Superfail! (aliaspiral) wrote,

Xmen Fic: Deep in Your Shadows

Title: Deep In Your Shadows
Author: alianora (aliaspiral)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: So not mine. Which is good, because there is no telling what I would do to these poor people should they belong to me.
Summary: Um. This started out as a simple X2 idea. And then it took a hit of acid, and became second person. Then it started the crack, and now there is death and pain and general weirdness.
Written for: tigarlady (shetiger) in the xmmficathon
Pairing/scenario requested: Logan/Marie. Not-naive Marie.
Warnings (if any): Twisted, bizarre, generally weird.

It’s hard, sometimes, to be a kid.

It’s harder to look like a kid, but not be one.

And that’s what no one else understands.

You have only been here, on this earth, for eighteen years. But you are not alone in your own head, and they have been here forever, almost.

The animal part of Logan that leaves you growling and stalking your friends through the woods when they go out without you sometimes gives you flashes of impossibilities. Japan. America. Shadowed faces and screaming. War and drowning and stabbing and pain.

But his vague, unformed memories mainly surface in your combined nightmares. Where you lurch awake and find yourself on the floor or in the bathroom or standing over one of your sleeping roommates with an ache in your hands from trying to call forth something that isn’t there.

Those, those are just dreams. And you can never remember how you came to be there, except for some vague memories of molten metal and being cut open.

But the other one. The other one remembers while you are awake. And sometimes, when your mind wanders in class, or while you are training with the others, you will look down to find pins and needles and bullet shells collecting around your feet.

He is the one who frightens the others in the house, when his smile crosses your face.

He is the one who questions the Professor, who raises skeptical eyebrows at plans of peace.

He is the one who leaves you standing in the hallways, laughing scornfully at Bobby’s attempts at romance, who calls the teachers by their first names, and who, once, in a terrifying situation, almost called Scott Summer’s glasses from his face.

And, as much as he frightens you, and them, he keeps surfacing.

Logan only stirs in you when you are in danger, or when you are on one side of the mansion, and meat is being cooked on the other side. He comes out in little things that don’t matter. Nicotine cravings, and sex dreams of redheads with long long legs, and the love of speeding on Scott’s motorcycle.

But now, several years after you were chained up on the Statue of Liberty, the other, the one who held your head while you screamed as he forced himself into you, he is spilling out of your head onto everyone around you, poisoning your relationships and your actions.

Xavier (Charles, He whispers), has taken to avoiding your eyes at meals.

Of course, this isn’t new. The Professor has taken to avoiding many of the eyes that watch him and the empty chair beside him. Mr. Summers, Logan (when he is there), Ms Monroe, sometimes.

You wonder if losing Jean, who had been teaching you ways to block out thoughts, was why He has surfaced again.

He laughs inside your head, and wonders when you got so naïve.

You know, secretly, that you have let him out.

You know that watching Logan and Mr. Summers circling each other, grief and rage and jealousy, fills you with familiar feelings of inadequacy/fear/anger. You can’t help them, you can’t soothe them, and you can’t stop their pain.

Logan will pass you in the hallway, and will tug your hair and say, “hey kid,” and keep walking. You, who know him better than anyone, as you are him, in a way, but he barely looks at you. He doesn’t see you. All he sees, in his mind in his own head, is Jean. Jean smiling at him, Jean kissing him, Jean rejecting him. Tall and smart and perfect and self sacrificing.

And you are short and prone to odd outbursts and you are entirely too selfish, as you cannot help but hate her for dying and leaving them here, alone in their grief, ripping themselves and each other apart.

And ripping the other out of the box he had been shoved in for over a year.

If he were Logan, she wouldn’t mind. She wouldn’t feel guilty. Because while Logan is gruff and loud and stubborn, he is mostly feeling and instinct.

The other is thought. Thought and plan and scheming and sarcastic laughter. Where Logan shouts and rages and yells and rips unimportant things to pieces, the other..whispers.

He whispers mocking things into your brain, so softly that you aren’t sure the thoughts aren’t your own, brainwashing you so very slowly and subtlety that sometimes you will sit awake and night, feverishly rereading your journal, trying to remember if you had always disliked Charles…Professor Xavier’s tendency to ask you, his forehead wrinkled in concern, if you were sure you should have removed your gloves before reaching into the freezer for the ice cream. As if someone was going to hide in the freezer, just so you can suck out their soul along with your chocolate chip cookie dough.

But, he hasn’t asked you anything like that since before. Since before Jean, with her perfect smile and her perfect love for Mr. Summers had thrown herself in front of a wall of water to save you and Logan and Mr. Summers and the Professor and a bunch of kids.

The other chuckles inside your head as a surge of envy rushes through you.

And you know that if you asked. If you stopped Ms. Monroe, or the Professor, or possibly even Logan, that they would listen to your grief and your anger and you selfishness, and they would understand, and they would help you stuff the other back into his box.

But you already know (and so does he, and he smirks back at you from the mirror), that you won’t ask. You will stay quiet, and wish for Logan to look at you again, or wish for him to get close enough that the faint stirrings of control over the metal in his body would become stronger.

Then you could be the strong one, and listen while he poured out his heart and grief and pain to you, as you stroked his hair. And maybe you would let your hand slip down his face, and let your ungloved hand linger there.

Until there was enough Logan in your head to drown out the other’s suggestions of how to show Charles that peace would never be enough. Until there was only a little of the foolish, selfish girl inside.

Until there was no more Logan, and no more Marie.

Until there was only Him.

Tags: xmen fic

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