Cub was breathing, unconscious. He was barely breathing, every move opening the gash inside of him larger, tearing veins. Urge to cough came and went, then returned with vengeance when he twisted sharply, reaching for the handle of the knife sticking out from his back. His fingers grasped it, then slipped when series of coughs and gags forced him to lean on his both hands to avoid falling on his face to the growing puddle of his own blood that was pouring from his nose and mouth. He’d have to get away from here. He’d have to hide until he was fit again. It was impossible to breathe. Impossible to stop coughing even though he knew it did more harm than good. He was drowning to his own blood. Torn tissues refused to heal around the offending object. He forced himself upright, covering his mouth with his palm, trying to stifle itching, burning feeling inside of him. Something was blocking the doorway. The breeder. Had she come for Cub’s aid? She must have heard his surprised shout when he had knocked him unconscious.
“Let me pass… Let me pass and I won’t hurt you…” Wolverine gurgled through the blood. She stepped aside. She could hear Sam breathing. At least Destroyer hadn’t killed him. Wolverine staggered past her, and she could see what had happened. Handle of Sam’s knife was sticking out of his back.
He could more sense than hear her reaching out. Hand wrapping around the handle. Sickening feel of it sliding out. He fell on his knees, waiting. Waiting for her to finish it. Instead he heard the soft clunk of knife falling to the ground. Hands wrapping around him, helping him up again, towards the house. He tried to push her away. It wasn’t safe; she should go and seek cover. It wasn’t over yet. Enemy was still alive.
Not the enemy. No. Cub. Not the enemy.
“Fix me.” It was hard to speak. She was trembling, out of fear or from the sheer weight of him? It was impossible to tell, all he could smell was his own blood blocking his airways and sinuses.
“Fix me.” Wound was closing already, blood clotting, turning to sticky goop inside of him. She helped him to sit on the porch when he started to crumble, wheezing, coughing and splattering out thick strands of dark red lumps and clots.
“Fix me…” Mantra they had trained to speak out. He knew he couldn’t stop before the crisis passed. It was built in to him; part of program intended to draw attention of the mechanics.
“Fix me.” He felt her lips closing around his mouth and nose. Pressure easing slowly when she sucked off clotted blood and spat it to side.
She wiped her mouth, pulled a bucketful of water from the well and tried to rinse off disgusting taste and feel of it from her tongue. She didn’t know why she had done it. What had made her do it. Wolverine was observing her, breath still wheezing and rattling, but at least he was able to breath now.
“Little mom… Take care of them…” Beast growled. Slight shudder went through his frame and he fell on his back, whole body limp.
She wasn’t just a Breeder. He didn’t know if they had a name for a unit like her. Back in his days there hadn’t been. There hadn’t been other units like him and her. He chose a word he had heard sometimes used from civilians by their Cubs. Mom. It sounded more than a Breeder. He was going to leave now, but he had to make sure they’d be alright.
“Little mom… Take care of them…”
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