So upon uploading this chapter, I noticed that I had missed quite a few GLARINGLY obvious proofreading errors, among other issues. This is the revised chapter; it's longer, and some parts have been tweaked, so to any that got to read the other (horrible) version, let me know how this one compares by leaving a review! Chapter five will mostly likely be up by the end of the week, however, I make no promises regarding chapter six. Anyone who has added the story to their Alerts will tell you that I don't have the greatest track record with that, hehe... Sorry it took me so long, guys.
Anyhow, thank you and enjoy!
From where they stood, the three mutants stared down in muted horror at what could now be seen clearly as the body of a young man, lying in the center of the crater. Now that the rain had stopped, fresh blood began to bloom from the multiple wounds that covered him nearly head-to-toe; the strong metallic smell had Logan fighting down the urge to gag. This guy looked like he'd gone through the business end of a meat grinder—twice—although the more likely explanation for his state was that he'd fallen from the top of one of the trees. And hit every branch on the way down.
"What the Hell…?" he asked incredulously, managing to swallow past the nausea to find his voice, "Where'd he come from?" Charles turned to him and shrugged, his face a mask of shock. The telepath took a cautious step forward, kneeling slowly beside the mangled form sprawled out in the mud to get a better look at him. He was wearing some kind of medieval-esque armor, the leather torn in places and the bronze scuffed and peppered with dents. His face was stark white behind the blood and dirt, his thin lips bloodless and bruised. Sharp, angular cheekbones jutted out beneath his skin, making him look almost gaunt in appearance. There was a nasty gash over his brow, the blood running into his matted and tangled black hair. It was a truly awful sight; Xavier sighed, frowning as he reached out a tentative hand to try and at least find a pulse.
He drew back with a start, however, when his ears caught the softest of groans-his eyes widened in surprise.
"Oh my god," Ororo gasped softly from somewhere behind him, drawing closer as well, "Charles, is he alive?"
With a shaking hand, he reached out again to find that, sure enough, he could just feel the faint rhythm of the man's heart beating erratically against his fingertips.
"Yes, but he's fading; we need to get him inside, quickly" Charles turned to Logan and beckoned him forward. "Here, help me…"
Through the haze of agony brought on by his rather…rough descent to ground, Loki slowly began to stir, roused by a distorted murmur of voices from somewhere nearby. At least, he guessed they were nearby—the raw ache that was spreading gradually throughout his twisted limbs was making details a bit difficult to process. Even breathing proved almost too much to handle; his ribs burned at the slightest intake of air, forcing his breaths to be shallow and wheezy. The godling moaned pitifully, paralyzed and blind all over again; typical. Unconsciousness threatened to steal him away again, but not before he heard the strange voices grow louder; closer, he realized.
And perhaps he was imagining it, but…were they concerned?
"…my God…alive?"
Gentle fingers pressed against his throat, causing him to whimper; even that small touch was enough to cause him pain. Thankfully it didn't last long, and he heaved an internal sigh of relief. Then the voices sprang up again.
"Yes…need…him inside…help…"
Loki wished that he could speak. Wished he could let them know that he heard them, that he understood; but it felt as though his lips were fused together. Even mustering the ability to blink appeared to be beyond him at the moment. His eyelids stubbornly refused to lift, heavy as they were at the moment. If he was honest with himself, a part of him was afraid of the very real possibility that the people whom the voices belonged to would leave him where he lay, thinking him either dead, or else too badly injured to save. If that happened, he knew he was doomed. A nearly imperceptible crease of frustration marred his bleeding forehead, as the bone-deep exhaustion from the fall robbed him of any strength he still possessed to pry his eyes open-just to blink them!-but it was useless. His strength was completely tapped, and what little magic he still had was only a weak spark beneath his skin; it would never be enough to heal him before he bled out. Not to mention, the slow fade from life would be excruciating…
Perhaps I will die, after all… another, more resigned corner of his consciousness mused. It was miserable to consider, now, and yet, he held out very little hope that the strangers in the dark would come to his aid…it seemed highly unlikely.
People just…didn't help him. They didn't care…
Logan came over to the other side and prepared to lift the man into his arms, but not before the professor caught a rather distressing thought from his mind.
I will die, then…
Not bothering to keep his reply to himself, the telepath spoke aloud as he firmly projected, "No, my friend…"
Thinking Xavier was talking to him, Logan halted his movements, cocking a brow questioningly. "Charles..?
Charles shook his head. "I'm sorry, I was speaking to our mystery guest, here." He frowned. "He can hear us—barely—and is under the impression that we might have left him here to die because he can't move, speak, or otherwise communicate that he's still alive."
Brushing his fingertips to the fellow's temple as gently as possible, he found that his thoughts had suddenly begun to perk up as he realized he had been heard.
The facet of his mind that had begun to embrace death started at the proximity and clarity of Charles' voice. Meanwhile, the more frantic side latched onto the sound like a drowning man on a lifeline. This person wasn't sure where the telepath had come from, nor how he had heard him, and he didn't care; all that mattered was that he had. Please, the stranger thought desperately; struggling just to stay awake, now… PLEASE, don't leave me here!
Charles' frown deepened as he picked up on the desperate tinge to his cries—his pain was intense, but his fear…his fear was suffocating. Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the panic, physically gritting his teeth against the onslaught of terror at being left to a lingering and miserable death, abandoned again, no one to hear him, no one to help, frightened and alone and please, please, pleasepleasepleasePLEASE!—
Calm your mind, he insisted, taking care to keep his voice even and concentrating hard on lessening the pain; reassuring him that he was not alone, that he would be helped, that they would not leave him. While Charles' mind was occupied with pacifying the injured young man, his gaze flicked to Logan and he nodded once, giving the go ahead to lift him.
The resulting scream echoed through the trees, effectively shattering the silence and causing all three mutants to cry out in surprise; none of them had thought this poor soul capable of making such a sound, given the state he was in. But for Logan, it was all the confirmation he needed to know that they had to get back to the mansion and get this guy to the infirmary, A.S.A.P. He knew he was probably jostling him more than he ought to be, but was at a loss at how to make things any better. Thankfully, Charles came up beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Logan, wait," he said, thinking for a moment, "He's in agony—let me put him to sleep before we move him any further." He wanted to argue that there was no time for that, but then the broken form in his arms began to shake; whether from shock or the breathless sobs tearing through his chest, it was impossible to tell. Logan turned, nodding to the Professor. "Go ahead..."
The warm voice was back, and with it the pain gently started to fade to the back of his mind, leaving an overwhelming weariness in its wake . He didn't hurt, now, but his senses were foggier than before… It felt as though he was floating in a thick mist… By Odin, he was so tired…
Sleep, now…
The professor was met with slight resistance, but could see the sedation beginning to take hold; this man's mind was strong, but his resolve had been greatly weakened by the pain.
You are safe…
Safe...? Loki mused detachedly. How could he be safe? He was in so much pain; he didn't know where he was or who this other voice in his mind belonged to, or how the owner of said voice could even hear him. Could a stranger really promise such a blessed release as safety? And to what end? Surely there was no one in the Nine Realms that would risk offering sanctuary to a Jotun, even one runty and wounded as he was. Surely he still wasn't worthy of such treatment...how could he be?
Uncertainty; the stranger was tired, but still able to question whether he could trust them...why they would bother with him. Xavier had to give him credit—not many could fight the pull of his influence for this long. Trying another tactic, he probed through the man's most recent memories to find a name to put to the pale, blood-streaked face, hoping that maybe it would be familiar enough to give him that last push he needed to drift off.
He was pulled in in a flash of color and light and that ever-present pain…
"…I hope it's true; so that you may know that your death came at the hand of Laufey…"
A being both foreign and yet, strikingly familiar to Charles—a giant with blue skin and dark red eyes—knelt on a stately bed covered in furs, holding a dagger of ice above the prone form lying beneath him, poised to strike; only to be caught in the back by a burst of white light.
"And your death came by the son of Odin…"whispered a voice to his left. His astral-self turned, there but not there, observing the speaker closely. A young man—the young man, from the crater—stood proudly before him, and he had to blink, convinced that his eyes were playing tricks on him.
The difference in appearance was like night and day. Gone was blood and dirt; the wounds not yet inflicted; but still, there was no mistaking that armor, free of damage and glowing in the soft light. He was tall, towering nearly a foot over Charles, and the aura of power he exuded was palpable-broad shoulders thrown back, the envy-green cape that hung there just brushing the stone floor; feet set apart in a stance that begged a challenge; horned helm curving wickedly atop his head, adding to his already impressive height.
Not that Charles lingered on any of these traits for very long; he was far too preoccupied with the heavy—looking spear in the stranger's hands.
A cold fury blazed in his vivid green eyes as he looked down on the giant lying confused and winded at his feet. The professor could feel so many emotions pass through the air between them—anger, rage, betrayal, abandonment, hurt, disgust, conviction—and before he could blink again the young man raised his weapon, intent all too clear.
Another burst of light, a shower of sparks, and the next second the giant was gone, leaving only a dusting of ash in his wake.
"Loki," said another voice; an elder blonde woman in flowing, pale gold robes struggled to her feet, rushing into the arms of the young man with the spear and holding him tight, "you saved him…"
Wrenching himself away with a gasp Charles opened his eyes, shaking off the vague sense of horror at the scene he had just witnessed and clinging instead to the bit of information he'd been looking for in the first place—Loki. His name was Loki.
Ignoring the look of wary confusion that Logan was giving him, he closed his eyes again and redoubled his efforts to soothe their guest into blissful oblivion; they could worry about who had been killed and why, later. After all, even if this man was dangerous, he could hardly breathe—much less put anyone in harms way. There was no way he posed a threat to them; not right now, anyway.
Safe…?
The thought pulled the telepath back to the present; he had to focus. It wouldn't take long, now.
Yes, Loki…
The fallen prince distantly wondered how this man—for it was a man's voice he heard—knew his name, and why he was helping him...but he supposed that could wait…
Sleep...
Hecould feel himself going under. The pain was gone. The darkness was creeping in; but unlike before, in the Void, the prospect did not frighten him this time. This was warmth...comfort...a heavy blanket, folding around him as he drifted away... Yes...
That's it…all will be well…
The softest of sighs escaped him as once more, he faded out...
Charles opened his eyes, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as his hand fell away from Loki's temple. He felt a light touch on his shoulder and looked to find Ororo at his side, her own dark orbs full of worry as she turned from him to the limp form still cradled against Logan's chest. "Is he…?" her question trailed off, the tone of her voice making it clear what she was asking; Charles nodded.
"He's alive, but as I said, only just." His gaze flicked down to glance over the dirty and mangled features of the sleeping Loki, wincing internally at the dark bruises that had already begun to form there, to say nothing of the blood still weeping from his countless other wounds. He turned his attention back to Ororo. "Run ahead and prepare the infirmary as best you can—we'll meet you there." She nodded and took off through the trees, Logan and Charles falling behind her at a more careful pace, mindful of their charge.
The professor sighed, casting his thoughts out again as they walked.
Hold on, my friend…you're going to be alright…All the while, Loki remained still.