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Title: The New Mutants II, Volume XIII: Friendly Neighborhood
Author: kanedax
Fandom: X-Men Movieverse, and then some
Spoilers: X3, The New Mutants I & II (see above)
Rating: PG-13 for mild language
Summary: Logan finds what he's looking for, which once again is more than he bargained for
Notes: Nothing much to say here, except that I probably should have added a minor spoiler warning for two movies that any of you reading this have probably already seen. If not, well... you'll be okay in this chapter, but you DEFINITELY will have issues with the next one. South Kingstown, RI, is a real town. King's Ridge Rd. is a real road, but it stops well before it gets to the 1300 block. I have never been there, and ran everything I knew off of Google Maps. Also, my first time putting titles anywhere but my summary page. As usual, I don't own the X-Men, 20th Century Fox, Marvel Comics, or anything like that.
Previous Chapter (Metaphysical Shtuff) / Next Chapter (Weapon X)
As he drove down the street, Logan fought the gorge he felt traveling up his throat. Thankfully for him, it was a battle he won.
“So… cute…” he choked.
Like many New England towns he had come through in his travels, South Kingstown appeared to be yet another that had discovered the thriving business of tourism. Millions drove north through Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and up towards Maine every season trying to escape the doldrums of big city life.
Happy to accommodate them, and their dollars, downtown South Kingstown was filled with brightly-colored cottages, corner cafes, and trinket shops that had words like “Ye” and “Olde” in front of their names, with windows dressed in flower bouquets and stuffed teddy bears. Posters were plastered on many of these windows, advertising lobster buffets, bake sales, and fall foliage tours.
Although his conscious mind only allowed him to remember the past ten years or so, Logan still felt a wave of nostalgia pass through him. Faint flashes came to him of towns like this, but with dirt roads instead of pavement. Horses tied to posts where cars now sat at parking meters. Stuffed animals and antiques replaced by freshly butchered chickens and cattle. Gruff lumberjacks and fishermen where there were now only elderly outstaters.
Did I grow up in a place like this? he thought to himself as drove past downtown and towards his destination. He supposed it was certainly possible. He had been in America during the Civil War, if not before that. At that time most of the country was living right here, on the strip of land between Georgia and New Hampshire. The odds were in his favor that he lived in a town just like South Kingstown (probably just Regular Kingstown back in the day).
He looked down at the crumpled paper on the passenger seat. Crunched within many scribbles and notes were an address and a name: Parker. 1360 King’s Ridge Rd.
“God, even the names are kitschy,” he grumbled as he saw the two signs on the post.
Chestnut Hill Rd.
King’s Ridge Rd.
“Whatever happened to ‘Washington Avenue’?” he said to himself. “Or ‘Fifth Street’? Why’s everything have to be so… nice?”
He found small consolation upon turning onto King’s Ridge Road. He had escaped tourist trap New England, only to fall upon New England suburbia. His eyes scanned the rows of mailboxes, eventually landing on 1360.
Logan parked the car in front of the house, a two-level tan place, and rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes. Since he left the Academy, he had been spending his nights in everything from four-star hotels to park benches. Last night, the manager of a roadside motel declined his credit card (he reminded himself to call ‘Ro about that next chance he got, since his card ran off the school account), leaving him without a room. He eventually pulled off the road at about three in the morning, and spent the night in his car at a rest area outside Charlton, Massachusetts.
He reached for the door handle, thought better of it, and grabbed a knapsack from the back seat. Opening it, he pulled out the spring-loaded claws that Forge had rebuilt for him following the battle at the Raft. He wrapped the straps around his wrist, checked to see that the adamantium guard plate was adjusted correctly, and squeezed his hand into a fist. His fingers pulled a trigger in his palm, and three blades, the claws that had once been inside his body before Magneto tore them out, flipped outward. A small clank echoed through the car as the adamantium claws connected with the guard plate.
“Still works,” Logan said to himself as he released his hand, forcing the claws back down to their original position. He grabbed a shirt from the floor of the passenger seat and pulled it on, careful not to slice the arm on the blades. He looked back at his brown leather jacket, crumpled on the back seat. As long as he had these claws on and concealed under a sleeve, he wasn’t touching that jacket. It had been through too much to get slashed to pieces.
Probably won’t be seeing any action, he thought as he climbed out of the car and walked up the driveway, but you can never be too careful.
Logan heard no less than three deadbolts slide out of position after he knocked on the door of 1360 King’s Ridge Road. The door cracked open, but was stopped by a chain lock. A man’s face looked through the crack.
“Yeah?” the man said.
“Are you Peter Parker?” asked Logan.
The man shook his head. “No, Peter Parker doesn’t live here.” The eye pulled away, and the door closed.
Logan sighed, and knocked on the door again. After a few seconds, it opened again.
“I told you,” the man said, “I’m not Peter Par… Peter Whatever You Said.”
“Are you Ben Reilly?”
The man paused. Logan could feel a smell waft across his nostrils. The man smelled of fear before he even said a word, but at the name Ben Reilly, that smell intensified.
“I…” the man stammered. “I don’t know who he is, either.” The man tried to close the door again, but this time Logan got his fingers through the slit, keeping it from slamming. He hissed between his teeth as a sharp jolt of pain crossed across his hand.
“You’re lying,” Logan said, deciding it might be a good time to get his intimidation on.
“I think there’s a Reilly in town,” the man said. “Maybe you should… no, wait, did I say in town? I meant in Boston. Yeah, it was Boston, I think.”
“What do you know about Weapon X?”
The man stopped in mid-ramble. His eye opened wide in dawning terror.
Now we’re getting somewhere, Logan thought, and then felt a sharp pain in his midsection. He looked down to see that the man had stabbed him through the stomach with a long, cloth-covered object.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he growled as he looked at the hook at the end of the object. “An umbrella? You stabbed me with a fucking umbrella?”
“Leave me alone!” the man yelled, backing away from the door. “I did everything you asked of me!”
“Well, I see you’re not going to let me in,” Logan mumbled. He closed his fist, releasing his claws, and slashed at the chain lock, cutting it in half. The door swung open, revealing a brown-haired man in his late thirties or early forties, short, with a small potbelly and a receding hairline.
“Please,” the man said, pulling himself from the floor, constantly backing away. “I did everything you and your bosses asked me to do. I haven’t written a word in years.”
“My bosses?” Logan asked, pulling the umbrella from his stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, my God,” the man croaked as he watched the gaping hole in Logan’s stomach close to nothing. “It really is true. You really are him.”
“Daddy?” a high voice came from the side hall. Logan turned to see a small redheaded girl, no more than ten, standing and watching the proceedings. She was still dressed in her Bugs Bunny pajamas, and a stuffed penguin was clutched in her arm.
“You know I wouldn’t do anything,” the man continued. “I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt my family.”
“Why did that man get the umbrella all red?” the girl asked.
“May, go upstairs,” the man said to the girl. “Go see what Mommy’s doing.”
“Daddy?” the girl asked, sensing the fear in his voice.
“Go upstairs, honey,” he said, his eyes never leaving Logan’s. May nodded, then turn to run up the stairs. The man squared his jaw. “If you’re going to take care of me,” he said. “At least let’s go somewhere where they don’t have to hear or see anything.”
“What?” Logan, dumbfounded, asked. “What are you talking about? I’m not going to kill you.”
“Uh, huh,” the man said, his hands darting around behind him on the coffee table. He grabbed hold of the closest object, and wielded the remote control like a deadly weapon. “That’s just what you want me to think. Then when I’m not looking, ‘Whammo!’ Dead Parker.”
“So you are Peter Parker?”
The man paused. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, you kinda did.”
“Okay, fine, I did,” Peter said. “Whatcha gonna do about it? Huh?”
“You know, that’s not very threatening,” Logan said, looking down at the remote.
“I could turn on the Oxygen Channel and have you writhing in pain,” replied Peter.
“Uh huh.”
“Lifetime?”
Logan sighed. Peter’s lip twitched. “E?”
“Are you done?” asked Logan.
“Not until you leave without killing me,” said Peter.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Logan yelled. “I’m not here to kill you!”
“You’re Weapon X,” Peter replied. “You’re standing in my living room, with claws that look pretty damn painful. At least have the balls to come up with a convincing lie. Doesn’t your Propaganda Department have any decent writers?”
“I’m not going to kill you, or hurt you,” Logan groaned. He released his fist, and the claws flipped back to his forearm.
Peter paused. “You’re not here to kill me.”
“Depends on how long you keep yapping.”
“Then why are you here?”
“You know things.”
“Aha!” Peter yelled. “You’re just here to erase my memory! You’re a psychic and a killing machine?”
“Christ,” Logan said, flopping onto the couch. “Would you just give up on that agent thing for just a minute?”
“So, okay,” Peter said, still standing alert, “I know things. What about it?”
“I want to know what you know.”
“So you can kill me after I’ve told you?”
Logan looked up at Peter, his eyebrow arched in irritation.
“Sorry,” said Parker, easing into a chair. “No kill. Gotcha. Why do you need me to tell you what I know?”
“Because no one else will.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed. “You need someone to tell you about Weapon X?”
“Pretty much,” Logan said, pulling a cigar from his shirt pocket and slicing the tip with his claw.
“But you are Weapon X,” said Parker.
“That I am,” Logan said, striking a match on his bootheel. “But that’s about all I know.”
“You’ve been around for decades,” said Parker, “Maybe centuries.” He tightened as he watched Logan light the cigar, but quickly decided that telling the man not to smoke would probably be a bad idea. “You would probably know more than I ever could.”
“But I only remember the past ten or fifteen,” said Logan.
“They erased your memory…”
“Probably,” said Logan. “They may have erased it. I may have gotten amnesia. I may have blocked it from my head due to mental trauma. I’ve talked to many people on the subject, and they all give me different answers. I’m leaning towards the erasure.”
Peter stood up. “I can’t help you,” he said tensely and walked towards the door.
“What?” Logan stood up. “What do you mean you can’t help me?”
Peter stood next to the front door. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. It was nice if you to stop by, but please leave and don’t come back.”
“Now wait just a minute…”
“Please, keep the not-at-all bloody umbrella as a parting gift,” Peter continued, more loudly than normal, “and don’t forget your cigar stub on the floor. MJ’ll have kittens.”
“Parker…”
“Thank you very much for stopping by, Uncle Norm,” Peter said. “Now have a nice day.”
“Who’s Uncle Norm?”
“Please leave,” Peter whispered. “Please leave now before…” he paused, and his eyes opened wide as if he just thought of something. “Oh, no.”
“What?” Logan asked, instantly feeling his hackles rise. “What is it?”
“It’s too late,” Peter said. “They’re coming.”
“Who’s coming?” asked Logan.
“MJ!” Peter yelled, running up the stairs, leaving Logan standing in the doorway. In the silence, Logan for the first time heard sirens wailing in the distance.
“Peter, what’s going on?” a voice came from the stairs. Parker came down with May slung over his shoulder with one arm, and a basket of laundry in his other. Behind him followed a short redheaded woman about Parker’s age. “What’s happening?”
“We’re leaving.”
“Leaving?” the woman, MJ, asked. “What are you talking about? Who is this man?”
“I’m Logan,” replied Logan. “Weapon X.”
“Weapon what?”
“It’s a long story that I really don’t have time to explain,” Peter continued, pulling a backpack from the closet and shoving clothes from the laundry basket into it.
“Peter!” MJ yelled, grabbing Parker’s shoulders and pulling him to her face. “I thought you told me we were done with this life after we left New York.”
“I thought we were, too,” Peter said quietly. “I tried to keep away from it. I was wrong.”
“They’re almost here,” Logan said, looking out the door. “I can hear them coming.”
“Where are we going?” MJ asked.
Peter stopped, looked around anxiously. “I don’t know,” he said. “Away. Somewhere safe. I’m kinda figuring it out as I go.”
Logan thought over Peter’s words, then spoke. “Can you help me?” he asked. “Can you tell me about Weapon X?”
“I can tell you whatever I know,” Peter replied. “After we’re safe.”
“Then I have a place I can take you,” Logan replied.
“I’m not leaving,” MJ said. May sat on the sofa, stuffed penguin wrapped tightly in her arms.
“Mary Jane,” Parker said, taking her hands in his, “You have to come with us. Or they’ll kill you. You and May.”
“You don’t know that…”
“After Harry died,” he continued, “after I gave up the gig, I started doing some digging that got me into a lot of trouble with a lot of powerful people. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but believe me when I say that they won’t hesitate to make it look like an accident.”
Mary Jane looked down at May, her lip caught between her teeth.
“MJ, please,” Peter said. “You have to trust me.”
“They’re here,” Logan said, seeing a black vehicle drive up the street, red and blue lights flashing in its windows.
“How many?”
“One car,” Logan replied. “More on the way, I can hear them in the distance. Two men. Armed. Heavily armed.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Peter replied.
“He says to the man who can take a bullet,” Logan said. “Are you ready?”
Peter turned to Mary Jane, his eyes questioning silently. “Are we coming back?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I might be able to take out one of them,” Logan said as the two men came up the walk, both carrying assault weapons. “Do you have a gun in the house?”
“He doesn’t need one,” MJ replied. Peter looked at her and smiled.
“Are you okay if I…?” he said. Mary Jane smiled and nodded. “Keep May behind us, okay? This’ll be over quick.”
“If they’re going to make it look clean,” Logan said to Parker, “they’ll come up to the house. Kill us in here. Make it look like Mary Jane called them in. A murder/suicide thing. We get them before they get here, catch them by surprise.”
“Let’s go,” Peter answered. Logan flipped his claws out and pulled the door open.
“Freeze!” one of the men, dressed like the other in police garb, yelled. They both raised their rifles. “Don’t move!”
Logan yelled and charged at them. In the distance between, his fighting instinct kicked in, and he lunged for one of the agents, already calculating the second blow. Before he could even make contact with the first, however, he saw two white strings fly past him on both sides. The strings connected with the barrels of the rifles, and the guns were pulled from the officer’s hands.
Logan stopped in mid-lunge and turned to see Peter Parker smirking behind him, holding one rifle in each of his hands.
“Come on, boys,” he said to the dumbfounded agents. “Didn’t your dad ever tell you to hold on to these things?”
“What the…?” Logan breathed.
“Seriously,” Parker continued, “Am I going to have to buy you boys little clips to hang them on your sleeves? My daughter uses them for her mittens, you should try it.”
“Mr. Logan!” Mary Jane yelled from the porch, and Logan sensed one of the two agents jumping at him right before he swung his unclawed fist around. His hand connected with the agent’s jaw, and he collapsed in a heap. The second agent yelled and charged at him, but blindly flew past him as his face was encased in the same white goo that had pulled their guns.
“I was wondering if my webbing would still work,” Peter said as MJ and May ran down the steps. Peter walked up to the blinded agent and cold-cocked him with the rifle. “It’s been a few years.”
“You’re a mutant?” Logan asked.
“Not really,” Peter said smugly. “I’m Spider-Man.”
“Who?”
“Who?” Parker replied in shock. “You don’t know who…?” He shook his head. “Mind wipe. Forget it. I’m over it. Can we take your car? Mine’s probably bugged, just like the rest of the house.”
“Our house is bugged?” MJ asked. “Since when?”
“I’ll explain later, Tiger,” Parker said.
“The guns are probably rigged, too,” Logan said, looking at the rifles. “They’d come in handy, but we’ll have to leave them. Forge told me something about tracking devices implanted into S.H.I.E.L.D. weaponry.”
“Fair enough,” Parker said as the group ran to Logan’s car.
“It’s a two-door, but that’s all Munroe would let me have off Academy grounds,” Logan said as he popped the trunk, Parker and Mary Jane throwing the backpacks in. “And I apologize for the mess in the back seat, I’ve been living out of this thing since Christmas.”
“Here they come,” Parker said as MJ and May climbed into the back seat. Two more black cars pulled around the corner and drove up the street towards the house.
“Everyone buckle up,” Logan said as he and Parker climbed into the front seats. “This car’s got a lot of horses.”
He slammed on the accelerator, and the car’s tires squealed into the street. As they drove away, Logan looked in the rearview mirror to see one of the two cars pull up next to the house, while the other one continued to follow them.
“Drive faster,” Parker said. “They’ll read your plates.”
“No, they won’t,” Logan said, flipping a switch on the dash. Outside the car, the rear license place flipped over, revealing Florida plates that expired five years ago.
“Forge likes his toys,” he said, smiling. “They’re still following us. Think you can take care of them?”
Peter opened the window and leaned out. He pointed his hands at the pursuing vehicle, and two long strings of web fluid flew across the space, connecting with the windshield. The black car skidded and swerved, eventually sliding to a complete halt, their vision completely obstructed.
“Nice shooting,” Logan said as Parker pulled himself back in.
“Well, I’ve had practice,” Peter said, smiling.
“I’m going to get us out of here,” Logan said, pressing a red button on the stick shift. The car roared to life, and Logan was reminded of the time he had taken Scott’s motorcycle. “And then you’re going to tell me what you know. About Weapon X. About me. About everything.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the Xavier Academy,” Logan replied. “In New York. We’re going to be taking the back roads, though, to keep away from prying eyes. So you’ve got plenty of time to talk.”
Peter Parker, formerly Spider-Man, looked in the rearview mirror, and saw Mary Jane Watson-Parker looking back at him, their nine-year-old daughter, May Parker, cradled in her arms.
“There’s a lot to say,” he said quietly.
“Good,” Logan replied. He reached down to the radio and pressed a button, starting a digital recording. “So start. From the beginning.”
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