WARNING THINGY: As this is the first chapter, I will state this here and only here. This is SLASH! Boy/boy, or, in other words, I turn your favorite character gay with my evil fairy stick (to rephrase what some people have said to me before >=P). Anywho, that means it’s going to be Lance/Pietro as well as some OTHER minor unimportant pairings (one of which is mentioned in this chapter :D). Also, this deals with other touchy issues. I warned you, so don’t get mad at me if you become scarred for life.

A/N: Oh, dear God, I finally wrote it! Well, sort of. This tiny little chapter isn’t as long as my usual stuff, but that’s because this is more of a prologue than a full-blown chapter. Oh, well. This is kinda... weird... but don’t worry! The other chapters will most likely NOT be written in this style! I just figured humor would be kind of inappropriate for this particular scene... so... it’s written in my “Icky Novel Hasn’t Been Used In Many Many Months” style. So there. :D

Semi-Important Note: This chapter/prologue thingie takes place in the middle of the story. I don’t know why, but I decided to write it this way... Anyway, every chapter after this will take place before this one (until I reach the chapter that takes place during this part, in which case, every chapter past that will take place after this one-- make any sense?). I figured I might as well do it this way because I so far have written about six different openings to this lovely sequel-majig (all of which take place at the very beginning of the story, unlike this one) and I was getting VERY frustrated and was very very close to giving up. And now, read on!

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since he broke up with Lance (without actually telling him) and left the Brotherhood. He didn’t intend to join the X-Men, they just happened to show up right as Pyro was about to toast him, and now he found himself a rather reluctant guest in their house. Oddly enough, they didn’t try their recruiting crap on him... Their professor told him that he was welcome to stay and recuperate even if he wasn’t ready to join them. Pietro found himself with no other choice, since he really had nowhere to run, and couldn’t even run if he had a place to go, since Lance broke his ankle.

Two weeks. Two weeks ago, he managed to seduce Blue Boy-- no, Kurt. He had gotten to calling the fuzzy elf by his first name since they started “dating”-- and found out that despite his gentleness and good nature, the guy was a real animal in bed. Pietro winced at the memory of their first time and every time since, when he felt lips press against the back of his neck, and furry arms wrap themselves around his waist. He didn’t really like Kurt, he was only in the “relationship” because it kept him from feeling like Lance was still a part of him.

Pietro brought one knee up to his chest and rested his chin on it. He could hear the laughter and general happiness from downstairs as the X-Geeks opened their Christmas gifts, and it made him feel sick. He didn’t want anything to do with the stupid holiday or those stupid freaks.

He bit down on his lower lip, thinking. One month ago, his life was great. He was still with the Brotherhood, and Lance (along with St. John and Freddy) were to be returning home after being away for five months. One month ago, he was a senior at Bayville high, who, despite the occasional attacks over his sexuality, was leading a generally happy, together life with his “family”.

And then, during that one month, his life fell apart. Stabbed by a wayward spike; captured and tortured by the very people those X-Fucks were sworn to protect; rescued, only to have witnessed a murder and then attempt to leave the Brotherhood for God knows what; and then finally attacked by his own family and dragged to the Institute.

His tongue brushed against his lower lip, and he noticed the faint taste of blood. He stared out the window, remembering.

Lance confronted him first, trying to get him to reconsider--

“So... you’re serious about this? Leaving your family behind?”

--and when Pietro wouldn’t listen to reason, Allerdyce informed him ever so kindly as he attacked that there was no other choice.

“Mystique said that we had to kill you if you tried to leave. She got those orders directly from Magneto. Sorry, mate.”

He didn’t sound all too apologetic as he sent one of his fiery creations after Pietro. Lance watched on with an expression of complete apathy, and when Pietro tried to run, he sent a seismic disruption that knocked Pietro off his feet and resulted in a broken ankle. It was at that moment-- three weeks ago-- that Pietro wished they would hurry up and kill him, but it was no use. Nothing ever worked his way. The X-Men arrived and saved him like fucking knights in shining armor at the last minute. They always did shit like that...

It was their fault he was so miserable. Theirs for keeping him alive, theirs for ruining the Brotherhood’s attack on the Friends of Humanity one month ago. That Amy girl was also to blame (Pietro now regretted laughing off John’s rather absurd claims that underneath the quiet exterior the girl really was an evil bitch). Magneto was to blame for this mess, as well as Daniels for stabbing him, the Friends of Humanity for capturing him, the God damn US government for their “Sentinel” program, and Lance, most of all, for loving him.

Even after all of that, Pietro hadn’t cried once. He sometimes wanted to scream and destroy things, kill something, run far away from everything, but never cry.

And now he was stuck in a mansion while his teammates still lived in their dilapidated home. He ate real food rather than runny eggs and microwave dinners. He drank clean water rather than the lukewarm faucet water he had grown so accustomed to. They provided him with clean clothes, a nice bed (Kurt’s, actually, as they didn’t quite trust him with his own room), a place to stay and heal from the attack, and he hated it all.

As much stuff as the X-Men had, they lacked one thing he always felt when he was with the Brotherhood: freedom. Even though they were nothing but Magneto’s pawns, they still had a certain freedom that was better than any mansion-- even if the mansion did have a pool, entertainment center, working utilities and a solid roof.

And despite how much the X-Men attempted to be nice to him, Pietro felt that they looked down on him, took him in as a sort of “pity case”. The newer members weren’t quite as pompous as the older ones, but some small, paranoid side of Pietro felt as though they all considered him to be lower than the rest of them.

I hate it here.

Pietro leaned over the side of the bed and pulled his bag up onto his lap.

hy couldn’t they have just let me die?

Delicate, long-fingered hands searched through the sparse contents until they came across the knife he managed to steal from the kitchen last night while helping with the dishes. Thin fingers caressed the blade curiously, and taking it in hand, he shoved the bag back onto the floor.

Why do I still love him? Why don’t I hate him for what he’s done?

Pietro blinked rapidly, feeling the cool wetness of tears slide down his cheeks. He took in a shuddering breath and swiped the tears away.

He couldn’t stand it anymore, the memories-- good and bad-- of what he’d been through. Knowing about all of the wonderful moments he spent with Lance, carefree, and all of the times he wished he was dead in between experiments performed by scientists working to create the ultimate mutant-killing machines.

Blue eyes stared at the tempting blade, and he bit his lower lip again, thinking.

So this is what it feels like to be empty. Broken. Hollow.

He tugged the sleeve of his somewhat oversized orange sweater up his arm and held back a small smile. This is what I wore that day when Lance came home after five months of being away on assignments...

He closed his eyes and felt more tears leak out from his stubborn eyes. Fingers wrapped firmly around the handle of the knife as he took in another sobbing breath and held his arm out. Eyes opened and he swiftly, without putting any more thought into it, slashed the eager blade across the soft skin of his wrist, slicing through the pulsing blood vessel in one motion.

He felt the knife slip through his shaking fingers and stared indifferently at the bleeding sight before him. Blood flowed out from his wrist and landed, drip drip, onto the clean bedsheets.

Kurt’s not gonna like that I got blood all over his bed, he thought wryly as he tried not to make a sound. Footsteps approached from down the hall, and he closed his eyes once more and let his arms go limp, hoping that maybe-- just maybe-- that one cut was enough...

A/N: Weeeeell, that was fucked up, no? :D Bear with me, it’s been a long time since I’ve written proper angst, so I’m a bit rusty at it. But that doesn’t matter because the next chapter goes back to my no-angst style! Hmm... oh yeah, as for “Come What May” (those of you who are reading this that have read that story), I’m going to work on the next chapter... uh... when I feel like it.

Uhh... I have no idea what to say/type now. Uh... hm, maybe I shouldn’t have just ended this stupid fragment of a chapter at that point-- oh well! You’ll see what happens to Pietro in Chapter... uh.... not 2. You see, unlike “Come What May”, I actually have this entire story (sans ending) planned out (and have for a long-ass time, I just haven’t written it because of this DAMNABLE beginning). And now... eh... I’ve made myself feel ill, so... yeah... review if you want to. I PROMISE the next chapter will be much better than this one (or at least a little better-- hell, at least a teeny bit better than this odd piece of... stuff)