Chapter Thirty-Seven:
Tyron and the other mutants sprang into action, shouting over the screaming to get under cover. Tyron felt one his his shoulder and he hissed, the bullet was burning hot when he landed. He grabbed his shoulder and looked around.
A little girl looked lost in the crowd of people pushing bad running all around her. Tyron jumped in, grabbing the girl and shielding her just as he felt a bullet hit his back and arms. He breathed heavily and the girl was crying. He kept her to his chest on the ground as people ran on or around him.
He smelled the taste of blood in the air and heard the wails of tears and sobbing. He felt a strong arm grab at him, and he looked up, it was Steve. He was blocking the bullets for him with his shield.
"Take her to safety!" Tyron said, and gave the girl to him. Then he ran out in the crowd. His hands grabbing at a nearby car. In seconds, he was absorbing all of the metal into his skin. He yanked the door off and ran to a couple hiding near a trash bin. "Use it as cover!" He ordered and pushed them to move.
Tyron saw a woman lying on the ground, holding her knee and groaning. He carefully helped her up and created a metal shield with his back. It cut through his shirt, but absorbed a lot of bullets in the process. He helped the limping woman over to the couple he gave the car door too. "Get down to seventh eighth street. There should be a row of stores and buildings. You can take cover in there. Go! Spread the word!"
They nodded and thanked him, helping the limping woman as they walked. Tyron felt more bullets hit his skin and he looked up. He saw the sniper, it was brief, but he saw him.
Tyron ran, heading for the metal staircase. He jumped, reaching the ladder and pounded up the steps. He made it to the rooftop in minutes and he found the man with his ears blocked and his eyes busy in the gun.
Tyron yanked the man back by the neck and threw him on the ground. He tried to crawl back, but Tyron stabbed him in the hand, keeping him in place.
The man cried out in pain, trying to curl away, but Tyron bent over him. His hand turned into a long knife and he pointed it at this man's throat. He gasped, and held his good hand up. He was ready to stab the man until a hand rested on his shoulder.
"Tyron! Wait!" Tony said, and Tyron glared at him, anger fueling his blood. "Wait."
"He killed them!" Tyron screamed, his anger infesting him. He felt his body absorb Tony's metal hand. "Look! He fucking killed them!"
"I know, I know," he said. "I know. But you can't kill him. It'll solve nothing."
"Yeah!" The man sneered through his pain. "Listen to his rich ass, you mutant freak!" Tyron pushed his hand farther, the edge drawing blood.
"Tyron! Please, let him go." He breathed heavily, gritting his teeth and swallowing hard. He moved his hand, and stood straight. The man scrambled to get up, but Tony shot something at his foot, rooting him in place.
"The police are coming," Tony assured. "They'll be here soon." Tyron heard a gun click and jumps into action. The man managed to shoot at Tyron's chest three times before Tyron grabbed the gun, and absorbing it. The man scowled reaching behind him to pull out a knife, but Tyron didn't give him the chance to.
He grabbed the man's hand, yanking it away from his waist. Then, he used his mutation to bind his hands together.
Tony came to Tyron side, eyes wide in concern. "Are you alright?!" He asked, and Tyron curled his lip, turning away.
"M'fine," he grunted, moving a hand to his chest. All these bullets were beginning to actually hurt. The sniper ones burned when they hit him, but with this one being at such close proximity? He was going to be feeling it later. It wasn't like he was totally healed yet.
Tyron rubbed his sore chest with his hand. He was sure his bandages wouldn't hold up much longer and he didn't want to be exposed in front of all of the cameras.
Tyron heard more bullets firing and he turned. "I'll get the rooftops," Tony said, turning to the gunman. "You help the people on the ground. Get them to safety."
Tyron nodded and made his way to the staircase, looking out for any victims injured and unable to walk. He took them away two or sometimes three at a time and moved them to cover before running down the street and repeated the process.
- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -
When the police and paramedics finally arrived, the shooting had stopped. Tony and the others rounded up the rest of the gunmen — a few had opted to kill themselves instead.
The paramedics rounded up all of the wounded, and covered up all of the dead. Tyron stared at the crowd, his eyes wet with tears.
He pressed his face in is hands and let out a small sob. How could this have happened!? All these people, these innocent people, dead because people believed them to be something they surely weren't.
Was their persecution justified? Were mutants put on this planet just so they could be killed, belittled, and destroyed? What was the point of all this anymore?
"Tyron!" Someone shouted. He looked up. It was Clint and Natasha. They came to his side and placed a hand on his back.
"Let's go home, kid," Clint murmured. Tyron looked around. He saw a woman sobbing over the corspe of her dead son. Tyron suddenly recalled Chris when he finally snuck into his room after he was jump. He saw his limp body hanging from the ceiling fan, his eyes empty of the life and intelligence it once held.
Tyron was breathing heavily, his face contorted into a pain again. Clint sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders as Tyron cried. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't live in a world where innocent people were murdered out of hate and spite and unjustified fear. It wasn't right! It wasn't fair!
Tyron heard heavy metal footsteps approaching and knew it was Tony. "Hey," he said, and Tyron moved his head, rubbing at his face. Tony had his mask off and was watching him. "You should probably head out. Everyone who needs medical attention is being helped. We'll help with... Clean up. The police need witness accounts and are interviewing the other shooters. They are going to be taken down to the station."
"No," Tyron shook his head, feeling a headache forming. "I... I wanna stay."
"No," Natasha argued. "Go home. You need to rest. It's been a long day."
"But, I..." Tyron looked down. He was so tired, "Okay. I'll go." He stood slowly, an arm wrapped under his chest, which was very sore, along with his back and legs where sniper bullets hit him. He's never been hit by bullets at that kind of velocity and force.
Tony noticed his limping and put an arm under his. Tyron jumped, but Tony just fired up his leg boosters and back thrusters, moving them carefully to the black SUV with Happy at the wheel. Tyron, much to his pleasure, saw Rashaad in the car as well.
"Take him back to the Tower," Tony ordered Happy, and he nodded. Tony looked at Rashaad, who was too busy quietly inspecting Tyron. "Hey, kid." Rashaad and Tyron looked at Tony. He smirked at Rashaad, "Keep an eye on him." Rashaad nodded solemnly, and continued to review him.
Tony them closed the door and Happy began to drive them home.
- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -
Tyron laid in bed, listening to the television — which he almost never turned on. It was tuned to the news, who was covering the mutant rally. He heard a knock at his door and murmured, "Come in."
Natasha entered the room with Steve right behind. They both looked at the television as it replayed the moments of panic and terror after Tyron's speech. He saw as the first dozen people fall to the ground, injured or dead. The person recording screamed and began to ran, then fell to the ground. The camera began to go cloudy with the cover of blood on the lense.
Steve reached over to turn the television off. Tyron didn't care at this point. He put his face in his knees, his shoulders hunched against the world. He felt the bed shift and Natasha's thin hand placed on his back. "It's going to be okay."
"If I never pushed tha' rally..." He said with a sniff. "They said there was almost twenty-five dead."
"That wasn't your fault, Tyron," Steve told him seriously. "You did what you felt was right-"
"An' look who's fuckin' dead 'cause of it!?" Tyron snapped. The anger that spilt over his sides seemed to lash out on Steve. He breathed and looked down. "I can't do this anymore," he said honestly. "Mutants an' humans... I don' think they'll ever get along. Not while there's people like them in this world."
"Don't say that," Natasha said.
"S'true!" He snapped. He grabbed the remote beside him and turned back on the television.
"'-At least twenty-six casualites and a hundred or more wounded. Twenty -one of them were minors, five were under twelve-years-old. Those who were admitted to the hospital have been registered by the police. Because of this, the victims have been refusing help by the police, causing at least three victims to bleed to death. The President still hasn't said anything on the matter, however—" Natasha turned the television off again.
"Tyron—"
"People are dying, Natasha! I put them in this position. If they don't get help, they die. If they do, they get sent to prison!"
"That's not your fault," Steve said, arms crossed. "It they don't get help, it's their decision—"
"If they do get help, they get taken from their families!" Tyron snapped. "M'fuckin' sick of it! I can't do this! I can't!" His voice broke at the end of his sentence. More tears burned his already sore eyes and he looked down, rubbing at his eyes, embarrassment clenching his stomach.
"Tyron," Natasha said soothingly. "I know you're upset, but you can't do anything about it now. But, we can try to keep the people from being registered."
Tyron sniffed, but didn't say anything. He remembered that girl he saved when the shooting started. He wondered if she was still alive. He hoped she was.
"Go to sleep," Natasha said. "We'll work this all out, okay?" Tyron nodded and lied down on his bed. He bit the inside of his lip to keep himself from crying again.
Natasha and Steve left and they shut the door softly behind them.
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When Tyron finally fell asleep, he dreamed about Chris. They were on the court, playing ball. Chris jumped to land a dunk above Tyron's head.
"No fair!" Tyron huffed, crossing his arms. Chris grinned, grabbing the bouncing ball and strolling over. "I can't dunk yet!"
"Get taller," he teased, and Tyron rolled his eyes. Chris set the ball down, and grabbed Tyron in a headlock, giving him a noogie. "It's not that hard, kiddo!"
"Stop!" Tyron laughed, prying his head away from Chris. He stepped away, grabbing the basketball off the ground.
"Okay, how about this," Chris said, moving to block him. "If you get past me and dunk it, I'll buy you McDonald's." Tyron's eyes glowed, the incentive of food tempting.
"Okay. Fine," Tyron nodded, and dribbled the ball. Chris grinned, getting ready to block him. Tyron, feigned right and went left, but Chris knew and blocked him anyway.
Tyron gritted his teeth to think for a minute. Then, he had an idea.
He threw the ball in the air as hard as he could, then rolled under Chris' arm. Just as he stood, he caught the ball and jumped.
Tyron stretched, reaching hard for the hoop, his fingers just grazing the rim. He pushed the ball in and grabbed at it, hanging from it for a second. He laughed, surprised that he did it, and let go. "I did it! I did it! I—"
Tyron hit the ground on his back, and looked up at his father. His eyes were full of anger and Tyron felt his heart race in seconds. "Take that off! You're not a fuckin' boy!"
"Da—" his foot kicked him in his side and Tyron gasped, skidding a few feet on the ground, tears blurring his eyes.
Tyron let out a sob, grabbing his stomach that burned in agony, "Dad, I'm sorry! Please, Dad—!"
He reached down and grabbed his shirt. "You're a girl and no daughter of mine's is going to be a fucking faggot!" He slammed him at the counter. He was trying to get him to sit, but instead his forehead slammed into the stone.
His sight went black and he slumped against the counter, blood seeping from his forehead.
Tyron heard footsteps and then a distant gasp. "What—?! Tatyanna?! What happened!? What did you do?!"
Tyron raised his head, trying to stand up from the table, but the room was spinning and he felt tired and sick. It was Chris. He hadn't been out of his room since... Since he was jumped.
Tyron's knees buckled and he collasped. Chris grabbed his arms, holding him up. Tyron began to lose reality of where he was. He vaguely heard his father shout "... Mutie freak!" before his eyes closed.
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Tyron woke up with a headache. He groaned, holding his skull and squeezing his eyes shut. He heard someone knock at his door. "Come in," he called, covering his eyes.
Rashaad came in, walking over and lying down on his bed. Tyron smiled, and rubbed Rashaad's arm. "Ya a'ight?" He asked, glancing at the window. It was still pretty dark outside.
"I'm scared," Rashaad whispered, and Tyron stared at him, shocked. "Are we gonna get shot too?"
Tyron sighed, laying down, and looking up at the ceiling. "I can't say. People might try to shoot ya, but don' worry. I'll protect ya." Tyron smiled at Rashaad, but he didn't say anything else.
Tyron closed his eyes, wishing he has some metal to eat. Then, Rashaad spoke again. "They shot at my brother," Tyron turned to him and saw tears on his face.
"Your brother?" Tyron frowned, then it clicked. He knew this boy looked familiar when he first saw him! "Did he have big black wings?"
Rashaad nodded. "He was protecting me," he said. "My mom didn't want us anymore, so he helped me leave. Then... That guy found us, and he killed my brother." Tyron pulled Rashaad into his chest, rubbing his back. "I miss him," he whispered. "I miss my brother."
"I know," Tyron said softly, "I miss my brother too."