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Welcome to Mutanthood | CW: Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Referenced Neglect/Food Denial | 1600 Words

[doubled_speed]

You’ve put a lot of thought into the question of what the best part of the day has to be. There is an argument for first thing in the morning, because walking to school in the mornings sorta sucks when it’s winter. But winter is only part of the year, right, so that’s out. Could go for late night too, the sorta of times when Frank came back from a night out with his buddies. Those times are bad too. But really, this is the worst time, isn’t it?

The roof of the porch leaks. Something that you are reminded of as the sky rumbles ominously with promise of rain. Could start any moment, and it makes you anxious enough to worry at your lip with nervous teeth. There is only one chair on the porch, and it is directly below the point where the roof drips the most. Last time you moved it, hoping to sit somewhere dry to avoid the drips, Frank went off because of it. Your fingers come up to run at the bruise at the memory. The other option is sitting on the bare wood of the porch. That way leads to splinters and if you get dirt on your pants again, Mary...

She’s just as bad, if you do the wrong things. Worse in her own ways because Frank gets tired of hitting when you flinch. Mary? Well, there are other ways to punish a kid, and keeping meals coming has to be more important than keeping on Frank’s good side. School breakfasts and lunches just aren’t going far enough compared to the constant rumble of his stomach, and with the weekend coming up, it mattered more to choose your battles carefully.

The sky rumbles again, like it’s trying to outdo the latest protest of your stomach, and that’s when it starts. The rain falls all at once, coming down like a sheet. Damn. An hour until Mary comes home, and if he’s lucky, two until Frank does. Not that they always work to schedule. Again your teeth find your lip, and after a second you reach out, dragging the beat up old folding chair away from the spot already starting to drip. Once it’s settled in a dry area you flop down and pull open your battered old Captain America bookbag. Better to start on your homework now. After all, it isn’t like you can go anywhere else. More than once you’ve caught sight of the curtains of the squat little one-story across the street twitching aside. Mary always has eyes around him, and Mrs. Keane would definitely call her if you dare step off of this porch.

"If I had a key, maybe you wouldn’t have to have little old witches watching me and complaining about how you have to talk to her."

But no one is around to hear you. Which is probably for the best. Frank would backhand you for the sass. Mary would start yammering about how ungrateful you are, and if you thought you were getting a key so you could eat your family out of house and home, or maybe burn the place down.

Whatever.

A pencil comes out too, and your attention turns to your math homework. Doesn’t matter that you only half get the stuff, if it isn’t mostly done by the time they come home...

The sound of a vehicle passing down the street in the rain. Habit has you looking up, expecting nothing more than someone driving through the wrong part of town. Instead it’s worse, so much worse. An old gray pick up truck, just as beaten and worn as everything else in this house. Rust was eating away at the rear bumper and under the door handle on the driver’s side. The gray was the same color as the sky. The rumble of the engine as the truck pulled into the driveway was just as ominous as the brewing storm.

You move as fast as you can. Papers in bag, bag zipped. There isn’t enough time. There is never enough time. Once you’re standing with the bag over your shoulder, the chair is all that is left. Faster, need to move faster. You push and pull the thing back into position in time to hear cursing as the truck door slams shut and booted feet approach.

It’s all back to perfect as those feet hit the stairs. There is just enough time to turn around and look at Frank before the man is standing at the door. And there is a familiar sort of darkness in his eyes. Darkness that has you looking down at your feet.

"Inside. Now."

There is a harsh edge and you know what that means. The hand around the strap of your bookbag tightens, as if it could serve as some sort of shield against his wrath. Pretty useless, and you know it. There’s no protection in this world. It’s something you learned long ago.

You don’t bother to comment as you head inside. Don’t bother to defend yourself by getting a word in before the door closes behind you both. There is enough time to put your bag down before Frank’s hand settles into your shoulder, a massive weight.

You know how it goes from here. It almost plays out in slow motion. Frank opens his mouth and starts to shout. It’s a rant you’ve heard before, that you could give in your sleep. Weird, how it sounds different this time, voice slurring and distorted. It’s like slow motion. Doesn’t mean that you don’t know the content. Ungrateful, stupid kid, Frank put that chair there for a reason, he knew he wasn’t supposed to move it. Frank had helped bring him into this world, he should be grateful, and no son of his should be so disobedient.

And still it’s all in slow motion. The way Frank’s hand lifts, fingers curling into a fist. Damn, and here you were hoping for a slap. But no, this is one time too many. With practiced form you go just still enough to prove a suitable target, carefully breathing out just before the slow moving fist connects with your stomach. Forcing the air out, you’ve learned, makes this easier. The blow still hurts and you stumble back, moaning in pain.

When you were younger you used to think maybe if you cried and begged he would stop. The first time you’d broken his favorite stein mug because you tripped next to his side table, you’d sobbed all night. It had been the start of a lot. Then you got it into head that maybe it would be better if you could just show him how strong you were, how you could take it.

Now you just let your body react. And the way it reacts this time is weird. The fist of Frank’s other hand swings in, still so slow, and it’s too slow. Beyond slow. On a whim your body sways aside and the fist swings past. Strange. You watch as Frank’s eyes slowly widen. And then the proper speed of the world slams back into place as two more blows rained down with them, punctuated by a peal of thunder.

It hurts. It always hurts. You fall backward another step and then shake your head to clear the sudden headache. It can’t be from the blows. Frank never hits around the head without it just being a slap. But it hurts, bad, worse almost than the punches.

You need to get away. You need to move. You need this to stop. And so you do something you haven’t done in years. You move. One moment you’re shifting as if trying to just get out of the range of your father’s fists. The next you’ve taken a step and everything is different.

You’re wet. Rain is falling on you. Instead of the living room you’re two blocks away, bracing yourself against the fence around Mr Davis’s house. None of it makes sense. And none of that matters because your stomach, already aching, finally revolts, and what lunch you were able to get is lost just like that. A few more retches and your clothes are soaked through. You raise your hand to wipe at the corner of your mouth.

There’s a tree nearby, leaves thick and strong. A few stumbles steps and you fall under it, taking shelter as you try and figure it out. How you’re here, what you’re doing, why your body aches deeper than any beating managed before. You sit with your back against the tree, curling your legs up to your chest. Your fingers reach up to try and push hair back from your eyes, hair plastered to your skin. And then, with a flash of white, you freeze. Freeze and pull it instead to a position to look at it. White, white hair like fucking snow. It was a dark, deep brown like Mary’s this morning.

"Oh. Oh Hell."

An unexpected situation, the world seeming slow, being here out of nowhere, a sudden physical change, and all of it in an emotional burst? You’ve read enough to know what it points to. Frank and Mary aren’t going to line this. Maybe you shouldn’t go back. Maybe you should just try and disappear. Like hell they will let a mutant into their home.

You haven’t bothered crying in years. But right now, with everything falling apart around you, with the rain pounding down around you, you let yourself cry.

Super Juvie | CW: Imprisonment, Violence, Implied Experimentation, Racism | ~1100 Words

[doubled_speed]

How long as he been here? It's hard to tell anymore. The general shape of every day is the same. In the morning he wakes up to that same fog and same pressure there always is. Just in case you try and shake your hands in the way you've learned to, to see if your powers are there. Nothing. Not the smallest wiggle of power. So another day stuck. Your hands run up and down your arms, trying to warm your skin. They keep the temperature low in here, which is hell because your body runs so hot these days. You're careful not to look while you do it, because you don't want to see the needle marks all over your arms.

Footsteps in the hall. This soon? Usually you're up for at least what feels like twenty minutes, waiting for them. Waiting for your morning breakfast, delivered into your room through a slot at the bottom of the door. They keep it simple. Toast, a bowl of oatmeal, and a glass of water. Granted, the toast is, like, half a loaf of it, the oatmeal comes in a really large container, and it's a whole liter bottle of water. If nothing else, this place was better than Frank and Mary when it came to feeding them. But of course, they had a reason to, didn't they?

You move to the move to the door as you hear people at it, ready for the meal. You only get two a day, and you'd spent the first week learning that if you don't eat, you go hungry. They weren't going to stop what they were doing just because you were being difficult. In fact, they tended to push harder. They tended to...

You shudder at the idea of it, at the memory of electricity dancing across your skin at a prod.

At least that is the easier thing to deal with. It's better than.

"Hey you mutie freak," someone says from the other side of the door, and you hear the worst possible thing. The smaller hatch in the door opens. The one midway up. "Hands."

"Dude, I haven't even eaten yet," you grumble under your breath.

Thing is, you're not going to disobey. Because if you don't, they'll use the gas, and that leaves your stomach sick and your body weak for a long time. So you move to the door and turn around, sticking your hands behind you and through the opening.

The cuffs are heavy as they put them on. Well, cuffs is a wrong word, heavy and metal and they really cover all of your hands and toward your forearms. And with them comes that same chill and fog of the air, stronger, more persistent. The same tech that keeps you from using your powers in the room is condensed in the cuffs, and when you walk away from the door your whole body feels like lead.

There isn't much of a chance to stagger more than a few paces away before the door opens and a hand descends roughly onto your shoulder. It's painful, how tightly he grips you, his fingers digging into your shoulder to leave a low ache. On someone else you think it would hurt even worse. You're durable, enough that it takes some serious bit of effort to hurt you.

"Come on, freak. Time to go."

"I haven't eaten yet," you protest louder, and it earns a sharp kick to the back of your knee. Can't help it, the joint caves and without your hands to catch you, you fall to the floor. Pain flares from your nose, sharp and immediate and demanding. Fuck, that... might be broken. Again.

"Did I tell you that you can talk back? The docs want you."

Doctors. You want to laugh at the term, because they really aren't doctors. If they were, they'd start by taking care of your nose. The guard comes to pull you up and you feel blood, hot and demanding, rolling down your face. Can taste the coppery tang of it, and all you can do is try and tilt your head back, hoping that it stops.

"Ah, you're just jealous of my good looks," you sneer, and yeah, it earns you a cuff on the back of the head. Oh well. Worth it. Even so the guy shoves you, out of your cell, out into the hall, and...

Left.

"No," you groan through the pain and the sharp flare of fear. Your arms ache with the memory of needles, your wrists chafe at the reminder of the restraints. The way your blood burns with whatever they pump you full of, your skin itches for days after, it all is more than you can handle. You don't wanna go left.

You want to go right. Right is where they have treadmills and blast rooms. Right is where they put you in a box with objectives, with targets that seem more and more human each time, with replicated cars or walls or steel doors. They watch you run for hours on end, trying to figure out how fast you are. They set obstacle after obstacle, trying to see what the limit is for your explosions. Those times they put a watch with needles on the inside on your wrist, one that injects something that makes you feel good whenever you do what they want you to do.

Right is better. Right is the best.

Left...

"No," you say again, voice harder as you try and pull away from those hands pushing you forward. "No, please, no. I'll listen to what they want. Please, can't we practice today. Please!"

You don't beg, you don't plead, that never got you anywhere in life. But you try. Because you have to try. Because each step you get pushed forward is closer. Closer with each push and you're trying to get free, if only your hands were free, if only you could get away, if only...

There's the door, and another two guards. They move without being told, and you're struggling under their hands as you shout and struggle. If only your hands were free, if only you could run. You'd go and you'd never come back. You'd make them pay when they hurt you. And they always hurt you.

The door opens and the light beyond it is bright and all you can do is sob because there's no point. There's never been a point. In the end they always win. But that doesn't stop you from screaming your throat raw. You know you will. Pain and fear and what they do?

Is there even a point in struggling?

Green and Silver | CW: None | ~900

[doubled_speed]

So what are you going to do now?

The question had thrown him off. Not like people were ever that invested in his goals before. But when Kate, because apparently she was too good for a hero-name, asked, Tommy had to stop and wonder. Half because he expected Magic-Boy to stop him, not her. Half because he expected to walk away with only a thank you from Alien-Prince. No, he hadn't been expecting something from Squad-Leader.

Fuck it, their nicknames were already stupid, his for them were clearly better.

But she'd asked, and he'd stopped and wondered. What did he do now? He couldn't go home, right? Not like the Shepherds would take him in, and he was pretty sure his parents had broken up. He wasn't about to just let Magic-Boy and Alien-Prince sweep him up into some big kumbayas either. He was a free mutant speedster. What did you do with that? And then Squad-Leader had barreled on. Offered him something he never expected. A chance to stay at their 'secret base' while he figured it out. A name. The promise of a place on their team and a costume and all that he could want. He could be a hero for real.

And now here it was. He'd told her no, right to her face, and taken off. Granted he DID crash in her secret base once he found it, not like he had somewhere else to go. But he'd told her to bounce off, little girl, and he'd been okay with that. And still here it was. A clothing box on the couch he'd been using as a bed, with a little notecard on it.

Tommy, in case you change your mind.

She'd given him a name, and with shaking hands he'd opened the box.

The question had thrown him off, and so had opening the box and holding it in his hand. Dark green material pooled over his lap as he pulled the costume out. One piece, because yeah, heroes were stupid like that. Dark green and accented along the inside of the arms, down the sides, over the thighs. Accented at the fingers, all gleaming silver that caught the light above him, and shone beautifully. He could imagine how it would look when he moved, a distraction and also an accent to everything he was. The material was like nothing he'd ever felt before either, slick in his hands but when he rubbed it against itself it slid smoothly, like there was no friction. And when he inspected the shoes attached, well, the bottoms of them gave with each press, like they were forming to the ground he would walk on, creating all the grip he could ever need.

It was a work of art, better than even the stupid orange-lens goggles with it.

It was the first gift he'd received in years.

Tommy stood and held the costume up against himself. And as he did he caught sight of the flutter of paper. As he focused on it it seemed to slow, his senses accelerating to the point where it was moving to the ground like a snail. Easy for his hand to dart out and pluck it from its tumble. There was only one word on it. A name. His name.

Speed.

Damn, Squad-Leader sure had fucking taste, didn't she?

Takes a second, a literal second because he counted and tried not to be amused that he could count all the little bits that came before a second, to squirm into the thing. It fit like a glove. No, not quite that. It was like... it was like the whole thing melded to him, shifting and stretching and never getting weaker as it moved with him. Like it was another layer to his skin. Really fucking interesting that. Once it was on he ran for the nearest mirror, wanting to get a look of himself. Only to pause on the way there when he caught sight of the TV in the lounge of the secret base.

Attack on the UN! the screen was declaring. Someone had cut into his damn cartoons. And that someone, moving so slow that it was annoying because Tommy's brain was still going too fast, was a guy with crab hands. And there in the corner a giant bull. And some other stuff. Interesting.

He looked down at his hands, gleaming silver like melted metal. Like mercury that they learned about in chemistry. That stuff had another name, didn't it? Quicksilver. A hero mutant who had started as a villain. Who was missing. Tommy smirked and took the googles, still clutched in his off hand, and put them on.

Alright then.

Alright then, Squad-Leader. Alright then, Kate. He'll give it a try.

Grin in place Tommy threw himself forward and out of the secret base. He could make the UN in no time flat, slow these fuckers down, and then see if he couldn't find the Young Avengers. After all, he hadn't been offered just a name, just a costume. He'd been offered a team. And if those bad guys could group up to try and wreck shit, no reason he couldn't to try and stop them. Only seemed fair.

Explosion of Friendship | CW: Explosions | ~900 Words

[doubled_speed]

Everyone wouldn't stop talking. Talking instead of doing. Tommy sighed and raised his hands to his mouth again, breathing on them. The cold from the Runaway's wizard goth chick was still lingering, and the worst part was that he couldn't rub his hands together to get war. Which was was certain of, because he'd started by doing that. Stupid frictionless unstable-particle uniform. Great for going fast and not setting himself or things around him on fire. So, you know, no getting really warm from friction, not in this outfit.

But basically, everyone was caught up in talking. Which was fair. Shit was fucked, and the Young Avengers knew that the Runaways needed help what with this hero civil war shit going on. After all, the other teens had gotten attacked by SHIELD and the idea was to help keep them free and doing their shit without the stupid Registration Act messing with them. This was the team's whole nobility and helping people thing coming to the front. Tommy? Half the reason he'd come was because he wanted to get out of the fucking base Cap had set up and hoped to get out and do some good. The only reason Tommy was a hero was to be out there and do some fucking good.

But they'd all come, a fight had started because people decided to act instead of talk which was weird because his team was SO into talking way too much and boring the hell out of Tommy, and then there was the cold. And now, now that it was like his nips were freezing off, they decided to open their mouths and compare team composition and how both teams had someone tied to super villains or whatever.

The sooner they top talking and get moving, the better.

"So wait," the little girl, twelve apparently from what she'd said when she'd flung him around earlier like he was a rag doll. Just like him, no one was paying attention to her, so he guessed he was the target to ask. "We're all friends now?"

"Yea, I guess," Tommy agreed with a sigh. Apparently people had missed that one of these people had sicced a fucking dinosaur on him.

The girl was still looking at him. What? Tommy sighed and looked to her as she kept staring at him.

"Your hair is really white. Are you like a hundred years old?"

Ouch.

"Why don't you go back to nap time?" he grumbled. She'd just about passed out after she'd thrown a fucking jeep at them.

"I don't want to... hey! What are your powers?"

Said the girl he'd already speed grabbed earlier. Whatever.

"I'm really quick and if I shake things really fast they blow up-" he tried to explain, as simply as he could. Gotta make it understandable for the kid.

He didn't even get to finish the explanation before the girl was grabbing his arm and dragging him forward. There was nothing in his mutant, speed-enhanced strength that could shake her off.

"Blow Up?! You've got to show me!!"

"But-" Tommy tried to protest as he was hauled off into the woods behind the kid. Shit, he wasn't supposed to do that. But could he really turn the kid down? And it's not like anyone else ever got excited about his powers so would it really hurt? What if he did something sorta small?

Tommy let Molly haul him off away from the others, until they could barely see the others.

"This," Molly declared, pointing to a fist sized rock on the ground. "Blow this up!"

Uh, well... That wasn't really that impressive. Sure, it should be fine. Right? Right. Totally fine. Okay. Tommy let himself smirk as he held his hands out toward the rock and started to vibrate them. Think of the vibration, he reminded himself. Push yourself into it. Push, watch as the rock shakes, sings. Watch as...

KABOOM

Shit. Shit that was louder than he expected, and the rock was a smoldering pile on the ground. Tommy's attention turned back toward the others and he could already see Kate turning to look at them, a look of disapproval on her face. Oops.

"Uh, she made me," he defended, and Kate rolled her eyes before returning to the little pow-wow. Meanwhile there was still Molly, cheering in excitement.

"Guys! Tommy can make rocks blow up!"

Damn. The girl was really getting hard to dislike. Tommy chuckled and shook his head. Maybe they should take these other people back to Cap's hideout. Because they could bring some fun to the place for a chance.

"So just how fast are you?" Molly asked.

Tommy smiled and leaned down to pick a flower and hold it out to the girl.

"Here," he said, holding it out. "Have a flower."

"Oh! Yeah, okay," Molly agreed, smiling as she reached her hands out. And before she could get anywhere close, Tommy had moved his hand up and away, in a burst of speed. When she reached again, he moved once more.

Over, and over. The girl didn't seem disparaged though.

"Hey! Give it here," she cheered, grabbing at the flower, always just a second after he moved it.

"Take it. I'm trying to give it to you."

"Stay still," she giggled as she reached again.

Okay. Maybe kids weren't so bad after all.

First Date | CW: None | ~900 Words

[doubled_speed]

This wasn't what he'd expected. That Gar had been serious about winning that date auction, that Gar had wanted him. And here Tommy was, fucking the date up from the word go. Shit, this was about the word thing he could have done, right?

"Did... if you don't want this to be a date..." Gar was saying, and all Tommy could do was ache. It didn't help that a movie was the worst choice to him. He had to do something. He had to make this better.

So he stood, offering his hand down to Gar, "Do you trust me?"

"I trust you," Gar said when he took Tommy's hand and stood.

"Don't blink."

He pulls Gar into his arms, holding him tight and secure for the purposes of the cross Spheres run. With a thought he throws himself into a quick run, hand braced behind Gar's head to keep it from getting hurt. All the way to the Agricultural sphere he ran, and from there he found one over the covered pavilions where people who worked the fields rested. Tommy carried Gar right up onto the roof and set the man down to sit. Then he was gone to the movie showing and back again in a few quick trips, bringing all of their food to put near them. Everything was there now, including the beers.

"This work?" he asked, half worried this would work.

What he got in response was Gar looking around and then smiling up at him in pleasure. "Yeah, I think it does."

Alright then. Tommy flopped down next to Gar, dangling his legs over the edge and letting them kick. "I'm sorry I fucked up the date already. I didn't... I didn't expect a real one."

To be felt for that way, to be aspired toward... Holy fuck.

"I didn't mean to surprise you with it," Gar said, and Tommy watched the slow motion of Gar's fingers flowing through the green of his hair. He was beautiful, Tommy realized in that moment. Shit, Gar was beautiful. "Just... was easier to do the auction than ask you."

Yeah, he was unapproachable, but Tommy was used to being wanted for hook ups. "This... wasn't just... Gar, that wasn't just an impulsive thing, was it? You've really been thinking about this?" How could someone think about wanting him like this?

"Yeah but I mean... I didn't think you'd be interested in me at all but I've kind of liked you for a while."

Well now Tommy was staring, and he could feel the heat in his cheeks that betrayed a blush. To cover he sips at his beer. "I'm broken. But I guess I can try this whole date thing. For your sake. You're a good guy. You deserve a good date. What... am I supposed to do?"

He was going to fuck this up for lack of knowing, and Tommy hated it. But shit, he wanted to live up to someone's expectations for once.

"I'm broken... damaged and all kinds of fucked up. Not sure I deserve anything." Still, Gar smiles at him. "We can hang out and have fun. Don't put pressure on it."

Damn but they matched then, didn't they? Two dudes on a rooftop that didn't know what they were doing. So Tommy reached out to offer his hand to Gar.

"Guess we're like, a pair then. Food first, then we'll, uh. We'll do something else. Not a movie. Something fun."

The smile Gar gave him was radiant and Tommy was shocked at how it made his heart stutter to see it. How was that possible? He knew his heart didn't waver too much, part of the mutation. But this was happening anyway.

"Food and fun," Gar said as he took Tommy's hand. "Sounds perfect."

That hand let Tommy pull Gar closer, right up against him. That was how Teddy and Billy sat when they were together. Clearly that was a couple thing and important, and Tommy was trying to mirror that.

"There's a playground near here. Where the long term residents let their kids play when they aren't at school. Don't suppose you like swings."

That made the smile wider and damn, if he'd thought Gar was beautiful before, he didn't know what to call him when he smiled like that. Gar relaxed against him and Tommy felt the guy nod.

"I haven't played on a swing in forever, but hell yeah."

Tommy could feel Gar relax against him, which was nice for him. In fact Tommy envied it given he was tense as a fucking... well, something that was tense. Every muscle screamed flight. It took some effort to resist it.

"There's a whole jungle gym and all that. It's... it's not a real date, I'm sorry. But it's something?"

"Seriously... what defines a real date anyway?" Gar asked with a shrug. "It's about spending time together, isn't it?"

Yeah, he wasn't wrong about that. And Tommy liked it a lot. Helps that this guy was a friend, and super nice to him. He kept looking at Gar while they ate in peaceful silence, sides pressed a little bit together. And when the two were done he set his plate aside.

"Come on, let's have a bit of fun."

"Playground right?"

With a smirk Tommy pushed off of the roof rather than answering. His body was meant for a lot of things. But there he was on the ground, his muscles quivering in excitement. He turned around and held his arms out as a silent suggestion.

Time to catch the guy and carry him off to the sort of fun Tommy knew how to have.