To Live To Suffer
A/N: My first Evo fic posted. Warning, Kurt angsty. I'm a cruel writer, beware, heh.
The gray, chocking smoke dispersed into the mild night's air, rising up against a dark, cloudless sky. There were no stars shining or twinkling, nothing in the endless void other than the darkest of blues and the uneven silhouette tops of the trees. The grass was damp from a recent light rainfall, and it glistened here and there in the quarter moon's light. Burning away hopelessly at the soggy ground, small foot high fires danced around, slowly dimming away as they found no dry material to burn. Marking the grass other than rain droplets and fire was the shining crimson substance recognizable instantly as blood. It was dotted all about in small and large amounts, mingling with the rainwater and the wet dirt.
Standing in the clearing by the edge of the trees was a large, dark impressive air-vehicle; it's landing ramp down and touching the damp forest floor. Its shining hull reflected the moon's light, glowing against the dark sky, as well as the small fires, lining about around the clearing. Its own light from inside shone out of the opening, creating more glow to this night. However the atmosphere was far worse than the impression the soft glowing lights must give. Tension and terror filled every particle of the air that even the trees seemed to be making an effort to remain still.
"Get him some air."
It was clear from the fires and the dark blood staining the grass that something bad had happened. The stars even refused to shine their beauty, for the heavens were upset at the sight below. The trees, whose leaves were usually uncontrollable even in windless airs, were as still as gravestones against the dark blue of the sky.
"Oxygen – feed him some oxygen!"
The voice belonged to one of the few figures present in the clearing who felt strong enough to speak. The tone was urgent, upset and angry – aghast, shocked, confused, worried and fearful. His red shades flashed in the moonlight as he shook with his words.
The fire continued to burn, ignored by the seven people in the clearing rushing or standing about with frantic or paralyzed demeanors. Six pairs of eyes reflected the bright orange lights clearly, mirroring the dancing flames and giving them the shimming appearance of forming tears.
"God, there's so much blood . . ."
Another voice, high pitched, whispered as the she watched the scene in front. Jean Grey's face wore every line of anguish that was possible to read on her features. She stood next to a stretcher, watching the movements of three others to her left.
"Calm down, it's alright – you're gonna be alright," Hank McCoy soothed the figure on the ground, the one everyone was watching with horror. Though Hank's words were supposed to have the effect they ordered, his tone did not. It was clear he was as horror-struck as the rest, and in no mind to say for certain if this figure was going to be all right. He had momentarily found the strength to speak, before it disappeared again and he could say no more. The beast of a man was being as careful, as gentle and as quickly as he could at removing a frighteningly long shard of glass from the figure's heaving chest. He slid it from the bloodied tissue with a sickening short sound and tossed it aside without looking at it. His eyes remained on the person laid out in front of him.
As soon as the removal of the glass was done, the man on Hank's right side slid his hands under the body of the boy and lifted him as gently as he could.
"Scott – get that stretcher over here, now!" He growled as he straightened up. The figure on the boy's other side ran to the waiting table and quickly pushed it over the damp ground to Wolverine.
As he was setting the boy down on the white stretched, Hank placed an oxygen mask over his blood-smeared mouth and nose, and lifted the strap over and to the back of his head and to secure it.
"C'mon, Kurt, stay with us here!" Hank said desperately, running along side the stretcher as Wolverine pushed it hurriedly towards the X Jet's ramp. He held the other end of the oxygen mask, staring down at the kid who was fighting hard to stay alive. The wounds over his body had seeped so much blood his fur was practically red instead, smeared all over his body. His face was contorted into an expression of pure torture – pain and suffering. His mouth was pulled down in a silent scream of agony and his teeth were gritted hard. His hair was filthy, covered in sweat, dirt and blood. Part of his bangs was matted to his temple where a serious wound was still leaking. His tail was slashed so severely the wounds resembled the marking of a tiger's stripes. His chest was moving in an irregular, disturbing pattern, taking in short, sharp breaths.
"Get the Jet ready, Scott – Jean, gimme a hand," Wolverine barked as they ran past her and up the ramp. Scott managed to get ahead and the Jet was leaving the ground in less than fifteen seconds later. The ramp was closed, all persons onboard – and Scott plotted the course back to the Xavier's Institute.
In the back of the Jet the three standing mutants worked quickly to cease as many wounds from bleeding as they could. Wolverine passed what he was told forward, and stepped back to get control of his anger.
There were so many wounds – so many which needed attention right away. Kurt was still conscious – still fighting for his life while enduring the agony of so many injuries. His entire body was on fire, searing with pain, throbbing and aching. He wanted to die – it was too much, he hurt so much, the pain was unbearable but something was keeping him awake – something was throwing in more torture by making him suffer with it all. The pain was so intense, with every heartbeat and every breath it increased. It became too much – he used what little strength by crying out. Tears fell from his tightly shut eyes and streamed down his temples, mixing with the blood. His fur was matted together with the substance, only adding more to his extreme discomfort.
Jean's eyes stung as her own tears fell free. Her heart wrenched at his cry and she felt such a strong feeling of anguish for him – she wanted to cry for him, but she refused to break down. She and Hank worked non-stop to cease the blood flow from the wounds over Kurt's body. The legs of his pants had been torn up, but it was hardly anything compared to his shirt, which was nothing more than a few blood-soaked strands of fabric. The soles of his feet were cut deep, his wrists were slashed, his face and hair was a mess and his usual active tail was limp. The sight was so bad Jean had to turn away for a second to get a grip over herself.
Kurt's breathing was growing worse as the Jet landed in the hanger of the mansion. By this time Hank, Jean and Wolverine had managed to secure rough dressing over most of the serious wounds, but Kurt was still losing blood.
Scott lowered the ramp and ran to assist the others. Storm had rushed onboard and was helping in anyway she could. Hank had managed to hook Kurt to an IV drip, which was delivering fluids into his system, and Jean was left holding the transparent bag high as they raced down the Jet's ramp and towards the infirmary.
Professor X was waiting just outside with his hands together in thought and his head resting on his fingertips. He looked up sharply as the group rushed towards him. He watched them pass, and Wolverine detached himself to stand next to Charles.
"How is he?" Professor X asked seriously.
Wolverine shook his head and stared gravely into the telepath's eyes. "Not good, Charles . . ." he responded in his deep tone. He and the Professor turned and looked solemnly into the room. "Not good."
Inside the infirmary Kurt had been lifted onto a bed, and the stretcher was pushed out of the way. Storm and Jean immediately got to work disinfecting and stitching together the worst of the wounds, while Hank prepared the necessary injections that would help save the boy's life.
No one knew for sure what had happened. No one knew why Kurt had been so viciously attack. All they knew was that Kurt was in seriously bad shape, and they wouldn't know any more until Kurt was well enough to explain … if he recovered…
A/N: Ah, not my first, but the only one I've posted here. Kurt angsty, its addictive. This was going to be a one chaptered story, just short about Kurt's unfortunate beating, but I think I'll continue. I wanted a scene close to that from the movie The Crow, at the beginning where Shelly is dying, it's night, there's mess everywhere, cops, flashing lights, confusion and such. Hope I achieved it.