Something Wicked This Way Comes

[meepdog]

Another little ficcy. Dudes, I am like, on some kind of chapter-writing frenzy today… First “Kurt’s New Friend”, and then the second chapter and half of the third to my long-run fic, and now this… Anyhoo, don’t own it, Marvel does, yada yada yada, blah blah blah.

It was a busy day in New York City. As in, it was a busy day for New York City. The streets were even more crowded than usual, and the sidewalks were jam-packed. Everyone went about their business, constantly bumping shoulders with one another, sometimes apologizing, but for the most part just ignoring anyone not having anything to do with the object of their destination.
It made him nervous. One wrong touch, one brief slip, and someone could die… Just a quick moment of contact… The hungry beast inside him longed for such a mistake, yearned for him to go on a rampage, killing everyone-
Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES. He could do it. He could storm through this pathetic city, killing all in his path, he could satisfy the desire that lurked inside him, he could quench that burning thirst here and now-
No. No. No, no, NO. He couldn’t. It would be wrong. It would be- every touch would remind him of her, every death would bring back the memory of when he first used his power…
It would destroy his mind…
He couldn’t do it.
He could squash the beast, for now. For now, he was here for a reason. So he moved along, quietly, quickly, shying away from any contact.
He had a goal, and it had to be accomplished. The very weight of the bag banging his knees with every step reminded him of that objective, and he couldn’t be deterred from it.
Forget the noises of the streets, the yells, laughs, sobs, the irritated snapping of the businessman to his cell phone, the happy yipping of the excitable puppy straining at his collar.
The only sound that reached his ears was the beating of his own heart.
Thump.
Father, I’m coming.
Thump.
I’m so sorry, so terribly sorry.
Thump.
Please, help me God.
Thump.
This will work. This has to work.
Thump.
I love you, Laurie- I’m doing this for you, for the hand that I destroyed, for the beauty that I disrupted, for the perfection that I marred, I am a good man- you’ll see!
He reached the apartment buildings, and then he stopped. Green Shire Apartments, Number 606… Green Shire Apartments, Number 606… Green Shire Apartments, Number 606…
The words pounded in his head, like some bizarre drumbeat, zipping about faster and faster- was this the right place?
Green Shire Apartments, Number 606, New York City, New York- wasn’t that what he had been told? Right at the intersection of Thompson Greay Avenue and Yorkers Ferry Lane?
He entered the apartment building, and walked slowly up to the room.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Who’s there?” someone said inside the room. Her voice was low and hoarse, just like his, the mark of deep depression, fear, and guilt. It was a ringing signal, the sort that cannot be ignored- she had gone through much of the same sort of suffering that he had.
“Kevin- Kevin Ford, remember? I’m here to speak to my dead father,” he answered, hoping with all his might that she would not turn him away. The door opened, and he was confronted with someone his own age, approximately. She had short, black hair and a pale, thin face. Her clothes reminded him of that group of Goths that he had seen outside on the streets. Her eyes were as dark a brown as his, a shade of black that most of the students had compared with death.
“Do you have his body? Something that I can work with?” she asked him intently.
He held up the bag for her to see. She opened it, and took a quick peek inside. He was quickly ushered in.
“Don’t let anyone see us doing this. They’ll call the police, and then I’ll be done for.”
“I understand,” he assured her. She held out her hand expectantly for a moment. He hesitated, then realized that he was supposed to give her the money. Another brief pause, then, reluctantly, he gave it to her. Money was scarce for him these days, especially after leaving Xavier’s.
She counted it. While she was doing that, he got a chance to look around her small apartment. He wasn’t normally the nosy type, but this time his curiousity won out over his normally reserved and shy manners. It was relatively bare, with very little furniture. It consisted of a living room, with one small couch, which also folded out into a bed, and a very small kitchen in the corner, with a door to the right which he assumed led to the bathroom. There was a small chest of drawers, and various boxes scattered throughout the room, and books piled up all over the place.
“You like to read?” he didn’t know what had made him say that. She nodded stiffly.
“It passes the time.”
Another pause, while she was unceremoniously emptying the bag of its contents, and arranging his father’s bones on the floor.
“You got a name?” he asked.
“Wicked.”
“Do you have any… Un-Dead friends around here, Wicked?”
She glared at him. He winced.
“Sorry.”
“I do,” Wicked said softly. “What else do you think is in the crates? There’s also a small cemetery in the backyard, but I don’t like to use it for that purpose- the people under the ground there are all terribly snobby.”
“Oh.”
He waited.
“Why do you wish to talk to your father?” she asked him, more to pass the time than anything else, he thought.
Kevin waited a little while before answering. “I have to apologize for something…”
She nodded, then looked at him sharply. “Do you want me to give him your real name, or a nickname? One that he will not recognize?”
“He’ll know me. Just introduce me as Kevin, please… Although my only nickname is… Wither.”
She could see instantly that he hated his nickname. There was a distant pain in his eyes that he probably didn’t even realize was there. She wondered if she looked the same way.
The corpse on the ground stirred, then rose to its feet. It- he watched her expectantly.
“Trevor, your son is here to see you,” she said softly.
“Kevin!” the corpse moaned. “Kevin, what happened to me?”
“Father I’m… I’m a mutant… I killed you…” The tears welled in his eyes, try as he might to stop them. Wicked noticed his discomfort and quietly left the room. She crouched on the toilet, closing up her ears so she couldn’t unintentionally intrude on their conversation. She would respect Kevin’s privacy. Whatever this kid’s mutation was, her gut told her that it was something bad, and had done something horrible to the kid’s father, regardless of whether or not he had meant any harm.
She was also hoping that Trevor was more forgiving than her parents were. She wished that Kevin’s father loved him more than her father had ever loved her. For Kevin’s sake, if anything, please, just let Trevor forgive him…
It seemed like an eternity later that she opened the door, tenderly. “Kevin?” she asked, cautiously. She found him, to her surprise, kneeling on the floor, weeping openly. Immediately she was at his side, carefully draping her arm around his shoulders. Trevor’s corpse had collapsed back on the ground. His face had half-decayed off, but she could still read the expression written there, as broadly and plainly as day- love. Love. The last emotion that Trevor had ever felt. Love. It wasn’t the weeping of a rejected, tormented, and unloved teenager, seeking only understanding and finding none, that emanated from Kevin. His tears were ones of a grief that he had not let himself indulge in, not let run its full course. It was a remorseful longing for his father again, the final acceptance that he was gone, and would never return.
Wicked left Wither’s side and gently replaced each and every bone into the bag, arranging them painstakingly, trying to give Trevor as much dignity as she could possibly provide, in that undignifying satchel bag. Because he deserved it. Because Trevor was now, in her opinion, the best parent in the world, dead or alive. He was not, she finally realized, complete. There were several bones missing. It didn’t matter.
Not often did she connect this emotionally with her customers. Not even when a man came to her wanting to re-animate his wife for a few minutes just so that he could explain to her that it was not he who had murdered her with a single bullet, but his cousin, a man who looked and sounded so much like him.
Perhaps it was because she, like Wither, had tried to seek parental approval, even from beyond the dead. She had been rejected, and still had enough of a heart in her that she did not wish to see the same thing happen to someone else.
“Thank you,” Kevin muttered when he had stopped crying.
That surprised her. Not often did her customers actually thanked her for providing the unique service that was only available through a select few, and none as adept at it as her. It seemed like this meeting was different from every other one, in so many ways.
“Your welcome,” she said, somewhat awkwardly.
“I’m sorry, too…” he was obviously embarrassed at having cried.
“It’s alright,” she smiled at him, and he returned her smile. Wicked handed him the bag, and the young man turned to leave.
She couldn’t let him go just yet. “Wait, Kevin!”
He turned around, waiting.
A quick peck on the lips.
No more.
He wouldn’t have allowed it, even if she had wanted it to stretch out longer.
Over-indulgence in that area, he had discovered, was fatal.
But not for him.

THE END!!! FEEDBACK WELCOMED AND APPRECIATED!!! GREATLY!!! Anyways, this is only a short little one-shot, and I really don’t feel like adding more to it. Like it, hate it, please just leave me a comment.

[NachtcGleiskette]

Hey, technically we only host Nightcrawler fan fiction, but we do enjoy other characters as well. You can post further stories involving other characters in out "Not-Crawler" section. Thanks!!

[Confizzle]

Sorry I can't help thinking of the South Park episode "Something Wall-Mart comes this way." a decent fic.

You might want to space the dialogue apart to make it easier to read example.

{“Why do you wish to talk to your father?” she asked him, more to pass the time than anything else, he thought.

Kevin waited a little while before answering. “I have to apologize for something…”

She nodded, then looked at him sharply. “Do you want me to give him your real name, or a nickname? One that he will not recognize?”

“He’ll know me. Just introduce me as Kevin, please… Although my only nickname is… Wither.”

She could see instantly that he hated his nickname. There was a distant pain in his eyes that he probably didn’t even realize was there. She wondered if she looked the same way.}



And also as a New X-Men geek, Kevin picked "Wither" as his codename so I doubt that he would dislike it, but hey I'm just being difficult right now