Chapter Thirty-Eight:
Going back to school on Monday was pretty bad for Tyron.
Tony had taken care of the schoolwork he needed down over the weekend, promising that it would be 'just that one time', so by Monday, all he had to do was review the information he had been given to him, and rest. Luckily, Tyron was particularly skilled in both categories.
His injuries on his face didn't look particularly horrible ― or at least, Natasha assured he didn't. His ribs still hurt occasionally, but felt good enough for him to be able to wear his bandages again. He would need them, especially if he was going to be in the school.
Tyron was almost hoping that when he went back to school, nobody would mention the fiasco that was the rally that last friday. Of course, this wasn't the case.
Tyron was at his locker, putting away the books he didn't need for first or second period when he felt someone grab his shoulder and yank him around. "Hey, Mutie," Miles Forbes sneered in his face. Tyron narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth. "How'd your party go last Friday?"
Tyron pushed the boy's hand off of his, turning back to his locker and putting away the rest of his books. "What is it? You had so much to say on Friday, didn't you? You mute now, or are you scared someone else is going to get shot!" One of his friends put up a finger gun and shot at his other. The other teenager fell against the locker and rolled his eyes into his head, grasping his chest as if he were actually dying.
"Fuck off, Forbes," Tyron growled, grabbing the books he needed and turning away, but Miles just didn't seem to know when to quit. He knocked Tyron's books to the floor and kicked them away. Then, he stepped right up to Tyron and got into his face. His breath was hot on his skin and Tyron could smell the scent of smoke on it ― were jocks even allowed to do drugs like that? Hell if he knew.
"I think you should watch your tone," Miles said coolly. They were beginning to gain onlookers. The students who were supposed to be in class were now watching the group of guys, ready to see blood. "Muties like you don't know where their place should be ― licking my boot."
"I think ya need to step th' hell off," Tyron retorted. "Before you end up on the ground ― lickin' the floor."
"Funny hearing threats from a little bitch like you," Miles shot back, and his boys began to cheer, eyes thirsty and ready to fight.
"It'll be th' last thin' ya will hear if ya don' go away," Tyron said, trying to keep his cool.
"And what are you going to do about that?" Miles laughed, "Lemme guess, you can make the lights flicker or float me a few inches above the ground." Miles puffed out his chest and stared Tyron straight in the eyes. "You don't scare me, and neither do your little mutie friends. Fact, you shouldn't even be in a school like this, shouldn't you be in the hood, casing a joint, or rotting in jail?"
"And shouldn't ya be mindin' ya own damn business?" Tyron shot back. "I guess we're both out of our elements today."
Miles glared at him, "Muties like you should be on fields, working like the animals you are."
"The only animal I see here is ya, Forbes," Tyron replied coolly. "Where's ya cage? With ya momma?"
The crowd ooo-ed at that and Miles started to go a bit pink and he began to shake with anger, "You fuckin' nigger!" He snapped and Tyron gave a small laugh.
"Really? The 'N' word? Is that the best you can do?" He said, raising an eyebrow. Miles balled his fists and Tyron knew what was coming.
Miles threw the first punch. He lunged, but Tyron moved, making the teenager stumble a few steps forward. His buddies decided to get involved too, grabbing Tyron's shoulders and throwing his back against the wall. The first one landed a punch square in his cheek, and Tyron felt his jaw bruise. The next came between the legs, but since there really wasn't much to hurt down there, it gave Tyron an advantage.
He pushed the first student off of him, and duck under the arms of the second. He swiped his leg underneath Miles', who looked now ready to fight, fists high and jaw tight. He had his legs wide open ― easy take.
Miles hit the ground and his friends turned, surprised, but Tyron wasn't. He pushed one of his other friends into Miles with hard shove, keeping both of them on the floor. He began to move down the hall, trying to get away, but the crowd of instigators were thick and nobody wanted to see him leave, not this early in the fight. Their thirst for bloodshed still hadn't been satisfied just yet.
Tyron felt something hard slam into the back of his head, and he saw stars for several moments, falling forward and tripping over himself. He landed on the ground, belly first, and one of the guys stepped hard on his neck. Tyron choked, eyes wide and he turned over, trying to breathe right. The guys began to attack from all sides, hitting his ribs, legs, head, arms, et cetera. Tyron balled up, covering his head with his hand, but this didn't stop them from hitting him.
It felt like an hour had passed of the abuse by his fellow classmates, until he heard the voice of teacher. "Break it up, break it up, all of you! I better not find any of you near here at all!" Someone shouted angrily, and finally, the onslaught of attacks ceased.
It took Tyron a moment, but he shakily got to his feet. His face was busted up and he felt like he'd fall at any second.
"Fuckin' mutie freak!" Miles sneered and then spat at him, it landed at his feet. Tyron glared at the teenager, but said nothing more.
"Mr. Forbes, go to the principal's office - now!" The teacher commanded, "And the rest of you, to class, or you'll all be facing expulsion!" This made the students begin to move. They grumbled to themselves, but walked away anyway.
Tyron heard his name being called in the crowd. "Tyron!? Tyron?!" Then, arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding up. "Tyron, what's going on? What happened to you?!"
Tyron shook his head, too much blood filled his mouth. He didn't want to spit it out, knowing the reaction he might get to his silver blood. He was breathing shallowly and his body started to tilt.
"Take him to the nurse," the teacher said. "He might have to go to the hospital."
This jolted life in him, "No!" He wheezed, trying to pull away from Peter. "N-N-No hospital! No!"
"Tyron-"
"I... I said, no!" He snapped, and just as he said it, his eyes rolled into his head and he fell.
- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -
Tyron woke up to beeping and the smell of bleach. He opened his eyes slowly. The white tiled ceiling reflected too much light and it made him have to close his eyes again. He groaned, trying to move, but he couldn't. His wrists were strapped to the bed.
Tyron's eyes went wide and began to panic. The heart rate monitor soared as he began to yank on his arms, trying to escape, but having no way to do so. He couldn't move.
Tyron could fell the roles on his wrists, keeping him tied to the bed as the man above him pulled off his clothes, the look of lust evident in his eyes. "No! No! Let m'go! Let m'go!" Tears filled his eyes and he couldn't breathe. This wasn't happening, this wasn't happening!
"Tyron! Calm down," someone said beside him, but it was no use. He was sobbing now, scared out of his mind. He couldn't do this any more. Kill him! Bad pet, bad pet, bad pet, bad pet, bad pet, bad pet, bad-
"Tyron, please," they pleaded desperately. They moved, climbing on the bed to get whatever was on his hands, off.
Tyron shook his head as the man crawled onto his bed, not stopping making she contact with him, licking his lips as he pulled his legs apart. "Please, do-don'-" he wheezed, "Bad pet, bad pet, bad pet, ba-"
His hand was free, and Tyron pulled it to his shoulders, yanking and pulling at his other wrist, feeling it burn under the thick leather strapping. Soon, that one was free too.
Tyron moved away as fast as he could, trying to figure out how to breathe again. Trying to erase the feeling of them touching his body. "B-B-Bad pet, bad pet, bad pet, bad pet, bad-!"
Someone wrapped their arms around his shoulders, holding Tyron close. "It's okay," he whispered, but Tyron could hear his heart racing too. "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."
Tyron had to breathe for nearly twenty minutes, his eyes closed tight and his hands shaking. Peter didn't let go of him at all. In fact, his grip seemed to have gotten tighter as the time passed. Finally, he let go, but only after his breathing was steady.
"Where... Where am I?" Tyron had to know for sure.
"Hospital. I-They said it was protocol for all mutants to be restrained against their will. Mr. Duke said it was fine - they wouldn't do anything unless you were restrained."
"What did they do?" Tyron asked.
"They tried to give you stitches, but the needle kept... Uh, disappearing. And, they couldn't put an IV in your arm. The only thing they could do was put you out with some gas, but even after that, nothing worked. They gave you some cream for your face, but that was it. They said you'd have to heal on your own."
Tyron slowly nodded, "And... M'guardians?"
"Your guardians?" Peter furrowed his eyebrows.
"They aren't here then," Tyron said with a sigh.
"What does 'bad pet' mean?" Peter suddenly asked. Tyron gritted his teeth, and sucked his breath, forcing himself not to repeat it back to the boy.
"I..." He swallowed, "I used to live with a mutant who had the ability to... Uh, absorb memories." Peter's eyes went wide and Tyron continued. "He... When I did something, uh, wrong, he'd... Take my memories of something good. Then, he'd replace it with that. It was kind of like brainwashing. Whenever I tried to think about something or someone, I would unlock him instead of whatever else I wanted. Then, my mind would... Ah, it would go to the things he did to me, and I..." Tyron closed his eyes and breathed. He couldn't do this right now.
"Oh..." Peter murmured.
"M'sorry," he whispered, curling away from him. He didn't want Peter to know this. Peter, who was innocent and hurt no one. Peter, who built Lego models in his free time. Peter, who chased helplessly after a girl who knew nothing about him.
This wasn't fair. He didn't have time for this.
Tyron sat up and tried to move away. "Wha-Where are you going?" Peter asked, eyes wide.
"Home," Tyron replied. "If m'lucky, 'ey haven't tried to I.D. m'yet." He tried to sit up, but his ribs burned. He laid back down, closing his eyes. He just couldn't give his body a break, could he?
"Yeah, I don't think you should get up either," Peter said, raising an eyebrow. Tyron gave a stiff nod, keeping his eyes shut firmly. He couldn't stay here much longer, and he was hungry.
Tyron looked around for something metal, but it was like the doctors ans nurses knew every aspect of his mutation because he found nothing.
Tyron stomach growled, but he ignored it and closed his eyes. "Are you hungry? I can go get some food from-"
"No," Tyron cut him off, shaking his hand. "Don' worry 'bout it."
"Why not?" Peter asked. "I can just-"
"I can't eat tha'," Tyron finally admitted. He might as well rip off the bandaid. "It'll make m'sick."
Peter blinked, "Oh. Well," he rubbed his scalp and turned. "What do you eat? Can you eat?"
"I can eat," Tyron frowned. "I just... I eat, uh..." He felt his cheeks grow warm. He really didn't want to explain this. Tyron swallowed his pride and continued. "I eat... Metal."
Peter blanked, staring at him. "Metal?"
"Uh-huh."
"You eat... Metal?"
"Yep."
"Like a robot?" Tyron blinked, then he laughed.
"'Like a robot'?" He repeated, hysterically. His chest hurt with every breath, but Tyron couldn't help himself. He needed this. He needed to be able to laugh.
Tyron wiped a tear from his eye, "Yeah, Peter. 'Like a robot'."
Peter turned to pout, his cheeks growing red from embarrassment and Tyron couldn't help but laugh again. He looked cute like that.
Tyron froze at the thought and immediately kicked himself for it. No. No, no. No. He didn't. He wasn't. Get that out of his head, no.
"Do you need to call your parents?" Peter asked suddenly and Tyron almost missed what he said.
"Oh, ah yeah. Tha'd be great." Peter dug into his pocket and pulled out a phone for him to use.
Tyron dialed Tony's number, and of only gave two rings before answering. "Hello?"
"Hey, Uncle Marty," Tyron said.
"Tyron? Shouldn't you be in class?"
"Yeah, sorry, uh, somethin' happened in school. Can ya come pick m'up?"
"What happened? Are you okay?" Tony said seriously, casualty leaving his voice.
"Don't worry, some guys jus' roughed m'up a bit. Look, m'in th' hospital at, uh..." He turned to Peter. "Where are we?"
"NYC Health, Hospitals, and Metropolitian," Peter replied.
"Did ya hear tha'?" Tyron asked.
"Yep. On my way," with that, the line clicked off and Tyron handed Peter back his phone.
"Thanks," he said and Peter began to reply, but the door opened.
Tyron tensed up as a police officer stepped out along with a few nurses and a doctor. Peter moved to get off of the bed quickly as they began to speak.
"You can't be in here, boy," the officer grunted and Peter looked at Tyron.
"S'okay. Go home," Tyron assured. Peter nodded and grabbed his bag, leaving Tyron in the hospital room by himself and these people ready to practically skin him alive.