and the feral grabbed Todd by his shirt, dragging him out of the room.
"No! This isn't fair!" They could hear his protests, "He can say whatever he wants when something happens to us, but we can't-" A door slammed and his voice was muffled.
Erik shook his head. "So dramatic."
Thank you for the reviews so far, I'm glad you are enjoying this fic and I hope you continue to do so :) I will try to get the next chapter out sooner now that the semester if over.