Fanfiction and Such

You freeze - No. No, no, no. This is not what you planned. Rogue was supposed to be gone - that’s the entire reason you snuck out tonight. What the hell is she doing here? You desperately try to find a way out of this, knowing that Rogue will freak out if she found out about your date. Maybe you can distract her? “Oh, hey, Rogue... aren’t you supposed to be on a mission tonight? Did something happen?”

Rogue lands on the grass in front of you, “a little birdy told me you were plannin’ somethin’ stupid. So how about you answer the question, sugar. Where are you goin’?”

You swallow nervously, “I’m not going anywhere?” You wince at the obvious lie. Come one, y/n, you’re out on the lawn in the middle of the night, of course you’re going somewhere.

“You must think I’m dumber than a bag of rocks to believe that lie, sugar,” Rogue levels you with an unimpressed look, “you’re goin’ on a date, aren’t you?”

“No,” you reply stubbornly, “I’m just going on a walk.”

“You sure dat’s de story you want to go with, chére?” Remy melts out of the shadows holding your phone. Fuck. So that’s how Rogue found out. He starts reading out a text conversation, “it’s so stupid, Rogue won’t let me go on a date.”

You try and fail to snatch your phone back as Remy keeps reading, “what if you just went anyways? Rogue doesn’t have to know,” he glances up at you, “who’s de boy, chére? One of de townies? He’s just gonna hurt you.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes he does, sugar,” Rogue looks at you in pity, “boys only want one thing and you’re not ready for that.”

You feel your anger growing as you snap back, “it’s not fair! You never let me do anything. Why do all of the others get to go on dates, but I can’t? It’s like you think I’m helpless. Well guess what? I’m not a baby and you’re not my parents!” You spit the last part out with more venom than even you had expected. Your eyes go wide as you realize how much you just fucked up.

The silence stretches for too long, the tension buzzing in the air like a live wire. After what seems like an eternity, Remy looks at Rogue and says slowly, “she didn’t mean dat,” he turns towards you and repeats, “you didn’t mean dat, right, chére? Dat boy’s just plantin’ ideas in your head.”

You nod frantically and stammer out, “y-yeah, I uh…that guy, he uh…confused me…”

Rogue softens, “why were you even talkin’ to him, sugar?”

You sigh, “I…I don’t know. I just…I wanted to be normal for once. I’m sorry, this was all so stupid.”

Rogue pulls you into a tight hug, “oh, sugar, I know how hard it is to be different, but you’re not alone. You have us. If you ever feel down, you can talk to us,” she pulls back to look at you, “promise you won’t go listenin’ to anyone else again, okay?”

You take a sharp turn into a random alley, holding your arms out wide in invitation, "Dex! I know you're there, you bastard! Drop the stalker routine and just talk to me like a normal person!"

Dex melts out of the shadows, not even bothering to look ashamed, "hello."

"Don't just say 'hello' like this is a coffee date, Dex. What do you want?"

Instead of answering your question, Dex slowly drags his eyes over you like a predator sizing up its next meal, "you know I was following you for over an hour before you noticed."

You adjust your grip on your bag, trying to stop the slight tremble of your hands. With false bravado you bite back, "so you're a creep, so what?"

Dex moves closer, "you're not safe, y/n. You shouldn't be out alone."

"We're not dating, Dex. We're not even friends," you slowly step back, trying to put some distance between the two of you without being obvious about it, "you don't get to tell me what I should or shouldn't do."

"Obviously I do if you can't even notice me following you," Dex follows you, drawing closer even as try to get away.

You once again still your hands, "look, Dex. I don't know how else to say this. We are not together. We never were together. We will never be together. So please just leave me alone."

"No!" There's a sort of feral desperation in Dex's voice as he bites out the word. You take a step back only to hit a brick wall - it’s a dead-end. Your heart stops as you realize what’s happening.

You didn't chose this alley at random.

Dex wanted you to stop here. He let himself be noticed just to lure you in. To trap you.

Your breath quickens as Dex roughly pins you to the wall, applying more and more pressure on your throat, "why are you being so stubborn? We belong together. Don't you see that? Don't you know how perfect we are?"

"D-Dex, pl-please," you gasp weakly. The pressure doesn't stop. The last thing you hear before you lose consciousness is Dex's desperate voice:

After years of suffering violence at the hands of people who very much did not believe they were helping you, you’d always thought that was a stupid thing to say. How bad can someone be if they have good intentions?

As it turns out: bad.

Very bad.

It started out as a normal day. Well, normal for the Morlocks at least. You don’t exactly have a lot of experience with normal things, but if you had to guess, you’d say that most normal people would be freaked out by the sudden ungodly commotion coming from the main gathering area. Personally, you’re more annoyed than anything. It’s probably just one of the usual suspects starting some stupid fight for the third time this week. You glance at your father, raising an eyebrow, “do you want to go see what’s happening this time or should I?”

“Caliban will go. He doesn’t want y/n to get injured again.”

You sigh dramatically, “Jesus. You accidentally get socked in the eye during one fight and suddenly you’re banned from investigating things? Not cool.”

All Caliban does is stare at your still very visible bruise. You hold your hands up in surrender, “ okay, okay. I’ll stay here.”

You decide to sketch while you wait for Caliban to return. You’re halfway through a rather good rendition of the view from one of the sewer entrances when someone appears in your room. And you do mean appears - there’s a perfectly usable entrance, but they decided to teleport in instead. It’s a bit rude, if you’re being honest.

You slowly sit up, surveying the newcomer. You don’t think he’s a threat, but he’s also holding a pair of swords so…who knows? Unfortunately, even if he is a threat, your mutant is useless for self-defense. Half-hearted diplomacy it is, “uh…hi? Random guy? Could you maybe like…lower your weapons?”

The newcomer looks at you in surprise, a worried frown flashing across his face before being replaced by a welcoming smile. He quickly sheaths his swords, “my apologies, mein liebling. I did not intend to frighten you.”

“Oh, uh…it’s okay, I guess? Why are you in my room though?” You pause, finally noticing his uniform, “wait, are you an X-Men?”

“Yes, I am. Kurt Wagner, at your service,” the newcomer - you guess you should call him Kurt now - gives an exaggerated bow.

You laugh, “I’m y/n.”

Kurt crouches down to be at your level. It is probably well-intentioned, but it does come across as a bit patronizing. Particularly when combined with his overly soft tone as he asks, “what happened to your eye, liebling? Did a human harm you?”

You shake your head, “oh, no. I haven’t been up to the surface in ages. This,” you gesture to the bruise, “is my fault. I got in the way, you know?”

Kurt stares at you for a long moment, “got in the way of whom? Another Morlock?”

You nod, thinking about the fight you accidentally walked too close to. Feral felt absolutely awful about it, but you don’t blame her, “yeah. It’s okay, though. It happens pretty often down here.”

Concern grows on Kurt’s face, “how long have you lived with the Morlocks?”

“I don’t know,” you pause, thinking, “a few years, at least. Maybe longer?”

“And how did you come to live here?”

“Oh! Dad brought me here. I was a bit scared at first, but he explained everything,” you smile at the memory. Caliban had actually left the sewers to greet you - apparently he was curious about the mutant that kept hovering outside the sewer entrance for weeks on end. You’ve always been thankful for that. If he hadn’t explained that all mutants were welcome with the Morlocks, you probably never would’ve had the courage to go down.

You’re too busy reminiscing to notice the sudden urgency in Kurt’s voice, “y/n, who is your father?”

You smile again, “Caliban.”

Kurt pauses for slightly too long, his eyes darting between you and the entrance to your room over and over again. When he finally speaks, his voice holds a forced calm usually reserved for traumatized children or frightened animals, “y/n, would you like to accompany me back to Xavier’s? There must be things you miss from the surface, no? I could get you whatever you want.”

You blink. Why would he offer that? You love your home, you don’t want to leave, “oh, uh…I’m okay. I think my dad would be upset if I just left.”

“You don’t have to be frightened, y/n. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Hurt you? What the hell? “I’m not scared. What are you even talking about? No one here would hurt me.”

Kurt sighs, grabbing your shoulders to gently force you to look at him, “please, mein liebling. I know it may be hard to understand, but your father is hurting you. I do not know what he told you when he brought you here, but he’s lying to you. He’s not your father.”

“Yes he is!” You try to tug away but his grip stays firm.

“He isn’t. I’m sorry, but Caliban has done this before.”

“Done what?!”

“Kidnapped them, lied to them, forced them to be his family. Mein Gott - I thought Kitty was bad enough, but to take a child? That is unforgivable,” Kurt pulls you into a hug, ignoring your continued attempts to get away, “you’re safe now. I’m going to take much better care of you, liebling. I swear.”

“Will you just listen to me?! I don’t-“ your protests are cut off by Kurt teleporting the two of you away. The process is incredibly disorienting. When your head finally stops spinning, you realize you’re very far from home.

Alone.

With a self-righteous hero who is convinced that he’s saving you.

“This couch sucks,” you complain as you wait for Fisk to return from the kitchen - which is technically in the same room because of course Fisk has an open concept penthouse, “the back is way too low to be comfortable.”

“You’re welcome to sit in one of the chairs.”

You glance at the two armchairs in the living room. They both look horribly uncomfortable, so you just give up and lie down on the couch. Logically, you know you should just keep your mouth shut and avoid pissing off a literal crime lord, but that would give you time to think and you are absolutely certain that you will lose it when you process this situation. Being bitchy is better than a full on panic attack, right? “Did, like, a brutalist magazine editor decorate this place or something? You don’t even have throw blankets.”

Fisk doesn’t seem phased by your attitude. He just gives you a slight smile as he carries two mugs into the living room, “I don’t spend much time at home so I didn’t focus on comfort when decorating.”

You hum, sitting up to accept one of the mugs. Your eyes track Fisk’s movements, pausing as you notice a painting on the wall, “your art is cool at least.”

“I have my wife to thank for that, she’s a gallery curator.”

Right. Fisk had a wife. You knew that. What was her name again? Veronica - no, Vanessa, “is your wife here?”

“She’s in the city at the moment, but she’ll return soon,” Fisk smiles fondly at the mention of Vanessa.

“Does she know?”

“About you? Yes. I informed her shortly after we received the results of the paternity test.”

You nod, pulling your legs up to your chest and balancing the mug on your knees, “is she upset?” You don’t know why you’re asking. It’s not like you care what Fisk or his wife think of you. Who cares if he’s your dad, Fisk is still evil.

“No, my dear. She’s actually quite excited to meet you.”

“Really?” Not that you care. Nope. Not at all.

Fisk just nods.

Your phone buzzes in your bag. Even on silent, the sound is grating in the quiet of the penthouse. You try to ignore it, but it doesn’t stop, “sorry, I’m just gonna see who that is.”

7 Missed Calls and 34 Missed Messages from Foggy

Oh. You should probably deal with that. You quickly scroll to the most recent message.

Foggy: why does your location say you’re in Fisk’s penthouse? You: because I’m in Fisk’s penthouse Foggy: what? Foggy: why? Foggy: are you being held prisoner? do I need to call Brett? Foggy: I could totally call Brett, he owes me You: okay well, a) I’m pretty sure Brett does not owe you just because you smuggle his mom cigars and b) this is way outside his jurisdiction You: I promise I’m fine. Fisk is just concerned about my safety so he’s having me stay at his penthouse while he checks out my apartment Foggy: Fisk? Foggy: concerned about anyone but himself? Foggy: he’s up to something Foggy: be careful You: I will You: I promise

You put your phone away, turning it on do not disturb since silent clearly wasn’t enough. When you look back up, Fisk is staring at you, “was that Mr. Nelson or Ms. Page?”

Fuck.

How does he know about them? Is he angry? Does he want revenge? Oh god, he’s totally going to kill you. Quick, play dumb.

You make a strangled noise, “wh-what? Mr. Nelson? Ms. Page? Who are they?”

Maybe not that dumb.

Fisk frowns, his tone turning sharp, “I don’t appreciate lies, y/n. Your connections to them are quite easy to find.”

You flinch. This is the first time Fisk has been even remotely close to angry at you and it’s utterly terrifying, “I-I’m sorry. It’s just…awkward? I mean, they sent you to prison.”

"You were not involved in that, my dear."

"Yeah, but I work with Foggy. Hell, Matt's my roommate," you're too distracted to notice how Fisk stiffens at the mention of your living situation.

"I'm not upset with your profession or who you live with, y/n."

You tilt your head, looking at Fisk suspiciously, "why are you being so chill? It's creepy."

"You are my blood. I am, as you say, 'chill,' because I care about you."

"But you just met me like, three hours ago?"

"It doesn't matter."

You look up from your book to find Clark standing over you. His question is innocent yet practiced, an opening built on a lie - he knows exactly who you are.

“Fraternal, I’m assuming. May I sit?” He gestures to the spot next to you.

You shrug, “can’t stop you.”

The two of you sit in an uncomfortable silence, each one evaluating the other. You speak first, “I’m sorry.”

A brief flash of confusion breaks through Clark’s carefully constructed facade, “for what?”

“For what happened to you - the burns, I mean. When we rescued David, I didn’t…I didn’t want them to do it like that. I told them I could get him without anyone getting hurt, but they wouldn’t even let me come,” you sigh, looking away, “it doesn’t change anything, I know, but I tried to stop it.”

Clark pauses for a long moment and you feel a strange mixture of pity and suspicion from him, “that seems to happen to you a lot, y/n.”

“What?”

“You don’t seem to be in control of your life.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused, “what do you mean?”

“You seem to let other people lead. Your brother, for example - he makes all of the decisions for the two of you. You go where he wants, you do what he says.”

“I…that’s not…why do you even care?”

Clark leans in closer, “have you considered that David may be lying to you?”

That’s a sudden change in subject. What the hell is Clark getting at? “Um…no?”

“Really? You believe his story?” More pity, “the two of you were gone for a year but neither of you remember it?”

“…yes? How else would you explain my lack of memories?”

“David could’ve erased them.”

“I…he…he wouldn’t…”

Before you can finish your reply, David sits down next to you. He pulls you into his side and glares at Clark, “I told everyone to let y/n rest.”

Clark raises an eyebrow, “you seem awfully defensive of them, David. Are you concerned for their safety or concerned that they’ll realize you’re lying to them.”

“I’m not lying to them.”

“Then why do you hide them away?”

David pulls you even closer, “y/n doesn’t do well around others, their power overwhelms them.”

“They seem fine now.”

Your eyes dart between David and Clark as they talk. The longer you think about what Clark said, the more you notice…something hovering at the edge of your mind. Something important. A memory? Yes, that’s it. A memory of David, he’s-

David suddenly pulls you up, interrupting your thoughts, “we’ll speak later, Clark. I need to get y/n to their room now. I don’t want them to have another episode.”

David moves quickly, practically dragging you through Division Three. Once you’re alone, he carefully grips your shoulders, “are you alright, y/n? Did Clark hurt you?”

“N-No. We were just…we were just talking. David, Clark…he was talking about my memories. Do you …do you think you maybe did something to them?”

You feel a rare spike of anger from David, “do you really think I would hurt you like that?”

“No! It’s just…I swear I remember something, David. Something you did,” it’s clearer now, you remember fighting with David. You remember yelling and then…and then…

Anger shifts to panic and David grips you tighter, “no! Stop! That’s not-you’re not supposed to remember that. I can’t-you-you need to forget.”

“For-

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?̷̨͇͇͙̤͆̌́͑̐”̷̛̙͛̌̄̀̈́͋̐͐̓̕̚͝

“Y/N?”

“Y/N?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

David’s voice breaks through the fog in your head and you try to orient yourself. God, your head hurts. What happened? You were upset about…something, right? You look up at David and ask slowly, “I’m sorry…”

You’re exhausted. The bed had felt far too exposed last night, so you dragged all of the blankets into the small closet instead. Unfortunately, the hard closet floor wasn’t exactly conducive to restful sleep. If anything, you feel worse than you did before sleeping - your mind dull and clouded with fear. Maybe that’s why you don’t notice Frank enter the room.

Frank moves slowly, setting two things down in front of you: a plate of food and a syringe. After a moment he speaks, “something wrong with the bed, doll?”

You answer his question with one of your own, “what’s up with the needle? You gonna drug me?”

“I don’t want to. It would be better for both of us if you just ate.”

You retreat further into the closet, “not hungry.”

Frank follows as you try to hide, keeping the distance between the two of you constant, “it’s been two days since you’ve eaten anything. You need to eat.”

“No.”

“No isn’t an option,” Frank sighs, “listen, darlin’, I’m givin’ you two choices. Either you start to eat willingly, or I’ll force you. There’s no way I’m lettin’ you starve yourself to death.”

God, even when Frank is threatening you, he’s so goddamn calm. Ever since you woke up here, he’s been talking to you like you’re the one who’s being unreasonable. It’s infuriating. No matter how much you scream and cry and fight against him, he just keeps talking to you like you’re a child.

“I’m not leavin’ without an answer, doll.”

Oh, that’s it. You’re tired and scared and you just Frank to do something - anything - other than his whole calm and controlled act. You reach for the one thing you haven’t tried yet, “I’m not gonna answer you, psycho.”

Frank stills, “what did you just call me?”

“I called you a fucking psychopath, Frank! You’re insane and I’m not going to play fucking house with you!”

That gets a reaction. Frank closes the distance between you in a moment, grabbing your face and forcing you to look at him, “don’t you fucking say that! Not you!”

You jerk back, instinctively trying to shield yourself, “I-I’m sorry! I’ll eat!”

“Shit,” Frank lets go almost instantly, stepping away from you like he was burned , “I shouldn’t have done that, darlin’. I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

You sniffle, holding back tears, “wh-why are you doing this to me? Why…why can’t you just let me go?”

Frank sighs, “I’m sorry that I keep you in here. I know this doesn’t make any sense to you , but I promise this was necessary. You’re too pure and innocent. I’m scared this world will break you, like it…like it broke everyone else I cared about. I’m only protecting you…”

Grace knows the answer to that question, of course. Humans are incredibly social creatures, and apparently Rocky is not a suitable substitute for a living breathing human. He can practically feel the loneliness eating away at him, and the feeling is only made worse by the knowledge that he'll never see another human again.

At least he thought he wouldn't.

Grace's thoughts of loneliness are interrupted by Rocky's voice. He looks up to see his friend excitedly approaching him, "Rocky have gift for Grace!"

"What gift, buddy?" Grace doesn't see anything in Rocky's hands, so whatever he's giving him must not be here yet.

"Rocky have new human for Grace. Statement. Small human, pebble."

Grace makes a strangled sound, "wh-what?"

"Grace stupid? Question? Rocky bring new human today. New human live with Grace, make Grace better. Statement."

Grace frantically tries to process Rocky's words. Did Rocky kidnap someone? Wait...Rocky said 'pebble' - oh no! Did Rocky kidnap a child?! How? Where would he even find a human child in space? Grace stares at his friend in abject horror, "Rocky, you can't just give me a human! Where did you even find them? Did you kidnap them?"

"No. Statement. Eridians found other human in small ship, very sick. Bad, bad, bad. Bring them here to help. Eridians make new human better, make Grace better."

"Rocky, buddy..." Grace sighs, too frazzled to explain why Rocky can't just give Grace a living person, "nevermind. Does this new human have a name?"

"Yes! New human is y/n!"

༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･

As Grace watches two Eridians carry you into the biodome, he realizes three things:

You're terrified - despite the superior strength of the Eridians, you're putting up a very good fight, kicking and screaming in a desperate attempt to free yourself.

You're very weak -you try to run when the Eridians finally let you go, but you barely make it a few feet before you collapse onto the sand.

You're not actually a child - Even taking into the account the ways in which your obvious state of prolonged starvation influenced your development, you still look to be late teens or early twenties at the youngest.

Grace looks down at the small stuffed animal he's holding - a gift from one of his student back on Earth that he brought to comfort you - and realizes that it's probably not going to do much.

Grace watches as you drag yourself into a sitting position, noticeably calming when you take in your surroundings. That's a good sign, right?

Grace approaches you very slowly, crouch down to be at your height, "hi, y/n. It’s so nice to meet you, my name is Grace."

You look up at him with confused eyes, mumbling, "why are you here? Why would I imagine someone that I've never met?"

Oh. That's not good.

Maybe he just misunderstood, "what do you mean, sweetheart? Why do you think you imagined me?"

You laugh, "because this is a hallucination, obviously."

Fudge. He didn't misunderstand. Grace repeats slowly, "this is a...hallucination?"

"Mhmm," you hum, "I don't mind though. This is a lot better than that room those demons had me in...or I guess have me in?" You pause before laughing again, flopping down backwards onto the sand and staring up at the sky, "or maybe I finally died and this is heaven. That would be amazing."

Demons? Heaven? Grace is way out of his depth here. Rocky clearly left out some critical information about the "new human." Grace stands, "I'll be right back, okay sweetheart? I have to talk to my friend real quick," Grace spots the stuffed animal in his hands and shoves it in your direction, hoping to distract you long enough to interrogate Rocky, "here, take this."

Once he's sure he's out of earshot, Grace hisses at Rocky, "what the hell happened to them? Why do they think they were held by demons? Why do they think they're dead?!"

"Rocky said that new human is sick. Statement."

"Rocky, this isn't just sick. This is...I don't even know what this is! I need you to tell me everything that happened before they were brought to the biodome."

"Eridians find small ship floating outside system. Statement. New human was inside ship. New human very sick, much sicker than Grace was."

Grace interrupts, "what do you mean by sick?"

“New human very scared of Eridians. Statement. Scream at them and call them word you mentioned, ‘demons.’ New human try to hurt self, Eridians have to take weapons away and put in safe room. Eridians can’t fix new human, so they bring them here to Grace. Grace fix new human.”

Grace closes his eyes with a long-suffering sigh, “Rocky, I can’t fix them. I’m not a doctor, I have no idea what to do.”

“Grace only human here. Grace need to fix.”

Grace leaves Rocky with a frustrated huff, returning to your side. He sits back down on the sand, smiling when he notices you playing with the stuffed animal. Maybe you’re younger than he originally thought. Grace softens his voice again, “sweetheart? Can you sit up for me? I need to talk to you.”

You sit up slowly, mumbling to yourself, “you’re really persistent, weird hallucination guy. Or weird angel? I still haven’t figured out the whole ‘am I dead’ thing….”

“Look, I know you probably don’t believe me, but I’m not a hallucination or an angel. I’m a normal human and you’re alive and well here with me.”

You shake your head, “that can’t be true. Why would those demons take me from my ship and bring me somewhere like this? That’s not how demons work.”

Wow, okay. You’re really confident in this demons thing. Are you super religious or something? “Those…those weren’t demons, sweetheart. They’re aliens called Eridians, and they’re actually very nice. They didn’t mean to scare you, they just wanted to bring you somewhere safe.”

“No, they were demons. They didn’t let me pray, which is what demons do,” before Grace can ask you what the heck you mean by that, you continue on, “unless the demon thing was also a hallucination? I guess I could still be on my ship. Or! Or - the demon thing was a hallucination and then I killed myself and now this isn’t a hallucination. It’s heaven.” You nod as if you’re confident that you’ve figured everything out.

Kill yourself? Why are you talking about that?! You’re so young! Grace can’t stop himself from reaching out to grab your hands, “sweetheart, do you…do you want to die?”

You tilt your head, “well, no ‘cause I’m already in heaven.”

“Right, but uh…if you weren’t in heaven, would you want to die? Did you want to…to kill yourself while you were on your ship?”

You nod, “yeah, I did. I was just too scared to do it, you know? The elders say God gets mad at you when you kill yourself. I don’t want God to be mad at me, I want to get into heaven,” you stare into the distance for a moment, your eyes hazy, “I tried anyways, though. Right before the demons showed up. I guess I…I guess I actually did it.”

Not good, not good, not good. What the heck is Grace supposed to do if the only thing keeping you from being suicidal is the belief that you’ve already killed yourself? What if you find out the truth and try again? You would leave him, just like everyone else. He would be alone again.

While Grace is having his own internal panic attack, you’re growing increasingly upset, “b-but wait. If I did kill myself, why did God let me come here? I was bad, I should be punished.”

Grace’s head shoots up and his grip on your hands tightens, “woah, hey, sweetheart. Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true, God has to be mad!”

Grace hesitates. He knows it’s not healthy to play into your delusion that you’re already dead, but what else is he supposed to do? He’s not a doctor, and even if he was, it’s not like he has access to any sort of psychiatric medications. If he told you the truth, you’d get upset and he wouldn’t be able to fix it. You would leave him. He can’t let that happen. He quickly reassures you, “God isn’t mad at you, y/n. He…he told me that he understands why you did that and he isn’t going to punish you.”

“Really?”

God, you sound so hopeful, “of course. God wants you to be happy and safe, that’s why…” Grace pauses. Some small part of him that still wants to be good is screaming at him to stop - he should tell you this isn’t heaven. He should help you recover. Unfortunately, a much larger part of him is screaming that he can’t be alone again. If you think God sent him, then you’ll stay. You clearly need his help and, well...doesn’t he deserve to have someone, after everything he went through? Grace takes a deep breath and buries the tiny voice screaming ‘no’ deep inside himself, “that’s why God brought you here to me. So I can take care of you. So we can be together.”

You’re used to the Punisher’s anger. The Punisher's anger is sharp, clinical. A well-honed blade wielded with devastating accuracy. The Punisher’s anger has a purpose and an output and while you may not like it, you know how to handle it.

Unfortunately, this is not the Punisher’s anger.

This is Frank Castle’s anger, and you absolutely cannot handle that.

Frank Castle’s anger is raw. exposed. A live wire sending of sparks of pain that land indiscriminately around him. Frank Castle's anger has no clear target, and it’s only a matter of time before everything goes up in flames.

Frank stares at you for a long moment, his eyes constantly flickering between your face and your bandaged wound. You can feel the tightness of the precise stitches holding you together, thin threads keeping you from bleeding out.

Frank’s voice is unsteady when he finally speaks, “you could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t?” You offer weakly, trying and failing to sit up. You don’t know how to react to Frank’s anger, so, foolishly, you default to deflection. You ignore the overwhelming fear you felt just hours before, attempting to play off your injuries, “besides, it’s just a stab wound. It’s not like I haven’t been stabbed before.”

You wince as soon as you're done speaking, instantly regretting your words. You can practically see the moment when Frank's anger finds a target: you. Frank stands so quickly that the chair he was sitting on falls backwards, filling the silence of the small room with a harsh clang, “Goddamnit, y/n! Take this seriously! You could’ve died and it would’ve been my fault!”

You freeze - is Frank seriously trying to blame himself for what happened to you? That’s a whole new level of misplaced responsibility, and frankly, it pisses you off. You scoff, “your fault? How could Matt’s girlfriend stabbing me possibly be your fault?”

“I let you leave,” Frank paces in front of you. He looks about ten seconds away from punching something, “I wasn’t there to protect you. It’s my fault.”

“You let me leave?” God, you’re starting to remember why you took Frank’s deal. You might’ve gotten stabbed at Matt’s place, but at least he treated you like an adult, “I’m my own goddamn person, Frank. I don’t need your permission and I don’t need your protection. Why can’t you just leave me alone?!”

You notice the shift right away. Frank stops pacing and just stares at you. His voice is mechanical when he speaks, “is that what you really want? For me to leave you alone? After I just saved your life?”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You did not think that through, “I, uh…wait, Frank, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Too late, doll. Let’s see how well you do on your own,” Frank walks out of the room. The door closes behind him with the same finality as the entrance to a tomb.

You hit the wire at full speed, your momentum sending you flying into a small clearing. You lay there, exhausted and cold, and you’re hit with a tangled mess of conflicting instincts. You can almost hear them screaming in your mind: Safe. Stay. Predator. Run. Safe. Help. Hurt. Stay. Run.

You look around wildly, trying to figure out what is causing your instincts to go haywire. You’ve only ever felt this way around one person, but surely he wouldn’t be…

Oh.

Fuck.

Your father Sabertooth is here.

Your mind spins with questions. Why is he here? Why the hell would he care about you anymore? You’re not a threat to him. You escaped. You’re not with Weapon X anymore. He has no reason to hunt you down, and yet he did. Why?

Why won’t he leave you alone?

You’re too tired to run and too weak to fight - hell, you barely manage to drag yourself up from where you fell. You try to project some sort of threatening facade, even if it’s laughably hollow, letting out a low growl, “I know you’re there, asshole.”

Your father drops from a tree with inhuman grace - the bastard was always more cat than man. He gives you a cocky smirk and tosses something in your general direction, “it’s good to see you too, brat. Gotcha a little reunion gift.”

You catch whatever he threw at you automatically, staring down at it in confusion. It looks like an…MRE? Of all things? You’re pretty sure you’re in Canada right now so shouldn’t it be an IMP? You look back up at him and raise an eyebrow, sending a silent question his way: what the hell is this for?

He doesn’t answer. He just jerks his head in the direction of the package, “go on, eat.”

You scoff, “there is no way in hell I am eating anything that you give me,” you put the MRE down like it’s full of explosives. Knowing your father, it just might be.

He watches you like you’re prey, his eyes sharp and focused, “I can go kill something fresh if you’re worried about poison.”

You shake your head, “still not going to eat.” You clear your throat after a moment, “uh…thanks, though. I’m just gonna…” you gesture vaguely towards the woods and slowly turn around. You start walking, trying to ignore the primal fear you feel when you can no longer see him. Maybe if you just disengage calmly, he’ll let you go. It works on, like…bears or whatever, right? Maybe?

Yeah.

No.

You barely make it three steps before you hear a low growl behind you and feel your father grabbing your shoulders. He drags you back into the clearing, staring down at you intensely. If he wasn’t fucking Sabertooth, you’d say he looks almost concerned. He shakes you slightly, “look at you, you’re clearly starving. When was the last time you ate?”

You blink, genuinely unsure of the answer to that question, “I don’t know, a while. It doesn’t even matter, though, cause I’m not gonna eat.”

His grip tightens, “listen, I’m giving you two choices. Either you start eating willingly or I’ll force you. I’m not going to let you starve.”

You most definitely do not make an undignified squeak at his threat, holding up your hands in defeat, “fucking fine, asshole. Give me the food.”

He sets you down and hands you the MRE. Only after you’ve finished eating does he speak again, “you know, that’s not a very nice name to call your father, brat.”

“Well, maybe I would use a different name if you weren’t hunting me,” you glance towards the edge of the clearing again. Walking didn’t work, but now that you’ve eaten, you might be able to run.

Your father notices and shifts to block your path, “why would I do that? I need to bring you home.”

Home? What the hell is he talking about? You don’t have a home. The closest thing would be the facility, but there is no way you’re going back to Weapon X, “you’re not bringing me anywhere, creep. Just leave me alone.”

“Sorry, brat, can’t do that,” your father’s smile grows wider as he bares his fangs.

Fuck it. You’re just going to run. Some part of you knows that this won’t work, but you still have to try. You pick a direction and just go, fueled by sheer panic and the approximately 1500 calories the MRE gave you.

Your father is on you in seconds, moving with a blinding speed that speaks to both his size and his access to regular meals. He tackles you to the ground and sinks his teeth into your neck. You feel his toxins flooding your system, compounding on your already weakened state and making it impossible to resist him. You stare up at him desperately, trying to understand why this is happening to you. You stammer out, “p-please, d-don’t take me back there.”

In the moments before the toxin renders you unconscious, you swear some twisted form of affection appears in your father’s eyes. He speaks almost gently as he lifts you into his arms, “you’re mine. You don’t understand what’s going on right now, but when you wake up, try to remember that. Try to remember that I’m never going to leave you. Which means I’m never going to bring you back to them…”