Fanfiction Archive

Victor was naked when they locked him up.

Clothing was something for humans, his father said. Not for animals.

Victor could feel the rough dirt and cold, sharp stones against his legs and buttocks; the splintering wood against his aching back, and the cold chains on his weary arms. The wood and the rocks and the chains all bit into him when he moved.

For a while he stayed still. But the longer he was alone there in the dark and damp, the more the pain became a friend. It was something where there was nothing.

Victor began to struggle.

The first time Victor tasted hot blood in his mouth, it was his own. It flowed freely over his tongue from all the places that his father had torn out his teeth. It tasted of copper, and salt, and it drooled out over his lips even as he swallowed mouthfulls of it down. The hot blood seemed to writhe like a snake in his belly.It sat there like a heavy poison mingling with the bile of hatred that grew there day after day.

The second time Victor tasted blood in his mouth it was the blood of his father.

First time I laid eyes on ‘Leni Zauber’ I didn’t have time to think about how familiar she smelled. No time either to get carried away by the deju vu of her all sprawled out sexy; with her glass of wine and her cigarette.

When the fightin was done and we were alone together I didn’t ask questions. Just wanted to enjoy that stolen slice of time; the two of us. Probably wouldn’t have remembered anyway. Not with the conditioning.Wish I coulda though.

Would have made looking at the body easier, knowing it wasn’t her– sure we’d meet again.

Victor remembers the moment he and Logan started hating each other. He remembers exactly how it happened in bold detail. The problem is that he remembers it in bold detail in three or four different, mutually exclusive ways.

What Victor is sure of is that once upon a time they were friends.

They were friends right up until Victor pushed a little too far in some direction and suddenly Logan  didn’t like him any more. Knowing Logan it probably was about a woman. Or honor. Or both.

Whatever it was, Logan decided it was more important that his pal Vic.

When me and Mystique finally met up again after the Dark Times we’d both of us been dead for a while. Being dead changes you. Things are always different when you claw your way back to life. Maybe it fucks you up. Maybe it straightens you out. Maybe it makes you less afraid.

Even though we were both dragging our bodies around the mortal plane again, I don’t think either of us were really alive again until that moment. Until we were together again. I tell you truly sparks flew. Queen Bitch and King Bastard, back and better than ever.

Victor loves to drive. Loves to drive fast with all the windows rolled down and the wind running through his hair. He learned to drive back in the roaring 20s, and to this day still thinks that humanity’s greatest invention might be the car stereo.

Seventy miles an hour on the open road; speakers blasting out the classics– sometimes he can’t remember his own name but he belts out the lyrics of each one– the music and the feeling of freedom overtakes him. Sometimes it’s just good. Sometimes it’s enough to make him feel like he can outrun the devil.

Some days his brain felt rotten, sluggish, and full of poison.There was something he wanted to do, no– something he had to do. But he couldn’t find it. Couldn’t wade through all the bile and the hate. Couldn’t grab onto it long enough to know what it was, or hold himself together long enough to do it if he could. At times like this there was only one thing that Sabretooth could do. What he was best at. Violence and killing and lashing out. Taking all of that boiling rage and turmoil inside, and making it somebody else’s problem.

Says something about a night when your favorite part of rememberin’ it is when ya tore open your own chest. Hurtin’ people’s easy. Hurting yourself probably easiest of all. I’m the type who does what I gotta do. Smash up an office building. Tear open my own chest so some doc can pull the bomb outta it. Easy as pie. Might even call it fun.

Meeting the little shit who’s supposed to be me son? Harder. I never wanted to be a father.No sir.

Watching the same little shit kill Birdy? That was no fun at all. Zero stars.

Thing about Daken is he’s got major daddy issues. I mean, when you get down to it, I can fucking relate.

And given the relationship his pappy and I got–whatever the hell you’d call it– I guess I feel some kinda way for the kid. Took him under my wing for a little while. Messy business. Ended about the way I figured.

But you know, I really thought he had a shot or I wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble.

Least after that kid had his answer.

Dads. Fuck em.

Owe that boy a drink one of these days.

It took a lot of work for Sabretooth to get drunk. A lot of work. Most of the time there was no reason to bother. Took a special occasion to do more than performatively hold a beer.

But now Sabretooth was half sprawled over a table with four empty bottles of Jack Daniels askew on it.

Mystique had been Leni.

Amichai too.

And more.

Sabretooth grasped for a less than empty bottle with his clawed hand and took another swig without looking up.

Drunkenly he slurred out, “Mystique was every friend I ever fucking had.”

And it was mostly true.