Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rick ran his fingers over the engraving on his harmonica, and even with his eyes adjusted to the darkness he still couldn’t really see it. He knew being locked in the closet had been his idea, but that had been when he was big and now he was little and he had been locked in here for ages and it was dark and cramped and he was scared! (And he was allowed to be scared, little boys were allowed to feel fear unlike sidekicks.)

“Doc!” He called, pounding his hand on the door to the closet. “Doc, lemme out, I’ll be good,” he promised, chewing his lip. “I won’t make messes in the lab anymore or play my harmonica in your ear, promise! I’ll be good, Doc, lemme out!”

He heard footsteps much, much heavier than Bruce’s and the breath hitched in his throat. The door creaked open and even then there was only a little light. Standing backlight was the hulking form of Joe Fixit, smiling down at him. He was crouching a little, one hand on the top of the door frame. His smile filled the entire top corner of the door.

“Doc ain’t here, Ricky,” Joe said, crunching on the cigar in his mouth like it was a cigarette. The smoke was filling the closet and making Rick cough. He scrambled backwards until he hit the back of the closet. “Just your Uncle Joe.”

Joe grinned and grabbed the front of Rick’s shirt with a hand nearly as big as Rick’s torso, yanking him out of the closet. Rick allowed himself to be terrified.

Maybe he wanted to stay in the closet instead…

Chapter Text

Warren had always had to be so reserved in his actual youth, binding his wings and not drawing attention to himself more than the heir to the Worthington fortune should. God forbid he look feminine. Now though, pretending to be Hank’s pretty little birdie, Hank’s pride and joy they could do anything they wanted, indulge in all the things barred from them. Warren looked like a Claire’s threw up on him. Their head was covered in hair clips, multiple necklaces around his neck, and bracelets on their wrists. Their wings where a patchwork of glittery clips and perler bead creations. His wings clattered when he shook them. Warren had been into decora lately and obviously just had to follow the trend. He was kicking his feet, hopped up on the highest bench in Hank’s lab, his two-headed teddy bear Gemini in his lap. Just because they were almost a teenager didn’t mean they had to leave old friends out, duh. Plus, Gemini completed the look.

“-and he’s so cool, always wearing shades, and Daddy are you listening to me?” Warren asked, pouting at Hank’s back turned to him.

Hank was actually finishing up some work, but his ear was tilted in Warren’s direction. He turned back to Warren with some sort of petri dish in his hands. “Yes, love dove, I’m listening. You’re telling me all about the boy you like.”

Warren practically preened at the proof of Hank’s attention. It was so nice to have someone actually listen, and not brush him off or tell him what he had to say didn’t matter. To be taken seriously, even about silly things. Warren wasn’t used to being taken seriously. They started kicking their feet harder. “Plus, he always texts me back and tells me I’m pretty.” Warren went on, sighing dreamily. “Sometimes he even takes my picture without me having to ask.”

“This sounds like a very special boy,” Hank mused, placing the petri dish in a freezer. “Should I be jealous?” He teased.

Warren leapt to his feet in mock horror, throwing his arms around Hank’s broad shoulders. They placed a kiss on Hank’s cheek. “Oh no Daddy, you’ll always be my favorite.”

Hank lifted Warren easily into his arms and kissed him back, fur brushing Warren’s chin and nose. “And you are the most special, most beautiful birdie in the world.”

Chapter Text

He was laying on her bed in a nightshirt, the windows open and the cool breeze fluttering in. Ororo was in just her nightgown, tying her bonnet around her head by her vanity. All the lamps were low, and the moon was out, making her skin glow. Logan thought she looked like an angel. The most beautiful angel he’s ever seen.

Ororo was the first person he had trusted to be able to get this down with, this open and trusting, since the Hudsons had found him feral in the snow (and look how that had turned out). With her he could sink and sink and sink until he was finally someplace he was safe. Some time before fighting and violence became his life. Before he had ever received a blow. And she didn’t care that time and place was when he was so small Logan couldn’t even really remember it. So small he hadn’t yet learned to ignore the pain.

He reached for her, fingers just missing the back of her nightgown. “Mama,” he babbled out, reaching harder for her, confused why she wasn’t next to him. “Mama, mama, mama.”

She turned and smiled down at him and he smiled back and laughed, or giggled really, when she ran her hand through his thick hair. “I’m right here, baby,” she assured him. She sat next to him on the bed, pulling his head into her lap.

She took a tube of capsaicin cream and started rubbing it into his knuckles and where his claws met bone. Logan teared up slightly from the burning sensation, even though in the back of his head he knew that this helped the pain from metal bone grinding on metal bone. When he was small like this, he couldn’t dull his heightened senses and everything was overwhelming, even Ororo’s soft touch.

“Mama,” he whined out, but she shushed him, continuing to rub the cream over the spots where he had been sore for years. He watched her with wide, innocent eyes. “ Mama ,” he whined again because it hurt and he didn’t like it.

“It’s alright,” she assured him, putting the cap back on the tube. “It’s all done now. This will help ease your pain.”

“Mama,” he said again, reaching for her, placing his hand on her cheek. She moved to kiss his palm before blowing a raspberry into it. He laughed again and she laughed with him.

“I’m right here. I will always protect you, little one.”