Well, shit.
For the uptenth time his life was getting fucked up by fate or something. Just another fucked up joke, making his life terrible.
He had been able to steal some clothes, towels and food from a family that was camping - bless Canada! -, but the weekend ended and they went back home, so no more food to steal. And the camping season ended the same weekend, and in a few days the weather would turn colder and colder - fuck Canada! - .
He tried to hunt with the weapons he had, but they were now too powerful for him, too big. And he wasn’t strong enough to kill with the knife. He was starving.
He didn’t have many options.
He couldn’t call Raven, she’d sell him to the higher bidder, and he couldn’t go back home because any place he called home was way too far in the current situation. Magneto out of question: last time he was dead, or somewhere, and he didn’t want to be conscripted in another war.
He took courage in his hands, swallowing his now useless pride, and sent a message to Logan with his coordinates. The man was a fucker but at least he wouldn’t sell him. Probably.
Deep inside he felt, oh! So humiliated, but what could he do? Nothing. He could fight the situation as much as he wanted but there wasn’t another safe way out. He couldn’t risk being taken by the military or some freak.
He made a small refuge near a river, so at least he had fresh (freezing) water and he could catch some fish, and waited for the man.
After two more days of nothing but constant cold seeping in his bones, stomachache, and raw fish, he turned on the phone again and sent another message with slightly newer coordinates.
“C’mon, runt, come and get me.”
Logan wanted to ignore the first message. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the crazy fucker. The man was unstable and his encounters with him were normally full of violence and pain. But his birthday was near, so he started moving to the coordinates in the middle of nowhere, Canada. He didn’t want innocent victims caught in the crossfire of their annual rendez-vous.
Two days later he received another message, a teasing one, and he was enraged. There wasn’t the typical sense of danger and paranoia, it was almost like the man wasn’t stalking him. Was it a trap?
He didn’t reply to the message, but he approached the place. He advanced in a circle, checking if there were enemies, but he only found an old camping site with very faint traces of Creed’s scent. The bastard’s smell was all around, like he stuck to the place for a time before sending him the messages. It was weird and unusual. Logan worked himself up, fuelling his own paranoia and in the end he tracked the flea-ridden cat to a place near the river.
It was his birthday and he was done with the man ruining it.
Logan heard a small rustling from the same direction Sabretooth’s smell was stronger and he jumped on the man, screaming like a banshee.
“CREEEEEEDD!”
There was a small… screech? And there wasn’t enough body to jump to. Wolverine ended his jump with nothing on his claws, almost ending on his own face, and then, rolling on the dirt, he turned to his enemy claws first and…
“Fucking hell.”
In front of his eyes, reeking of terror, there was…
“Creed?”
“Logan.”
“Creed?!”
“I knew this was a mistake, just kill me and end up this fucking shit!”
The high pitched voice was…
Logan stared in front of him. He couldn’t… was there a telepath playing with his mind? Was it some sick joke?
He blinked a couple of times, but the scrawny, small, blond terrified kid with Creed’s smell was still there, curled up in a foetal position, head hidden between his arms.
“What the fuck… Where did you… where's your body, why are you a kid?!”
The kid moved his arm from his face a little bit, relaxing his posture and smelling a little less terrified and a tad more annoyed.
“You kill me or you help me?”
Again that squeaky, high pitched voice.
Logan felt the need to crouch down. “Kill you?”
“Well, better that than a prison, if you ask me.”
Victor stopped hiding and looked straight at Logan, who was faced by a small face with the biggest pair of amber eyes ever, and small, pointy fangs, and long, blond curls all over and pierced pointy ears emerging from hair. Logan was transfixed. His mouth moved without his brain consent.
“You’re… cute.”
And that caused what would have been a vicious attack, if the person in front of him wasn’t 120cm tiny and weighing as much as a wet towel. Logan caught him and kept him at arm's length. It was surreal. The kid that was Creed was hissing and trying to kill him but he was way too small, leaving only scratches that healed in less than a second.
Realising that it was useless, Victor tried to get free from Logan, squirming and biting and scratching and nothing worked, and he was stuck between Wolverine’s hands, his feet one metre from the ground
Logan kept him like that until he went still.
“I’m not cute. This whole new ordeal isn’t cute. And put me the fuck down! You have no right to keep me like this!”
“You tried to claw me!”
“You called me cute! Let me go!”
“I’ll let you go only if you keep calm and stop screech-screaming!”
Victor tried to calm down, but he was feeling helpless and enraged and in danger. And he wasn’t screeching.
Logan kept him in the air for another minute, truly looking at him: clothes too big, no shoes, a bluish tinge to his lips, claws so small that they couldn’t still be used as weapons, tiny and very cold hands, and all around he looked like a small, half frozen, terrified, adorable killer kitten. A kitten that smelled… sick?
Right on time to confirm the sickness, a string of tiny sneezes erupted from the miniature feral, shaking his whole body and they went right in Logan's face.
“Jesus…”
Slightly disgusted, he gently put him back on the ground and Creed scrambled away from him, panting.
“I’ll help you, but what the hell happened?”
Victor tried to talk, but his throat was closed, and his eyes were doing something weird, and he hated that small helpless body with strange reactions, and his breath was uneven, turning in hiccups and he couldn’t see or breath and there was water on his face.
Logan was terrified. Creed was crying and he didn’t know what to do: the man didn’t take kindly any form of positive interaction, not knowing what to do with it, replying to kindness with violence and hate.
He sat down on the ground and stretched out a hand towards him, trying his best not to upset the man even more, and when he wasn’t clawed he brought him to his chest, hugging him and comforting him, his hand a steady weight on the nape. It was the weirdest feeling ever to keep his archenemy in his arms, with the guy bawling his eyes out, and even weirder was to treat him like one of the kids they had at the School. It took a few minutes to calm Victor down and, to be on the safe side of things, he stopped hugging him, but he let him stay where he was without doing anything, just listening to his difficult breathing. The kid didn’t move from the bigger body, his hands still curled around Logan’s shirt.
“What the fuck was that shit?”
“You mean the crying?”
“I don’t cry, I stopped crying when I was a kid!”
Logan didn’t say anything and didn’t point out the obvious, that he was a kid.
“Probably it’s the adrenaline crash, after being… like that for how long?”
Another couple of coughs erupted from him, and then: “Three weeks, it’s been three weeks.”
Logan held his breath, shocked.
“You’ve been like this, in this situation, alone, for three weeks?!”
Victor removed himself from the body, feeling completely exhausted.
“Yeah, that’s why I sent you the message. It’s not like I could contact anyone else, or look for help outside…”
“Mystique?”
“She’d sell me to the highest bidder, and I already have fangs and claws, I won’t go near some fucking human, not after what happened last time I was this small. I stole food and clothes from a family that was camping nearby, but then the camping season ended. I wanted to reach the Métis, but I’m too slow and not strong enough. I found this place and made the most of it.”
He was clearly tired, and his eyes were closing, and he rubbed them with his tiny fists. Logan wanted to hug him again, but it wasn’t safe.
“You’re staying here? I can’t see a fire.”
“Yeah, I've been staying here since the last message I sent you. I couldn’t make a fire and risk attracting anyone’s attention. I don’t want to end up caught again by the military or some fucker like Sinister, or worse.”
A loud rumble came from his stomach, and Victor looked embarrassed and annoyed by his own weakness.
“You’re hungry?”
“I was going to catch some fish, when you jumped me. There aren’t many, but apparently it is the only food I can catch now, together with some birds and mice. No rabbits here, and I’m not strong enough to catch bigger game.”
Logan took a packet of dried meat from a pocket and gave it to him.
“Eat. Try to make a fire, I’ll go hunting. We’ll stay here for tonight then we will move after you explain to me what the fuck happened.”
He put his jacket on Creed’s shoulders and went hunting.
Victor snuggled immediately in the jacket: even if it reeked of Logan’s scent and cigars, it was warm, and he was freezing his ass off. Warmth seeping in him, he wolfed down the meat, and his stomach finally wasn’t upset for what he was eating, contrary to what happened in the past weeks. Apparently he wasn’t ready for raw meat and fish. Or for the cold, or for living alone. This small body was still useless for many things, the most important ones, like defending himself as his father showed him ages ago. Or Logan in the past half hour. He was also feeling sick for the first time in ages, and he didn’t like it. Trying to stop thinking, he put himself to work and he made a fire and then, to keep himself busy, he caught a couple of fishes, cooking and eating one. Then he sat by the fire, finally feeling warm and with his stomach full, and waited for Logan to be back.
Exhaustion caught him unaware, putting him to sleep.
When Logan came back with a couple of geeze who were stupid enough to land in the wrong place, he found the fishes on a rock and him still asleep by the fire, curled up as small as possible in the jacket, the breath wheezing. It wasn’t the safest place, and it wasn’t safe to leave a fire unchecked, but then again, the older man retained his memories and his personality, but the body was the one of a small kid. Maybe it hadn’t been his brightest idea to leave him alone, not after he cried like that after weeks living in fear. There was a deep frown in Victor’s face. He clearly had driven himself to exhaustion in the past weeks.
He let him sleep, worried about the dishevelled state of his enemy, and started preparing the birds, hoping that the food would kickstart his healing factor.
Logan tried to think about his own past: how was it to be a kid? When did he stop getting sick? The heightened senses arrived with the claws? He couldn’t remember. The pint sized Sabretooth clearly didn’t have them at the moment, or he would have woken up. He was cute for real. He was tinier than Gabby, and he was thin as a wisp, small fangs and claws giving him the vibe of a kitten and for the first time ever he saw him without his trademark sideburns. Logan sighed, because the bastard looked adorable, in a feral way.
A branch in the fire popped loudly and Victor woke up, startled.
He looked around and there was Logan, and he relaxed again.
“Shit, I fell asleep?”
“Yeah… Do you want the meat raw or cooked?”
“Cooked.”
“For real?”
“Eh, I didn’t remember I couldn’t eat raw meat when I was a kid, but after all, I hadn’t truly had anything to eat at all, back then. It was a freshly dead mouse or the few bites of food they gave me or nothing at all, and either way it made me sick.”
Victor must have been lost in the memories of when he was a kid again, because he looked a bit lost, and when Logan gave him the cooked liver, rich and nutritious, he started putting it in his mouth in very small pieces, trying not to touch his fangs. Logan looked at him, pensive, then drew a sigh and spoke.
“You still got them, you know.”
The kid jumped.
“What?”
“The fangs, you have them. You don’t need to eat like that.”
Feeling exposed and called out, Creed looked at him like he wanted to kill him, but started eating in a normal way, and not like someone pulled his fangs, leaving him hurt and bleeding.
Shit, I’m out of my mind… goin’ back to memory lane like this, in front of the runt…
Logan watched as the kid ate as much as he could, and it wasn’t much, then cleared his voice, cutting Victor’s train of thoughts.
“So, what happened? Who did you make so angry that they turned you back into a kid?”
“I don’t know! I was… doing a job, tracking someone here in the woods and right after I finished with him… I don’t know, probably it was a trap because out of thin air appeared a guy with a green cape, horned gold elm; he zapped me, laughing maniacally and… when I woke up I was like this.”
“Green cape? Horned gold elm?”
“Yes!”
“Dark hair, smelling like not from this world?”
“Yes! You know him?! Who’s the motherfucker, I’m gonna kill him!”
“Well, I’d say it would be better to find the guy and convince him to turn you back into your usual, giant self, before killing him. And that would be difficult, since he does look like he’s Loki of Asgard.”
“Loki of Asgard?”
“Yes, God of Mischief…”
“God of… fuck!” he screamed, venting out his anger.
He jumped up and started throwing rocks and breaking wood and everything that happened in his hands. He started hitting a tree like he was his adult self, but his healing factor wasn’t still fully developed and he was bleeding and breaking his bones.
Logan stopped the tiny fury, keeping him still while he caterwauled in distress, anger and frustration.
“C’mon, stop, you’re hurting yourself! Calm down and breathe, we’ll find him, I probably can ask someone to find him for us. Until then you’ll stay with me: you’re right to fear the military, I don’t want them to have you. You’re a bastard, but I won’t give you to Weapon-X, or Hound program or similar shit.” He started putting his bones in the right way for them to heal correctly, still keeping Victor on his chest.
Victor had to trust him, because he was completely alone. Everyone who cared about him was dead, and the very next thing to it was Logan, who once, back in the Sixties, was a friend. He put his life in Wolverine’s hands, and the man was the only thing between himself and another fucked up chapter of his life. He felt his eyes doing the weird thing again, and he couldn’t stop it.
Fucking hell, here we go again! I can control this body even less than my adult one. Shit. I didn’t cry for more than 140 years and here I am, unable to stop this shit.
He bit Logan who took it as a sign to let the other man free. He stomped to the jacket and curled up again, trying his best to stop crying.
Logan sighed, and finished cooking the meat. Darkness was descending, and he stood on guard, listening if there were threats, but the only things he could hear were animals and the crying kid.
Fate truly hates you, eh? A random god decides to fuck someone’s life just for the thrills of it, and who ends up in his path? You, and he fucks you up more than you’re already fucked.
In the end Creed cried himself to sleep, a small bundle of sadness, rage and frustration. If he had been a real child, Logan would have cuddled him until he stopped, but that wasn’t the case, so it went on for a bit. A very long bit. Maybe his mutation still didn’t work so well for healing wounds, or that cold he clearly had, but for sure it kept him crying for a very long time.
Logan kept the fire going, so the mini Victor wouldn’t freeze, but after a while he could hear him trembling, coughing, his teeth chattering and he was wailing in his sleep, trying to defend himself from an enemy with his claws. He tried to remember if during Team-X the man had nightmares, but it was all confused, just the vague memory of Creed with his nose stuck in his hair. The baby-Creed was now thrashing in his fitful sleep and it was way too dangerous, so close to the fire. He decided to take him in his lap, and the man didn’t even open an eye, but sniffed him and then snuggled like a pro, relaxing in less than a second.
Touch-starved bastard. Look at how needy you are… all that posturing and you’re just a walking festering wound.
On instinct, he kissed the top of that dense head, and a big, happy sigh erupted from the kitten.
You don’t look so evil at the moment, do you? Who knows what our lives could have been, if only your father wasn’t an abusive piece of shit. And you have a fever. Perfect. Let’s hope that the food I gave you will refuel your healing, it was running on nothing.
He woke him up a couple of times during the night to feed him, so he would heal properly. Cub ate, but he wasn't really conscious, fever still running and putting him out of commission.
Victor woke up slowly, feeling warm after weeks of dreadful cold in his aching bones. And not only was he warm, but he was feeling rested, and safe. He snuggled closer to that heath source, taking comfort in it, and mindlessly making biscuits and purring softly. Then the memories from the day before came back and he stopped abruptly what he was doing and he went completely still and silent. He sniffed, and yes: he was surrounded by Logan’s scent. And the man was awake.
Fuck… I was purring in Logan’s lap…
“Morning, Creed. If you want, there's still food from yesterday. You should eat, you need to get better and you need food for that. As soon as you’re ready we’re going to my truck and then to the nearest town.”
Victor extracted himself from the nest, regretting it immediately. He forced himself not to go back to Logan because he wasn’t a kid. He was a more than adult person. Older than the fucker he slept on. He didn’t need his warmth. He just needed his help, then they could go back to their usual programs, killing each other with mucho gusto. He desperately wanted to go back to the warm embrace. Stupid tiny useless body.
He ate as much as he could, then cleaned in the ice cold river and went back to his previous refuge, taking his rifle, gun, knives and clothes. Luckily he didn’t have his combat boots when it all happened.
He assessed the situation, scratching his head. Then he checked if all his trouser’s pockets were closed, took a couple of zip ties from them. He wrapped his trousers around his chest, and then he put his shirt on, blocking it with a couple of knots. They’d keep him slightly warmer.
Logan watched the guy. There was a weird sensation, like a fractured picture: the body, small and clearly young, and the expression in the face, in the eyes, old as dirt. It was unnerving to see such an intense and worried expression on a face so very young. He watched the kid take a rifle, and it was longer than he was tall, of course he couldn't use it to hunt. The guns too, way too big for the little guy. The expression, tho… so fucking old. It was like watching one of those poor child soldiers, eyes too old for their ages.
Logan took all the weapons, with the exception of the knives, which went in Victor’s pockets, then put his own jacket on Creed. He secured the sleeves of the jacket at the wrists with a pair of zip ties, so he could use his hands without worrying about freeing them from the jacket.
“Of course you were freezing, if your refuge was made with a pair of trousers, a shirt, two towels and leaves…”
“Well, it’s not like I had much more. I wasn’t expecting to be resized to an XXXS by a random fucker! Told ya I stole from that family as much as I could, but it wasn’t possible to steal a sleeping bag! And they didn't even have tarp or something to make a better refuge. Let’s move, this body is constantly cold.”
I had forgotten how cold I could feel since I escaped from the damned cellar. I didn't think I'd ever feel it again, but here we are.
Two hours later, Logan was pissed, and Creed was equally pissed, but he was also aching deep in his bones, tired, hungry and cold. The kid had the worst attention span in history, getting sidetracked by birds and animals, and Logan had to steer him back to the designated path every ten minutes. His feet were hurting, so he was slow, but he refused to be carried. Logan wanted to strangle him, so he marched on without looking if the man was following him or not. After five minutes he realised that he didn’t hear him talking or sneezing for some time. He checked and he wasn’t there. Throwing his arms up to the sky, in a silent scream to the gods, because it was their fault, he went back to find the small demon.
I’m going to kill the little fucker. I’ll tie him and drag him if needed, but if he wandered away again I’m gonna ki-
Logan stopped his rant: the kid was curled up in a little ball in the middle of the path, thin arms around his legs and chin on his knees, pointy ears pinned down appearing from the blond curls, and he reeked of sadness, sickness and pain, and a little bit of fear. Hearing Logan’s approaching, he looked up, then, defeated, stretched his arms toward Logan.
“I think I need you to carry me. You walk too fast for me, I can't keep up, and my feet are killing me…”
“I was going slow.”
“I know, but I’m not strong or fast enough.”
Logan sighed.
“We should have done this more than one hour ago, you were already tired.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, hindsight and all of it. Ehy, what are you doing?! Why you’re taking the jacket?! I’m cold.” A spike of fear and the kid was trying to stop him from taking the jacket.
“I need something to wrap you on my chest, your trousers should be enough, long legs! For sure you cannot keep yourself on my shoulders for hours, and there's the rifle too.”
“Oh, fine… I was worried.”
Logan looked at him, a soft and pensive expression in his eyes.
“I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you.” The voice was soft, but Creed just shrugged his shoulders. He trusted Logan, in a way, but long years in this world taught him that everyone tended to hurt him.
And that was how Logan, muttering all the way about long skinny legs and pointy elbows, and killer sneezes and hair full of twigs and leaves, found himself with a sleeping Mini Sabretooth under his jacket, head safely tucked between shoulder and neck, his breath a soft caress by his ear.
He’s way too cute for being a ruthless killer. At least as an adult you could see that he was dangerous, like this? He makes me want to cuddle him, even if I know that he'll probably bite my jugular for fun waking up.
It took Logan six hours to reach his truck, now that he didn’t have to run around to catch the wandering feral. Six hours of Creed sleeping, eating, trying to pounce birds and squirrels, sneezes and random elbows in the face. A couple of times he had to scold him to stay still, like when they were in the military, but the reply was that he was trying his best to be still but this cursed version of his body was mighty defective.
In the end they reached the truck, and he put Victor in the backseat, earning supposed-roars that sounded suspiciously like angry meows, but Victor was way too short to let him ride in the front, since his healing system wasn’t working at 100% and he was too short for the safety belt. He had to threaten to buy him a car seat if he didn't stop bothering him, but what finally worked to keep Creed quiet was the bag of candies he gave him, and the heated car blanket in which Logan wrapped him in. Warm and soft with its fleece side in contact with the kid, it worked wonders and Mini Creed was out in a few seconds.
God bless camping trips with the students: at least he had the blanket in the car.
They stopped at the first roadside diner, so he could feed the endless pit that was the starved Victor, and as soon as they entered the place, luckily deserted, the lady took in the dishevelled state of the kid.
Logan started spilling the sad story he invented in the car.
“I found him in the forest, I was going to the police to check if he’s missing, but he was hungry and we stopped here.”
“Oh, poor baby, you look starved! The police station is one hour north! I’ll bring you eggs, bacon, pancakes and fruit! And for you, mister?”
“A steak for start, medium rare, please!”
She went to the back, and sounds emerged.
Victor hissed to Logan.
“I don’t eat fruit!”
“Yes you do.”
“No, really, I don’t.”
“Maybe as an adult, now eat the fucking fruit and stop bitching!”
Lady’s got back and she pushed the food in front of them and a stuffed animal in Victor’s hands, a cute rainbow octopus with big eyes.
“Here, for you! He’s Otto, it was my nephew’s but I’m pretty sure you need it more than him, at the moment!”
Victor didn’t want a stuffed animal and he was pissed off, but the thing was soft. Very soft. So soft and smooth under his fingertips. And squishy. His fingers were working on the thing, feeling the perfect texture, relaxing. He was conflicted between his adult part, and his sensory part. Logan, taking the risk, took his plushie and told him to eat his eggs, relieving him from the choice.
He ate until he was full, and once more the warmth conspired against him, making him sleepy and full fanged yawn escaped him.
Logan took pity on him, finished, paid and they went back to the truck, the rainbow octopus safe in Creed’s paws.
Reaching a town, he left the sleeping feral in the car, well hidden under the blanket, and went to buy him clothes and shoes: it was dangerous to go around with a kid that looked like a kidnapping victim.
On a whim, he also bought a hairbrush and some hair ties.
Victor woke up in a foreign room, huddled in a warm blanket, half on a sofa, half on Logan, and the TV was going. Logan was watching a war movie, the sound almost muted.
“I bought you clothes. I realised I forgot the pyjamas, but I'm sure you can do without. The bathroom is that door, if you want to take a bath. I bought unscented hair and body wash, too, and there’s a brush on the tub, so you can remove the twigs and leaves from your hair. Scream if you need help.”
Victor muttered something about not needing help, and being an adult, and knowing how to take a bath, he did it since before Logan was born.
He rummaged in his old trousers, looking for something, then he viciously launched his wallet to Logan, aiming for his face.
“Hey!”
“Here, since I cannot go around using my own money. We can go to the ATM together when needed.”
He tip tip tapped silently to the bathroom, assessing the situation: luckily he was tall enough to reach everything. He removed the twigs from his hair, then started the bath like he normally would. He hated having things in his hair but he hadn’t been in the best place lately. He cleaned thoroughly in the shower, enjoying the soap removing the weeks old dirt from his hair and he scrubbed under all his claws, and the cleaning mixed together with the hot water were doing wonders, but he looked forward to the bath to relax completely.
Once clean, he left the shower and checked the water in the tub: he didn’t trust this body to take the same temperature of when he was an adult, and he was right, the water was too hot. Adding cold water, he waited a bit and then immersed himself. Still very hot, but acceptable. He let the water calm him, the warmth finally reaching his bones, relaxing all his muscles. He took a breath and went underwater, something normally impossible for him, if not in the hot springs. That was probably the only advantage of being in that situation.
The thought brought him the memories of the last time he was so small: the ache and the blood in his mouth, in his hands and feet, the inability to understand why his father locked him in a basement chaining him to the wall by his neck, why he cut him, and beat him, and whipped him, why they didn’t give him food anymore, why they closed him there in the dark, without enough clothes, and the cold and the wounds infected and nothing to heal them. A tremor shook him: being a child had been a terrible experience, he didn’t like to be helpless again. But now he was warm, and his stomach was full, and he was almost ninety nine percent sure that Logan wouldn't let anyone pull out his fangs or claws. Wouldn't let the wounds go infected and hurt more than they already hurt.
He should try his best not to get stuck on a depressing train of thought. He concentrated on the feel of the water around him, on the nice feeling of being clean. He played a bit with the water, going underwater, making bubbles, or splashing and looking at the drops escaping his hands.
The water was getting colder, and he had to leave the tub.
He sighed.
Once outside, he looked at his reflection in the mirror.
I’m awfully thin. There’s not enough meat on me. I know I was in worse shape when I escaped, but this is no good. I need to eat a lot more… or I need to find the bastard who did this to me and make him turn me back to an adult again.
Weirdly, a movie came up from his memories, the one with Sympathy for the Devil and the vampire “kid”. She had to live with those two assholes because she was too small, even if she was an adult.
I ain’t no fucking doll. I won’t be no one’s plaything. I just have to eat enough and I’ll be strong enough to use the knife. Claws or not, I’m gonna gut every fucker who’s gonna stand between me and freedom.
He snarled at the mirror, wrapping himself in a towel, then proceeded to dry his hair. At least now the dryer didn’t hurt his ears. Small mercies. Stomach growling, he went out to find more food.
“I thought you died in there…”
“Would have been better for both of us, for sure. Is there something to eat? Since I’m still alive I want to make the most of it. Also, I’m hungry again.”
Logan left the sofa, going to the small kitchen that was in the suite.
“You’re a morbid bastard, you know? Earing your suicidal slash murderous shit coming from an angel-looking kid is unnerving…”
“I stopped being a child well before I became a teenager, and I have no clue about the angel part, you probably need your eyes checked, everyone else said I’m a monster, even when I was this young the first time.”
Logan rolled his eyes, sniffing no lies: they called him a monster for real, even if he was a little boy. Not that his own mother didn't call him a monster that one time, but no one shoved him in a cellar for years, calling him beast and monster and demon over and over again. Of course he smelled no lies, the big cat was convinced he was a monster.
Victor checked the clothes Logan bought for him while he was asleep and they looked comfy and had a wonderful texture but he felt rage bubbling up. He turned viciously toward Logan.
“A sweater with… dinosaurs?! Are you serious? You bought me a dinosaur sweater?! What do you think- No, I know what you think. You bastard. And it’s the fucking only one!”
“Well, sorry! They don’t make plain shit for people your tiny size, you know? It was that or something even more outrageous! Or a Spiderman hoodie! And they didn’t have anything with ‘Cute Little Psycho Killer’ written on it!”
Victor angrily put on some underwear, swearing vengeance, while Logan put food on the table, breathing deep not to strangle the kid.
Breathe, Logan, breathe. You cannot kick his now bony ass. He's a baby. Breathe.
“There’s also a pair of moccasins, check if they’re the right size, if not we can go tomorrow to change them. There's a couple of grippy socks with unfortunate patterns that could do meanwhile. Both must be comfy enough for claws.”
Victor stared at him: no one ever thought about his feet claws, if not for torture. It was an uncomfortable pair of combat boots after the other, and that was the reason he preferred going barefooted, but now he couldn’t. He put on the socks and they were soft. And warm. But the most important thing was that they were so soft that an unwarranted, rumbling and pleased sound escaped his chest.
Then his face made a weird motion, like he was eating something disgusting, he even put his tongue out, making a retching sound and…
“Well, thank you.”
A deadpan expression was on Logan’s face: “Ahr, ahr, ahr! So funny. Try not to choke yourself saying thank you, next time.”
Victor busied himself with the food, curling locks tumbling on his face. He tried to put them behind his ear, to no avail.
Logan was looking at him with a smirk, because it was fun looking at him fighting the wild curls, then took pity and decided to do something, stopping before being an ass, and asking.
“I can braid your hair if you need, or you can block them yourself: I bought you hair ties.”
Victor pondered the matter for a couple of seconds: demonstrate again to the runt that he was still an independent adult, older than him? Or use said runt as a slave, and continue eating?
He chose the second one, with a self satisfied grin.
“Please, do…”
And Logan suddenly knew he was being used by the older feral but then again, he was going to help him even without Victor asking, so was there any problem? He put his hands in the mane, discovering that now clean, it was silky and soft, and relishing in the sensation under his fingertips. A simple braid to let Mini Victor eat in peace, without strands going in the food. He could remember that, with the exception of blood forcibly extracted from his enemies, the man hated filth and dirt with a burning passion. Everyone made fun of them because, with few exceptions, they didn’t use fragrances so they smelled natural, and that meant they smelled funny to others, but the man here? He was in water in 0.001 seconds to get clean. There was a solid chance that he got ill trying to wash himself in the freezing water of the river.
As soon as Victor finished eating, he went to wash his teeth, then he went back to the sofa in front of the TV with Logan.
“That's rated you shouldn't…” Logan stopped himself, facepalming and embarrassed. “I mean… I didn't…”
Creed just watched him straight in the eyes, giving him the silent treatment.
Logan resumed watching the movie, still embarrassed by his slip. Telling that a movie's rated to someone who was even older than him? Nicely played.
“So, mmm… just to let you know before you get mad at me. There's just a double bed, big enough for both of us. Thinking back to the time in Team X, I thought you wouldn't mind sharing… you always slept almost on top of me.” He paused and cast a sideway glance to Creed. “Why did you do that, by the way?”
Golden amber eyes looked up for a second, then went away. The kid went to take some water, still evading the question. Once he was back on the sofa, he started talking again.
“Your scent. You smell like woods, like running in the snow, clean. There wasn't anything similar in the cellar. I know I'm not there if there's that scent. It was better sleeping on you than waking up screaming in the middle of enemy territory.”
“Nightmares about it even a hundred years later? How do you sleep when I'm not around?!”
That golden stare, once more.
“In the forest, most of the time. My bedrooms in the houses are soundproofed and I have… things to keep the nightmares out. Mostly. Don't you dream of the Weapon X tanks and procedures?”
“Yeah… yeah. I do…”
The movement on screen grabbed his attention once more.
“Don't you hate when the fighting isn't realistic? I hate it. It's unnerving. Those people never put a foot on a battleground and it shows.”
World worst attention span!
Logan thought, smiling inside not to unnerve Creed, and launched himself on a critique.
They went on a tirade on everything that was wrong in the movie, until Victor went quiet on him, falling asleep again.
Sleepy hungry chatterbox. Who knows what our lives would have been like, if we were born a hundred years later. A cat-kid in the Seventies? Total badass. You'd probably end up in the rock scene…
He took him in his arms, bringing him to the bed and putting Otto the Octopus plushie in his hands. Still asleep, Creed followed Logan’s scent with his nose, a frown forming on his face when it went away. Logan went back to his film, and the situation was calm and quiet for almost one hour, then muffled whines and thrashing from the bedroom called him, but he wasn't fast enough: desperate screams and pleas for mercy reverberated in the room, and Logan ran to the kid, taking him in his lap.
Victor woke up screaming, the memories of the first time in the cellar flooding his head. But now it wasn't cold, he was safe in someone's arms, and the terrifying burning ache in his fingers wasn't real. It was all in his head, just memories of the past.
Breathe, you old bastard, breathe. Don't let the panic destroy you. You're an adult, your father is dead, that fucking cellar collapsed under the fire you spread on the fucking nightmare house. And when you burned it, it was already in shambles!
He breathed deeper and deeper, trying to calm himself, trying to stop the panic. The scent was of forest and snow. Logan. Breathe in, breathe out. He was a kid, yes, but he was with Logan, not in the cellar. He was clean, he wasn't starving, he was warm and probably safe.
You're not alone in the forest anymore, and Logan fed you more in the last twenty four hours than you had in weeks.
“I don't give a fuck if you're older than me, Creed. You'll stay in my arms, we go warm some milk, you'll drink it and then we'll go back to sleep. You were screaming like Banshee, turned my blood ice…”
See? You can breathe. He's not hurting you. Drink the milk, fill your stomach and go back to sleep. Healing factor needs help to work properly. Food, sleep, heal and get stronger.
He didn't fight Logan, he didn't say anything, he followed the flow and bit by bit the panic and terror receded. He accepted the milk and honey, another big difference between the scenes in his nightmares and reality. It was weird to accept something like that, but apparently there were… unexpected complications with being a kid. Like having someone who felt the need to take care of you, and feeling the need to accept said care. Was it like that before the cellar? Being taken care of? He went from something like this to the daily torture? He couldn't remember, he just had the memory of his mother, sometimes entering the cellar and helping him, cleaning him, keeping him to her chest. It was all confused by the blood and hurt and trauma. She smelled like pain, and sadness, tears and flowers and her chest was warm and soft under his cheek. Sometimes she tried to free him from the chains, but she didn't have the keys. Paw was hurting her too.
Logan's chest wasn't soft, and there was no flower scent, but the warmth, the caring hand drawing circles on his back and the steady rhythm of his heart under his ear lulled him to sleep.
Logan went back to the sofa, bringing the sleeping cat with him. He tried, during the trip, to focus on the fact that he was helping Victor-fucking-Creed, but his instincts were focused on helping the bitchy kid, on keeping him safe and take care of him. Did he really want to fix him? It would be better for everyone if the man remained a kid. It would probably be an act of mercy, letting the small guy rewrite his terrible memories, letting him be healed. He discarded the thought: he couldn’t leave him in this predicament, he should have a saying. Life fucked him up a bit too much to add to his trauma and rage.
Logan woke up, the sun was rising and he had something vibrating by his chest. The Mini Creed was still asleep, the vibration was caused by his purrs, he was again doing the cat-like gesture with his hands. His pointed ear was right in front of Logan’s face, and he blew lightly, watching said ear twitch madly to escape the annoying whiff. The cat hissed, then turned and vanished under the blanket, resuming his purring and kneading. A smirk was plastered on Logan’s face: he was pretty sure that this was standard Victor Creed, and not something derived by being resized. This was prime material for blackmail. Logan tried to get up, but the kid moved with him, and stuck his little claws in his shirt. Hell, they weren’t useful for self defence, but surely they were sharp enough to draw blood and damage.
Now, now… I hope he’s not cat to the core, because I don’t want him to get stuck in my shirt and scream, offended.
He tried scratching his back, but the purring went to eleven, making him think how loud it would be from adult-Victor. Change in strategy, he touched the ear, moving the finger up and down the border in the part without the piercings. Ear twitched. He continued, and the pointy ear twitched again, trying to escape the unnerving touch. Guy had almost animal ears, it was entertaining watching them moving, the colourful earrings shaking with them. Girlish things, those earrings. Guy was never afraid of wearing jewellery not supposed to be for men, maybe because no one ever dared to tell him anything. Just Logan, and just for his love for furs. If he loved something, he used it.
Another frenetic twitching of the ear, and suddenly he had the mighty offended and highly fanged face of Victor in front of his eyes.
“Care to stop touching my fucking ears, if you’re not interested?! You cannot play with them!”
“Interested?”
“Interested.”
“Urgh… gotta go to the bathroom, if you want to extract yourself…”
Creed snarled at him again and tried to go back to sleep.
It was on the third night in a random hotel that something changed, and not in a good way. There had been screaming, a lot of it, from Creed. A total, incredible, terrifying meltdown. Hundred percent justified, but a meltdown, nonetheless. Let’s say that yes, the Asgardian God of Mischief showed up, like his contact informed he would, but that was probably the only good thing that happened.
Because the bastard told the cat that he was stuck in the deaged body for at least one year. One year! And Logan was stuck as his babysitter, or custodian, or whatever. Babysitter was probably the right word for it.
“Take it like a second opportunity! You’ll have a chance to be a kid and not be stuck in a dank cellar! And don’t scream too much, or I’ll forget to come back to you in a year. And second thing: you gotta have good grades, and I’ll call you for… special missions, if I want!”
The trickster laid out rules, made fun of them, and then added another spell so no one would recognise Creed for who he actually was, so his enemies won’t abuse him.
Logan tried to bargain too, but it was useless. Creed was stuck in a kid’s body for a year, and Logan was stuck with helping him.
Fuck.
So, yes, the meltdown was totally justified, but now Logan had to treat the cat’s wounds and broken bones. Again.
Victor was enraged, the blood running in his veins clouding his brain. He wanted blood, he wanted to destroy. In blind fury, he tried to attack the horned bastard, just to be caught midair by Logan. Again. The fucker should stop blocking him like that. He screamed, he bit, he clawed, he dusted his Quebecois and sweared like his life depended on it. It was useless, everything was useless. He was stuck between Logan’s hands and the moron god was babbling about second opportunities, living a better childhood, and going to school like a normal being and having good grades. He never went to fucking school in his life, he learnt everything he knew on the road, after escaping the dank cellar, how the piece of shit called it. What the fuck was he supposed to do? What the hell should he do? And Logan will bring him for sure in that damn school, and probably he’ll fuck him up again kicking him in the basement once more.
No way, he couldn’t go there, he wouldn’t be stuck again in a fucking cell, without fresh air, or the sun, or his life. Dying was a better option.
The resized adult was terrified, Logan could smell the fear and sheer terror exuding from him.
That night the nightmares got even worse than the prior nights and Creed didn’t calm when he was near, but his terror spiked up.
The day after, Creed asked for a stop in Edmonton, giving direction to an apartment in a nice condo. It was clean, full of books, old exhibitions posters, and looked lived in and comfortable.
Creed took his guns and rifle and went to another room, coming back empty-handed.
“Leave me here.”
“What?”
“Leave me here. I’m home now, I don’t need you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Now I’m home. I don’t need you to take care of me. I’ll go on with my life. Thank you for the help, you have to go.”
“Are you stupid or what? Do you think they’ll let a kid live all by himself? They’ll call the Child Intervention seeing you all alone! And then you’ll be in the hands of the military!”
“I don’t want to go to your stupid school! I can take care of myself, I did it before.”
“We’re not in the 1800s anymore, for you to stay alone, and Loki said he would turn you back into an adult only if you follow his rules. And we both know how well you take staying all alone, and then they'll take you again! We're talking about people who kidnapped you when you could defend yourself, don't be an ass!”
“Fine! Fine! But tonight we're staying here, I'm fucking tired of staying away from my place!”
Logan capitulated, seeing that Creed was distressed, and one day in Edmonton wouldn't hurt anyone.
The older feral was checking his books, taking a couple to bring with him, and drawing blocks and pencils and he growled and snapped at Logan when he tried to check them.
A bag with CDs, books, his notebook and random unidentified things was ready, together with a couple of bonsai. His beloved fur coat went with them, and then a bag full of cash and his other documents. Backtracking, he went to take his rifles and guns. Logan watched him taking them from all over the house, hidden everywhere. Well, he could understand the man: you never know when you’ll need a weapon, but if they’ll stop them for a check, they’d be fucked.
“Tell me you’re not planning to bring The Punisher’s arsenal to the School.”
“I’ll arrange a dropout for tomorrow, don’t worry. I don’t trust your folks enough to bring ‘em with me.”
Then Creed went to check in the kitchen and a disgusted sound made Logan reach for him.
“What?”
“I wasn't expecting to stay away for so long, ok? It's…” His face contorted again in disgust and he made a retching sound, pointing to the fridge. “It's terrible.”
Logan opened the fridge. Then he closed it again, looking at Creed. Then he opened it again, watching the perfectly organised fridge, with just a couple of expired things.
“You’re making fun of me?”
“No!”
“You never lived with students, right? Because fine, a couple things are expired but this is pretty tame, compared to things I saw… nothing to warrant your ewwwwws…”
“That was meat.”
Logan closed the fridge once more, defeated.
“OK, I’ll throw it in the garbage, is there something else?”
“No, not at the moment.”
Victor sent Logan out, then took a chair and reached the freezer, taking everything out and assessing the situation.
It was so weird, but at least this time he had time to take care of his place, before vanishing from the world, caught once again in a mess bigger than him.
He divided the things for the dinner, and some other containers went into a bag and back in the freezer. He sighed. He opened the fridge once again, looking at the bottles of wine he chose so carefully for the occasion. He had things to do, things planned and everything was cancelled in a second. Again. No, ok, he was sad. It was sadness, the thing that was unnerving him and clutching at his stomach. He looked at the food that once was part of his old plans and squared his shoulder. He took one of the containers from the freezer, adding it to the wanna-be dinner and tried to hype himself.
Enough moping, old bastard. Time to take a small bit of your life back. Move your not-anymore-furry ass and go to Vinnie!
He opened the door, blocking it, then with the bag from the freezer and one of the bottles of wine, he went to knock the door in front of his own.
Logan found him like that: looking at the door, still as a statue. He watched him for a minute, then he knocked at the door for him, running in Vic’s apartment, an evil grin plastered on his face.
Creed looked at him like he was a monster, and he was ready to kill him, but then the door opened, and a very tall, very muscular woman appeared, looked around, taking note of the open door in front, and then took a step back, crouching a bit.
“Hello?”
The Mini Victor opened and closed his mouth a couple of times.
“He… hello! Vinnie?”
“Yes, sweetie, is Victor back home?”
“No… Uncle Victor is not home, I’m… I’m Marlon. He asked me to bring you the things he… the things he promised you.” He said, giving her the bottle and the bag. “The ragù, the meatballs and the lasagna he made before… going.”
“This is wonderful news, your uncle is a great cook! Let me put it all back in the freezer, wait here for a second, ok?”
The kid nodded and stood by the door, almost like a vampire waiting for an invitation to enter. She was back in less than a minute, all legs, muscles and smiles and he felt his knees going weak.
Fuck, she’s so beautiful… and I don’t have a fucking chance anymore…
“Are you alone, darling? Victor’s fine?”
“Not alone, there’s my uncle’s friend Jimmy; he’s here to bring me to school.”
Logan appeared on clue behind the door, waving his hand, and her smile froze on her lips.
“Did he steal you from your uncle, honey?” she whispered softly, anxiety biting her and exuding from her body.
Victor’s eyebrows jumped up in question.
A hand cupping his face, she kept her voice low: “Sweetie, I know that… that man has a past with your uncle so, little tiger, you’re sure you’re safe and he didn’t take you from your uncle custody?”
Victor rubbed his cheek on that loving hand, a bright smile on his lips, feeling a little bit better and he was almost chirping when he replied to her question.
“Yes! He’s an ass, as Victor says, but he’s a safe bet! Would you like to join us for dinner? You can maim him if you want! I’m sure he’s on board with my idea, right, Jimmy?”
And he flashed a fanged smile to Logan, a smile that was full of promises of violence and devastation if he didn’t agree.
“Of course, it will be a pleasure having you for dinner! Is 6:30 fine for you?”
She smiled a glacial smile at him, conveying she didn’t think well of him.
“Sure, I’ll gladly join you at dinner.”
She took Victor's clawed hands in hers, being extra careful and added, just for him: “You’ll tell me what’s going on with your uncle, right?”
“I’ll tell you everything! See you later!”
She hugged the boy and sent him back home, watching Logan carefully, like he was an enemy or prey.
It was disgusting: Creed wanted that spiteful woman so much, he exuded pheromones and a needy scent that Logan had fought hard to forget. It was like Holo, but he hoped for a better ending. Also, the lady wasn’t anything like Holly: she was a woman, not an eighteen years old girl, and she had the vibes of a cold blooded spy. A bit like Romanoff, but in giant size: she wasn’t as tall as normal Victor, but she was well over 190cm for sure. And with broad shoulders. Thinking about it, basically Creed was enamoured of a not-green She Hulk. Just… an angrier She Hulk. And she hated Logan. He tried to fish for information, but the cat was completely focused on her, spilling the stupid story they made up just for her, and chatting, kicking his knees when her glass needed filling, pushing food in her plate.
Food. Great food. Delicious food. Apparently Creed decided to learn how to cook somewhere down the road and he was great at it. At least one thing was going right, up until Victor completely forgot he was a kid and had a glass of wine. Then Vinnie hated Logan a little bit more and took care of her “sweet little tiger, poor baby! I should keep you, not that monster!” and Creed experienced his first hangover, but stayed in her arms all night, after hissing at Logan when he tried to come near his Vinnie. The boy was completely melting on her, like the puppy he was, and she, she was defending him, and there was definitely something going on between them, and not just because she was cozying up in a t-shirt and a pair of Creed's shorts, which she had gotten from his bedroom, but because she was calling him Victor, asking him what had really happened and she was doting on him.
He left them on the sofa, retreating to his room for the night.
The scent of Vinnie, mixed to the Mini-Vic one, and the total absence of sounds, informed Logan that the cat was approaching.
“I won’t give you coffee, bub.”
“I hate you, runt.”
Logan swiftly took him by the scruff and put him on a chair, eggs and bacon in front of him. A mighty offended and surprised screech left Victor, and they started a whispered fight.
“Don’t you fucking dare!”
“Try me! You’re saying shit about how much you hate me, when I’m the one stuck babysitting you!”
“Well, sorry if I don’t have anyone anymore!”
“Why didn’t you call your… What is she?”
Victor lowered his eyes on his breakfast, ignoring him. His ear unconsciously moved too.
“Well?”
How could someone eat in a depressed, moping way was a foreign concept for Logan, but apparently Creed had a master in it.
“C’mon, surely you thought about her… why didn’t you call her, instead of me? She… seems to like you.”
“Don’t say that like it’s impossible! I had people who liked me. And I couldn’t call her. It was… embarrassing. We had something going on and I was suddenly reduced to… this useless thing here! And she’s human. She may be strong, but she’s still human. You’re not. You can fight the military, you won’t die.”
Logan felt stupid for not thinking about the human part, but retaliated viciously.
“I don’t know if she’s a saint or a monster, to like your current you. After Holly you really became the monster they all said you were.”
“He’s not a monster.”
Both ferals were caught by surprise. She approached them and took Victor in her lap. The way he let her manhandle his body was almost absurd.
“He’s not a fucking monster. He’s still a protector. A terrifying one, for sure, and his hands are full of blood, but he fights for the people he cares about, and he’s not a monster with those who aren’t monsters first.”
She was looking at Logan straight in the eyes, daring him to say anything different.
“He’s a killer.”
“Oh, trust me, I know. I hired him. So this probably is the answer to your question, and I’m a monster too. And you… you should really shut the fuck up, you passing moron. You surely weren’t ostracised by every fucking one because your body didn’t fit in.”
Logan tried to say something, but she stood up from her chair, towering over Logan. It would have been a ridiculous scene, with Creed held to her chest with an arm under his armpits, but the look of hatred in her eyes made the blood run cold.
“Shut. Up.” Each word was made stronger by a poke in Logan’s chest. She was fire, and she was surely strong. Logan could see why Creed was attracted to her. He put his hands up and retreated.
She seated again, Victor in front of her.
“You’re right. I cannot protect you. You have to go with this guy and we should hope for the best. If he hurts you, call me and I’ll fuck his adamantium ass with the biggest knotted dildo I can find on the market, OK?”
Victor was absolutely in love, and Logan had a weird reaction.
She was going to be there for Creed, and he could look at the future in a slightly less gloomy way.
Epilogue
Victor survived the damned year. Logan, too, survived the babysitting. He was scarred after learning a bit too much about his ex friend and nemesis or whatever Creed was. The drawings he saw by accident were branded in his brain, and to think that Mini Vic should have been a kid.
But oh, well, the year was over, and Vic did everything the God of Mischief asked, bringing his own flavour of chaos with him. The hotel room where they decided to meet with the Asgardian was similar to the one where they met him together the first time, but now there were bags, and clothes for adults, and Mini Victor wasn’t half starved after almost a month living alone, as a small kid, in the arctic forest of Canada.
What didn’t change is that they were bickering like an old married couple: it was in the middle of a fight that the two finally noticed the gold and green figure on the armchair.
All was going fine, and Creed was finally an adult again, but then he, once again, said too much, way, way too much about Loki birthing horses and such.
And Victor was laughing maniacally, his laughter booming around, the baritone vibrating, and then, then there was another green flash, and Wolverine closed his eyes.
When he opened them again… the muscles, he knew. The big, round ass, he knew. The blond hair, he knew. The towering height, he knew all too well. What he didn’t know was everything else. In front of his eyes, completely naked, there was the biggest feral woman he’d ever seen. Almost two metres of majestic giantess, with muscles that reminded him of the drawings in Victor’s sketchbook, a luscious ass and a rack of tits that could kill you. And she looked solid and soft altogether. Logan felt his blood going South oh, so very fast, and a pang of burning jealousy, because she was kissing Loki on his lips, and the god had a puzzled and startled expression, like he wasn’t expecting someone to match his mischief with pure, unadulterated chaos.
“Oh, look at me,” she said, doing a three hundred sixty degrees rotation on her clawed tiptoes, “I’m fucking gorgeous! Thank you, Loki, I think I’ll enjoy this change!”
And then she was looking at Logan, with that stupid fanged smirk he knew so well, clawed fingers moving curly locks behind the pointed ears, but Logan was looking down, and down, and the abs were something else, and the very big blond triangle complimenting them nicely, and those thick, thick thighs full of muscles... Logan’s mouth was parched like the desert, picturing those thighs around him, his face drowning on that pretty... He tried to look up, but the woman was so fucking near him that he could only see her boobs. He almost touched them. Almost, because a lovely, deep contralto reached him from above.
“Oh, but where are you, Logan, I cannot see you! You vanished! Oh, here you are, under my boobs!” And she fucking moved them to look at him.
And she was laughing, and Logan felt the need to kneel in front of that whole lotta woman and he knew Victor, or Victoria, or whatever, could smell his desire, but he wasn’t able to stop himself.
A strangled whine left his mouth.
“Fuck…”
“Yeah, runt, you’d like...”