Chapter 4
The sounds of fighting were easy to follow as Lane sped out of the kitchen and back into the inner foyer, relieved to see that none of the excitement from the front lawn had seemed to breach the first floor through Storm’s guard.
The rain continued to pound the windows, and through the lashing of water on the glass Lane could faintly make out the bzzzt-thworp! sound of Scott Summers’ optic blasts cutting through what Lane hoped to be the enemy convoy parked outside the gates. Straining their ears further, they could also make out the occasional sound of a miniature implosion - Kurt Wagner’s signature for his teleportation abilities.
Okay, they’ve got the front lawn covered, Logan’s got the back. Bobby and Kitty took their classes on a field trip for the weekend, Hank is probably in med bay, that leaves…
At the realization of the one missing staff member, Lane took off for the classroom wing only to skid to a halt before the grand staircase as movement on the mezzanine caught their eye. They dropped to their knees and threw their back to the wall, willing their body to melt into the gloom of the darkened entryway as a shadow retreated out of Lane’s sight and further down the upstairs hallway.
Shit, that’s the student hallway. Shit, shit, shit! Okay, students first, Piotr next.
Lane stood and swallowed, heart in their throat as they threw a quick glance down the classroom hallway before ascending the stairs. Their earlier bravado they had expressed to Yukio was quickly diminishing with each footfall, each step another stone in their stomach until they neared the top and nearly collapsed into a hyperventilating puddle. Their vision had begun to swim again, edges darkening as their knees shook and they had to lean against the banister for support.
I can’t do this, back there it was a fluke, what am I even doing? I’m not a hero and if I can’t stop myself this time I -
BANG
Lane dropped to their knees as a shot rang out from further down the hallway, the echo of it lingering in the air like a thick fog. Lane held their breath, straining their ears and finding that instead of the telltale thump of a body hitting the floor, there was laughter. Hideous, mocking, laughter.
It was impossible to distinguish the voices, but in that moment Lane didn’t care who these people were, all previous fears of losing control be damned - those fuckers were laughing after they had taken the shot. Their legs were solid once again, body moving with purpose and vision tinted red as they got to their feet and moved down the hallway. They were quick but not rushed, their body shifting downwards to create a lower center of gravity and each footfall near silent as they rounded the corner into the student hallway.
The students, five of them in total, were the first to notice Lane’s appearance as they entered the hall. Their bodies were kneeled onto the floor, hands behind their heads and not one older than fourteen if Lane had to guess; it was the figures who lorded over them that made Lane’s blood boil. All four had their backs to Lane, each dressed all dressed in similar attire to their friends downstairs. Two with rifles of some sort, the other two each holding some sort of cattle-prod looking device that crackled with electricity at one end.
It was the one with the smoking gun that Lane set their sights on as he gestured to the children with the barrel of his rifle; there was nothing on his uniform to distinguish rank, so maybe he was just the most trigger-happy. He was certainly the loudest, that was for sure, as he let out a bark of ugly laughter that made Lane’s body reach a new level of rage. It vibrated in their bones, burning into their marrow as they watched the gunman swagger in front of his captives and stick his gun under the nose of one of the crying students.
“Keep crying like that and I’ll give you something to cry about, you freak of nature.” He spat at the crying child. “Won’t be a warning shot next time, I-”
He didn’t get to finish that thought as the shot of sizzling, white energy struck him square in the back and rocketed his body off his feet and into the air. The children had to duck out of the way as his form flailed in the air, flying over their heads and landing in a broken heap some three feet down the hall. He didn’t get back up, and Lane didn’t really care if he did as they rose to their full height and stood before the rest of their unwelcome company.
The cocky man’s companions had all turned at this point, and it was only then that Lane noticed how…off these men seemed. Green, maybe, amateurish, even. The not-Lane, the same internal voice who had instructed their earlier rampage, now whispered in their ear to point out the weaknesses in the group like a lion systematically going after the weakest gazelle.
Despite being outfitted like a black-ops strike team, it struck Lane then that these men had no apparent means of communication to the men outside, nor the ones that Lane had taken care of downstairs. More than that, there was no sense of order to these remaining men, no apparent chain of command with their cocky leader indisposed. And even more than that, none of the men moved regardless of the fact that they were not only heavily armored and armed, but easily outnumbered Lane. A shared look of confusion passed through the group of men, each one looking to the other and then back to Lane, each party waiting for the other to make a move.
Oh yeah, it's really easy to be scary when it’s not a fair fight. Raises the question whether they’re a bunch of amateur mercs, or a bunch of Friends of Humanity followers playing dress up?
Regardless of who they were, the familiar humming in Lane’s ears grew louder, and it took Lane a moment to realize what was happening as their body shifted into a low stance and their breath hitched in their chest. Every muscle was tense and ready to fire, and yet there was a strange sense of calm coming over their body as Lane leaned into muscle memory. It was less disorienting this time as their senses seemed to sharpen, flooding with a strange awareness of how their body could move and more importantly, how it could hurt. Their fingers itched, and their palms burned.
Finally, either realizing the danger of the situation or having just grown bored of waiting, the remaining gunman gave a shout and aimed his sights down at Lane; the other two men followed his lead, the cavalry rushing down the hallway with the buzz of electricity from their cattle-prod weapons growing louder as they approached. Lane matched their advance and took off at a sprint across the hallway, leaping up into the air and landing on the shoulders of the closest figure. He remained standing, but wouldn’t be for much longer as Lane brought their elbow down on the crown of his head with as much force as they could muster. He tumbled backwards and hit the ground hard, Lane rolling off his body and snatching his cattle prod device only to jab it upwards into the groin of the closest assailant. He fell as well, convulsing slightly and losing the grip on his weapon which Lane quickly grabbed to dual wield one in each hand.
Two down, one to go.
A quick burst of gunfire pierced the air, just barely catching Lane in the arm as they stumbled backwards and lurched to the side of the hall - the remaining goon had taken aim and now sprayed down the hallway in a hail of bullets. Lane jumped forward and wretched open a door to act as temporary cover, bullets piercing the wood and sending splinters flying through the air as they ducked inside. The brief pause of an empty clip signaled Lane’s exit from cover as they took off out of the doorway and down the hall, teeth bared in a manic grin as they tossed both of their weapons to the side. No reason to overcomplicate a good beating, after all, not when they wanted to feel it.
The gunman fumbled to get a fresh clip in his rifle, having expended all his ammo in his earlier overzealous attempt, and his hands were shaking so badly that he had no time to reload before Lane was upon him. They pounced and laced both hands around his neck, pulling him down while raising their knee in tandem; the warm gush of liquid against their leg was accompanied by a crunch of bone as his nose ground against their kneecap. The man flailed and bucked against Lane’s hands still clasped around his neck, trying to shake off their grip before landing a sharp jab in Lane’s ribs and throwing both of their bodies to the ground. The two struggled on the ground, wrestling for control in a mess of sharp elbows and hard fists, jabbing knees and fingernails dragging across skin for a modicum of advantage.
Blood dripped on Lane’s forehead as the man straddled their body, gaining the upper hand for a moment before Lane bucked their hips upwards and threw the man off center to roll their body on top of his. Straddling him, their fists crashed against his face like meteorites striking the surface of a moon; someone was screaming, maybe it was the man beneath them, but Lane didn’t care. The unspooling sensation had returned, their very being started to come unwound and lost in the sounds of flesh hitting flesh and blood splashing against their knuckles. It felt so familiar, natural after pushing their body so hard to fit into this new shape of someone they used to be. So many things were fuzzy or just out of reach in the periphery of their mind, but this?
This was something solid. This was real.
Someone else had started to scream, and for a moment Lane had the thought that it was their own body that was screaming, but then the voice turned high and grating, childlike. A little girl, one of the students in pink pajamas who had been captured and held at gunpoint, was now screaming. She was saying something, practically screaming her lungs, but through the rush of blood in their ears Lane couldn’t make out the words until it was too late.
“Look out!”
Lane didn’t even have time to turn as there was a sudden sharp blast of pain in their shoulder; the force of the shot whipping their body off the man they had been pummeling and to the floor where they landed with a solid whump that knocked the air from their lungs. Breathlessly Lane groaned and rolled to their back, struggling to their feet just as a solid kick was placed to the dead center of their chest that sent them down to the floor again. Faintly, Lane could register the pain in their shoulder, a slow burning sensation of muscle fiber and bone knitting back together as the bullet gradually worked its way out of their skin and landed on the floor with a plink! It was a small victory, as the sudden crushing weight of the boot against their windpipe quickly overrode any hope Lane had of getting to their feet.
The man whose crotch had been on the receiving end of the cattle prod now stood above Lane, the rifle of his fallen comrade retrieved and now leveled between Lane’s eyes.
“Fucking unnatural,” his voice above drawled, every syllable dripping with venom. “Try healing from this, freak.”
Up yours, Lane wanted to scream, unable to form the words as the edges of their vision grew fuzzy. There was a vague thought in the back of their head, a morbid curiosity if they could heal from asphyxiation. Then there was another thought, this one punctuated by the cold metal of the gun barrel being pressed against their forehead.
Can I heal if my brains are splattered against the wall?
Lane’s eyes settled on a spot in the ceiling, their head pounding as the last dregs of oxygenated blood circled through their gray matter. Their entire body felt so heavy as they struggled, eyelids fluttering as the pressure on their throat increased. All previous instinct had fled to make way for pure panicked adrenaline as they kicked their feet and tried grabbing at the man’s legs, willing their hands to burn with light. But, to Lane’s horror, the light in their hands flickered weakly as their fingers began to go numb. Everything felt numb, almost floaty, and they almost weren’t able to register the barrel of the gun lifting off their head as something outside of their field of vision caught their attacker’s attention.
The air entered their lungs in a gasp as the man’s foot suddenly lifted, or rather, his entire body was lifted off of Lane by a large figure that swam through Lane’s vision. It was a man, a very, very largeman whose back rippled with muscle as he caught the gunman around his middle and hoisted him off his feet. With all the effort of throwing a rag doll, this large man threw the gunman through the wall with a loud, splintering crunch of wood and drywall breaking upon the impact.
Their attacker did not get up, and for the second time that night everything went strangely quiet aside from the sound of this new man’s heavy breathing and the muffled crying of a student that barely registered in Lane’s mind. Even the rain against the windows was quieter as Lane rolled onto their side with a groan and attempted to sit up.
“Lane? Lane, can you hear me? Bozhe moi, Lane, you’re bleeding.”
That voice was so familiar, right on the tip of their tongue but unable to place it through the ringing in their ears and the exhaustion settling in their bones. Two bouts of adrenaline-fueled fighting in one night, coupled with the feeling of their body and mind working in such a foreign way, it all made Lane’s head spin as they drew up a hand to their throat. Under their fingertips the boot print was already beginning to fade to a tender bruise, and then to unmarred flesh within a matter of seconds. Still, they doubted it would be a sensation they’d forget anytime soon.
“Please zvyozdochka, if you can hear me please look at me.”
The voice above them had taken on an edge of pleading, two hands now on Lane’s body - one gently cradling their head and the other at their back. Normally the idea of a stranger’s hands on their body would be cause for alarm, but these hands felt so strangely familiar that it didn’t even register in Lane’s mind to strike out at their owner.
The hands on their body felt so solid, and warm. They felt real.
Instead, they lolled their head to the side and blinked into the face of this man, finding a pair of bright blue eyes staring intently at their prone form. Lane blinked again, their eyes roving over his face - the jawline, the strong nose, the crease in his brow as he gazed down at them - and slowly assembled the pieces together in their mind.
He wasn’t as large as he was in his other form, and as a result these clothes were slightly baggier on him, but his body was still massive underneath the t-shirt and sweatpants. He had a body like a weightlifter or an Olympic wrestler of some sort, well over six feet with limbs built like steel girders. His hair was dark and cut short with a slight cowlick at the front, his brows equally dark and his lashes long enough to put any mascara model to shame. It had been nearly impossible to tell his age in his other form, but in this one he looked to be a man in his early to mid thirties, if Lane had to guess.
“Piotr, you…you're not….they skinned you?” Lane croaked out, swallowing and letting their eyes roam his form that was still holding theirs.
Guiding their body with his hand still at their back, Piotr helped Lane to their feet and shook his head. The collar on his neck, and on the necks of the students gathered behind him, all glared back at Lane with red flashing lights. They hadn’t noticed them earlier, the bigger threat at the moment having been the four attackers, but seeing the repression collars on the necks of the students and Piotr made Lane’s stomach turn.
“Nyet, this is what I look like when I’m not armored.” Piotr explained, gathering up two of the youngest students into his arms, and then hoisting a third onto his back to cling onto his neck.
“Guessing you didn’t go unarmored in this shit storm for the fun of it.”
“Language, please,” he chided them with none of his usual sternness. “But you are correct. I went to bed early, heard the commotion outside and went to look for students. They had already gotten inside and had a group at gunpoint, threatening to shoot if I did not stand down. They collared me, but I imagine they weren’t expecting me to fight back. I got my students to the tunnels and came back to look for more.”
“Came back to -?” Lane frowned, looking Piotr up and down in his human skin. “You have no armor, Piotr. They have guns. You could have been shot.”
Piotr’s eyes once again scanned over Lane, landing at the bloodied hole in their shoulder. His face flashed to a mask of anger, just for a moment, before meeting Lane’s eyes. His expression was difficult to place, his voice practically a low rumble in his chest. “And you were shot.”
“So? I can heal, you can’t. Piotr you can’t…you could’ve…” The words died on Lane’s tongue as they looked up at Piotr, to the children in his arms and the two behind him. Even now, completely and totally unarmored, he was acting as their shield. “Jesus Piotr, don’t make me say it.”
The children in his arms volleyed their eyes between Lane and then back to Piotr as an uneasy silence filled the air, the edges of the room becoming heated with frayed nerves and high tensions. All the while, Lane could only think of the possibility of their thought becoming a reality, and the very notion of it filled them with dread. For their last interaction to have been an argument, for the last memories of Piotr to be that of embarrassment and unresolved feelings…
No, Lane wouldn’t permit their mind to go there. They were getting Piotr, and these kids, out of here in one piece. End of story.
Lane swallowed thickly as Piotr’s eyes steeled and his brow furrowed; he opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it and shook his head. He shifted the children in his arms to adjust his grip, and it didn’t take a genius to see how his muscles bulged with the movement. Piotr was strong regardless of his form, no doubt about that, but he wasn’t bulletproof like this.
“We shouldn’t discuss this, not now.” He said in a stern voice. “I must get the students to safety, the nearest tunnel entrance is further down the hall.”
Lane watched him for a moment, struck silent as he advanced forward. Those students not lifted into his arms followed his footsteps, their sock-clad feet softly padding along the carpet after his long strides. Lane let out a soft groan at the sight and ran their hands down their face, making up their mind and then picking up into a jog to place their body at the front of the convoy.
Piotr stopped in his tracks just as Lane appeared before him, quirking his brow as Lane fixed him with a stern look and poked a finger into his chest.
“If you think I’m going to let you do this on your own, you’re out of your mind, Rasputin. I can walk off a bullet a lot easier than you can right now, so I’m playing defense on this one.” Lane stated, the authority in their voice surprising them as they looked up at Piotr with determination in their eyes.
He looked down upon them with a furrowed brow and a clenched jaw, far bigger and stronger even without his armor, and yet Lane did not waiver. If anything, the sight strengthened their resolve as they met his gaze with one of equal intensity; they would not let this be the last time they saw those pretty blue eyes, not by a long shot. Cornflower blue, with dark, sweeping lashes that could have sent a number of people swooning with a single flutter.
They didn’t give him a chance to respond as they removed their finger from his chest and turned, three words thrown over their shoulder with a tone of finality that even Piotr Rasputin in all his stubbornness could not deny as nothing short of an order.
“Stay. Behind. Me.”