He wiped his hands to his thighs, picked up his revolver and rose to his feet, kicking the limp body of the freak show master for the good measure before he made his way to the back of the wagon. Wrenched open the door. Iron bars of the cage gleamed in the sunlight. The boy leaned against them, something akin of a hope shimmering upon his face.
He swayed on his feet, shivering from the coldness. His trousers were soaked through from the melted snow, his shirt and jacket from his blood. The boy was staring at him. There was no fear on his face, just curiosity and… Worry?
The gun felt heavy in his hand, like it was tied on to the ground at his feet. It was nearly impossible to lift it, and his hand shook when he finally managed to raise it. The boy tilted his head and reached his hand, his fingers brushing the cold barrel of the gun, wrapping around it, his eyes staring at him questioningly. The poor bastard had no idea of what a revolver was. Not before his fingers brushed against the silver etchings that burned his skin. The boy shrieked, let go of the gun and scrambled back from the bars, in to the shadows of the wagon.
“Don’t worry… I’m not going to hurt you. Not after this anyway…” Logan whispered, pulling a syringe from his pocket and reaching through the bars, expecting the boy to try and bite him at any second. The needle found the target and the boy let out one more scream before scooting to the furthest corner of the cage to lick his wounded arm.
“It’ll hurt like a bitch for a while. But if Enoch was as heavy handed with you as he was with me, you should be accustomed to pain already…”
He walked off from the wagon when the boy started to cry and slumped under a tree. The beast taken care of it was time to tend his own wounds. The one on his cheek had already stopped bleeding, the bullet had probably cauterized it immediately, but his shoulder was bleeding profusely. His whole left side felt cold and numb.
He shed his jacket and the shirt as carefully as possible, then prodded the wound lightly. The bullet had gone straight through. He had been lucky. As far as he could tell, it hadn’t ruptured any major vessels. There were no broken bones. Just ugly, torn hole which he would have to plug before he bled out.
He fumbled through his bag, cursing his stupidity and arrogance. His reaction to Enoch’s closeness and taunts had nothing to do with Wolverine, but everything to do with his wounded pride and thirst for revenge. His rather animalistic reaction had been nothing but something Enoch had taught him. How a good beast should react when people got too close to the cage.
“Oh, would you shut up already!” The boy was clinging to the bars of the cage, his eyes fixed to Logan, bawling his eyes out. He tried not to look at his pleading face. Tried his best to concentrate to his shoulder, scooping handfuls of snow to the wound, trying to slow down the bleeding. It wasn’t working very well. He felt dizzy. The snow around him was turning from pink to deep red. And it was starting to hurt. Impact of the bullet had temporarily stunned him, but now all the torn and shredded nerve endings were slowly waking up, one after another.
“Thank God for that little witch…” He sighed deeply when he found the small pouch of herbs and bandages Marie had slipped in to his bag when he hadn’t been watching. He didn’t have the slightest idea of what to do with most of them, having not paid nearly as much attention to her works as he should have been, but when he found some dried moss he pressed fistful of it to the wound, then wrapped the bandage on top of it. End result was clumsy at best, but it would have to do until he felt good enough to dress it properly.
The boy had stopped crying and was staring at him, regarding him silently. He cocked his head. The boy didn’t seem to be in any pain. How the hell was it possible? He had squirted the cure in him mere minutes ago. He should have been rolling on the floor of the cage in agony, not standing there, worry and fear shining in his eyes. In his very human eyes.
There was not a sign of the beast in the boy that was watching him. In fact, he wasn’t the same boy that Enoch had shown to Logan earlier. Same height and build, dark hair and eyes, but it wasn’t the same boy.
“Who are you?” He asked. The boy blinked, and for a moment Logan was afraid that he would start crying again. Then he spoke.
“Enoch bought me from the town. Everybody just calls me Boy.”
He scrambled up to his feet and staggered to the wagon, leaning against the cage.
“Show me your hands…” He whispered. The boy stepped hesitantly closer and extended his hands, his palms turned upwards. Logan swallowed and grasped his wrists. There were no burn marks on his fingers or palms, just old blisters and cuts, pads of his fingers calloused from hard work. It hadn’t been the silver of his gun that had hurt the boy’s hands. Enoch had probably bought the boy from the blacksmith. The boy had probably hurt his hands while working on bellows at the smithery.
The boy he was after was most likely long gone now, either killed by Enoch or sold for some other freak show for good money.
He grasped the padlock that held the door of the cage locked.
“Back off. I’ll try and see if I can get this thing open…” He whispered. The boy scrambled to the back of the cage and curled around himself, shielding his head and ears with his hands and feet.
He raised his gun and shot once. Twice. Finally the padlock gave in and fell to the ground. He yanked the cage door open.
“Go home, kid.”
He was sweating, his whole body bathing in sticky, cold substance. The boy brushed past him. He couldn’t bring himself to move or to let go of the iron bars of the cage. If he let go of them now, he’d fall flat on his face to the ground.
“What the hell are you waiting for? Go home…” He growled when the boy just stood there, naked on the snow, staring at him.
“I… I have no home. And if I go back they’re going to think that I escaped. They’re going to whip me or…”
“Tough luck, brat. I have no time to take care of you or your problems…” He felt like puking up, but managed to force back the bile that had risen to the back of his throat. He turned to look at the edge of the woods. His camp wasn’t that far, few hundred meters away, but right now… It could have very well been on the other side of the goddamned world.
He let go of the cage and took few swaying steps on the snow. Then darkness engulfed him and he fell.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000