Hey everybody! This is my first fanfic that I'm actually sending to a list. Hope you all enjoy it!
Rating: PG
Continuity: This story takes place way back when Bobby was going undercover to find out info about Creed. His cover was blown and his father beaten up by Creed's men. In this story, Bobby is at the hospital watching over his dad.
Please, please, please tell me whatcha think! Send comments, thoughts, and even flames to galaxia_alpha@hotmail.com
Special thanx to Faile02 for the Beta read! :0)
Thanx. And enjoy!
Dark Revelation
He had never understood.
Hate had never quite made sense to him. Well, except when directed toward vegetables. But real, blinding, passionate hate for another living thing? That was beyond him. Of course Bobby Drake, being a mutant and a member of the supposedly terrorist X-Men, had been on the receiving end of the emotion more times than he wanted to count—but never had he returned the utter, complete vehemence and contempt that was demonstrated toward him and his kind
He had never understood. What was that white-hot emotion that retched at the heart, twisting it upon itself and lighting it in a holocaust of anger? The selfish, passionate desire for revenge, for the chance to watch the crimson blood of despised enemies drip from clenched fist? The swirl of rage that was like an unstoppable hurricane, destroying all in its path in the aspiration of reaching its target and ripping it to shreds?
No, Bobby had never understood hate, not in its barest, purest most savage form.
But that was before.
This was now.
Bobby sat on the metal fold-up chair grasping his father's limp hand. The fingers felt too cold, the pulse too weak. He stared at the battered broken man lying limply on the sterile hospital bed. Bandages crisscrossed the red, bruised skin, their sharp, white, contrast making the black and blue of his injuries look so much more devastating. Bobby wiped at his eyes casually, as if it were simply some wayward dust causing them to tear. He fooled no one. Not even himself.
Bobby forced a deep, shaky breath into his lungs. The air felt dull, empty, unsatisfying. His father didn't deserve this. Despite their tumultuous relationship Bobby loved the man deeply. He'd never realized before quite how much.
Maybe what hurt the most was the fact that this was partly his fault. His father had been defending him when he'd gotten beaten up by... by... Bobby paused in his thoughts, countenance darkening substantially at the direction his mind's voice was heading. Creed's men. The murderous, bloodthirsty men that followed the orders of a madman. Bobby could feel his throat and chest tightening, could feel the tension and adrenaline rush. They were the reason his father was lying on this bed fighting for his life. His breaths were coming faster now, keeping time with the beeping heart-monitor. Jaw clenched hard, teeth grinding excruciatingly against each other. A fist formed in his free hand, so tight that the knuckles turned white.
They had done this. And in that moment Bobby wished for the most horrible torture of every single last follower of Creed, culminating in Creed himself. It didn't matter whether they had been directly involved or not. Even the lowest man on the totem pole deserved to pay for this. The fact that he would associate himself with such a ruthless bigot was guilt enough.
Bobby wanted revenge. He wanted them to know the pain they had caused him and his family. Wanted to feel the impact of his fists upon their bodies, wanted to see, to taste the blood and bruises. It didn't matter that he was supposed to be a hero that didn't do such things. He wasn't Iceman now. He was Bobby Drake. He was a son who had seen his father mercilessly and unfairly tortured. And he would get his vengeance. His actions against Creed and his men could bring nothing but justice anyway.
Bobby dropped his father's hand gently on the bed and stood. His body was stiff, muscles tightened almost to their limits. There was no fear, despite his normal tendency toward it when conflict was near. The malevolence and anger were too dominating to allow for it. He slipped on his jacket and walked purposefully out of the room, a dark fire burning in his hazel eyes. The baby face he normally wore suddenly looked like that of a seasoned warrior. Hardened. Determined. And full of cold, unwavering, hate.
Bobby would avenge his father... and himself.
He had never understood hate. Not in its barest, purest, most savage form.
But that was before. Now, it was different.
Now, he understood.