On Metal Claws
Fandom: X-Men movie verse
Paring: Possible implications. Take it as you will. :)
Rating: MA
Status: New, Complete
Spoilers: Movie.
Archive: If you ask nicely :)
Series/Sequel: No
Disclaimers: They aren't mine. You know that. I'm just borrowing them.
Thanks:Okay, LYTHIAS, the wonderful friend who has not only made my web page
but read and betaed my work, who also got me interested in X-Men. Thank you
to ERIKA and HAYATE, who make me wonderful graphics, and Erika, who reads
and betas all my X-Men work. I love you two.
Summary:Logan dreams a nightmare like no other.
Warnings:CHARACTER DEATH INSIDE. Violence, profanity. Generally dark and
depressing. Slash themes may be implied, if you see it that way.
His life stood on the end of his metal claws.
They stripped back another piece of skin, muscle quivering, blood everywhere. The shine of metal, pressed to bones, searing, boiling, dying but never dead.
Pushed back down, the skin and muscle attached, healed over, leaving not even a scar to show what had happened.
His life was changed, innocent blood running over him, dripping on the metal claws.
He wanted to kill after that. He killed, anyone they pointed him to, he killed. It didn't matter, he didn't know who he was, it was easy to kill when you looked in the mirror and didn't know the stranger who stared back at you. It became easier as time went on.
An innocent and decent man, who had never killed, who only fought to protect innocents. An man who had been trying to save him from his nightmare and had caused it to happen in waking him, impaled on those three, one foot, metal claws.
Blood ceased to stain his hands in his mind. It would sit there, and he would wash it off, but he had trouble washing it out of his mind. It was always there, but as time passed, new stains didn't appear. He only had to live with the old ones.
He stared in horror at what he had done. He had never killed someone he knew, someone he had come to respect, to love. Had never thought he might be a danger to the man who made him human again.
He had impaled each of those mongrels who tried to use him on those long metal claws. They had stared in horror, screaming, trying to save themselves, worried about what would happen when they died, would they pass on, would they burn in hell? He hoped so. He could meet each of them there.
Then, he had realised that he had done no wrong. He had killed those that were dangerous, who needed to be removed before they killed innocents. He was protecting society, in his own way.
The man was watching his blood fall to the floor, lips parted, legs trembling. He gasped for air and swayed. He was trying to hold on. He smiled and brushed a finger over the lips of his killer. He mouthed his last message as he slid backwards, eyes still firmly shut.
The metal claws slid from his body as he crumpled.
He screamed, so much like those bastards had when he killed them, only more desperate, more lost. He fell to his knees, clutching the body to his chest, oblivious to the startled on lookers who had been woken by his nightmare and the gasp from their leader as he was impaled on the metal claws.
He rocked the two of them, watching the innocent blood drip from his metal claws.
The End