Tooth & Claw

by Kaylee

The animal-man was watching him with those eerie, beast-like eyes. He knew that whenever he glanced over he'd be met with the seemingly unblinking yellow-green stare in the utterly expressionless face. No words -- even if he could understand the man -- could have conveyed the message more clearly: "If you run, I will catch you."

Logan didn't run.

The world was pristine this morning after the autumn storm broke. Glimmering, glistening, blinding...beautiful. Logan gazed over waving plains of white, missing the tracks that would have soon broken the covering, the voices that would have brought life to the cold silence, the sight of warm buckskin cloaking figures that moved busily from dwelling to dwelling, breath exploding out in frosty clouds from the hot-blooded bodies he called his people. Red Sparrow would have been with the horses, but she could never resist at least one ride on a day like this. He'd have seen her -- small, lithe form melding seamlessly into the animal she bestrode -- making one mad dash across the earth, her pony's hooves churning snow to slush, her raven hair snapping and rippling as her pony ran faster and faster...

Never again.

He wore his own clothes -- dried beside the fire -- and was wrapped in a sweater that belonged to the animal-man, as well. The sweater nearly dragged in the snow as he walked, even belted up as it was, and the sleeves were bunched up accordion-style along his small arms. The animal-man had sneered when he saw the picture the boy presented. Logan pretended that he wasn't humiliated. He was good at pretending that, by now.

And then, when the animal-man opened the door and finally let him outside, such minor considerations as what that creature might think of him meant...nothing.

It wasn't right. His people lay dead on the ground when they should be raised up on scaffolds to protect their bodies and let their spirits travel safe to the afterworld. They should be raised. Animals should be killed to sustain them on their journeys. Mourning cries should be given. Locks of hair should be added to the tribal medicine bundle, and the women should sing songs for their men, and the men should dance by firelight, and the children should watch and learn and participate as possible...

What had happened when the warriors returned? The Atsina had already been decimated by illness...now massacre, as well. Many of the remaining young men were hotheaded. Might they track the yellow-hides? Track them and fight them...make them suffer as the tribe suffered?

Then he remembered the explosions...the guns...

The animal-man still watched, but Logan stopped caring. Eyes captured by the stark, endless white, he sank down to sit in the snow with his knees drawn up and his elbows resting on them, cupping his chin between cold bare hands.

They would never come for him. Even if they could face the yellow-hides and win, they'd never waste their time coming after a boy who'd been born a paleskin, who was scrawny, who was tiny, who was so strange even to them. The only ones who'd cared about him were dead. So he might as well stop hoping to look up one morning and see the braves riding from the trees on their sturdy ponies...hearing their war cries as they descended on the animal-man and freed his scalp from his body.

It didn't occur to him that the animal-man might win, if it came to that. He'd idolized the braves for as long as he could remember. They could do anything.

Except save the tribe.

It wasn't right for them to be dead, and for him to have done nothing for their spirits. It wasn't right.

Creed sat down on the wooden chair on the porch and propped his feet on the railing as he watched the kid. There hadn't been any ill effects that he could see from the boy's jaunt off into the snow. Lungs sounded clear, heart was strong. Apparently even as thin and malnourished as he was, the kid was a bit tougher than the average idiot who got lost in the storms around here. Luckier.

Or not.

Course, now the little brat was doing his best to get chilled through again... Sittin' out there in the snow, feet still clad in nothing but those abused little moccasins...

Singed moccasins. What had they done? Burned the village?

He grunted in irritation at himself, turning his attention to drawing out his tobacco tin and rolling himself a cigarette. Burning villages was what usually happened, wasn't it? Kill the Injuns, take whatever they had of value. He didn't think Brody's crew was known for raping the women, but it wouldn't be much of a surprise if they did. Injun women weren't the same as white women...not to those boys. A white woman was a good, god-fearing individual who cooked and cleaned and popped out babies to do the chores. An Injun woman was, often as not, a savage, dangerous thing that was as likely to stick a knife in a man's groin as to service him. Not that Creed'd had much dealings with Injuns one way or the other. Ever since he'd come here and settled just a little ways south of Canada, he'd kept pretty much to himself. Leave me alone, I'll leave you alone. Bug me, and be prepared to see the ugly side of human nature. It was simple. It was clear.

But Paine and his lot had bothered him, and they were still around to see the weak sunshine when the morning came.

"Hunh." He lit the cigarette with a match from the tin, idly looking past the still-seated boy to the trees beyond. He supposed he coulda ended Paine a while ago, if he'd really wanted. Man wasn't worth much. Deke even less. But then there was the issue of the men they worked for...the men who wanted him for this..."project."

"A man of your...talents..." Paine had said when he'd first approached Creed, "could be very useful to my employers. A man who has a certain...flexibility...with placing value on human life."

And Victor had been certain -- fuckin' positive -- that the little weasel knew. Knew all about the railroad. Knew about the foreman he'd...

Just knew.

Men like him were locked up, in any civilized society. Put behind bars like animals in cages; mocked and laughed at by passersby who thought that they didn't have the same beast inside of them, buried deep, just needing the right incentive to erupt with a volcano's force...

Men like him weren't offered jobs doing all the things "decent" people would find horrible and tragic.

He grimaced wryly. "Decent" people. Decent people didn't do the things he did. No...decent people just followed ol' Cap Brody when he went to go slaughter him some more Injuns.

He snorted, amused and disgusted by his train of thought. The notion flickered that the boy out there might have a rather different outlook on the rights and wrongs Victor was musing over. Injuns were savages, but there hadn't been a lotta trouble outta the local tribes around here...not in a good while. Whatever had Brody picking the newest village to attack had nothing to do with "defending the homestead," which was his off-the-hip excuse for every massacre. Creed wondered how much of a fight the redskins had put up.

And he wondered again just why the boy'd been bound so tightly when Paine brought him here.

Then he stopped wondering about any of these unimportant things when he saw the kid stand swiftly, silently, and gaze intently off towards the trees. The tension in the little body was evident even through the snow-stained clothing that swallowed him. Warily, Creed tossed the cigarette, hearing the ember sizzle out with a defiant puff of smoke. Was the runt gonna try to run again? Wouldn't be that stupid...would he?

If he does, Victor promised grimly, he's gonna learn the hard way why that's a bad idea.

For a few moments Logan just stood still and stiff. Then the standing position turned into a slight crouch and Creed, barely believing the boy was dumb enough to do this, was on his feet and launching forward even as the boy's swift little legs propelled him into motion.

He gained on the boy swiftly, not even straining, waiting for that almost familiar glance over the shoulder as the prey saw the predator approaching. But no...the kid was leveled out, huffing like one of Brody's prize hounds after a fox, with no fear scent coming off of him at all. The smell that touched Creed's brain was more...aggressive, more...the hunter than the prey.

That's when he tore his eyes from the kid and looked past to glimpse just what the brat was running for.

A rabbit?? He almost laughed then and there, which would've upset his rhythm a bit and maybe let the boy draw farther ahead. The boy was hunting rabbit...for all the world like a little coyote spying dinner. The half-snarl that had been on his face stretched into a broad grin...one that he knew most people would find every bit as disconcerting as the snarl.

The snow was soft, fluffy, and deep enough to hinder the rabbit's escape. Thing musta been pretty damn desperate to come out so near a human's (human?) dwelling, anyway. The boy wasn't gaining, but the rabbit wasn't drawing away much, either. Chances were it'd reach its burrow or the trees before Logan narrowed the gap at all.

So, allowing himself a low chuckle, Victor poured on the speed.

Logan sensed him coming up when he was a few yards back. That must have been enough to make the boy think twice about running from him, because the second he saw him he shied violently sideways in an evasive turn that wouldn't have worked if Creed'd been really going after him. Creed let eyes linger on the boy for just a moment as he passed. Brown gaze flashed fear, then startlement, then shock as the big man skimmed past him.

And then Victor was focused on the prey, and long strides shoved ground behind as he closed on the fleeing rabbit. With a lunging leap he grabbed for it. Claws extended as if of their own will, grasping for something deeper than skin. For an instant he almost tore into the thing...but caught himself enough to draw the claws back and slam the warm, squirming body into snow with a bare hand instead. The rabbit struggled, its own clawed feet scrambling for purchase. Powerful hindquarters shoved it off the ground in a convulsive leap. His fingers were firmly locked into its loose scruff, though, and he straightened and raised it far above the ground easily. He was almost surprised to find that he was still chuckling.

Feet shuffed through snow a little ways from him. He turned to meet the kid's eyes, rabbit writhing desperately in his iron grip.

"Well boy...you wanted it. Now whatcha gonna do with it?"

Logan stared at him with a confused muddle of expressions. Anger at being cheated of his prey. Embarrassment at being shown up so easily. Confusion at what he was doing running down the boy's rabbit.

Awe.

Creed gripped the struggling thing in both hands and dropped down into a crouch. Logan -- seeming more comfortable with him once his head was a bit lower -- came forward another step, two, then stopped. Creed's claws almost flexed into the warm, living thing between them...but again he stopped himself.

The boy pointed to the rabbit and said something in that twisty tongue of his.

Victor said nothing. Just held the rabbit and waited.

Logan repeated his words, something almost...demanding in his tone.

Victor waited.

With reluctance in every line of his body, the kid crossed the trampled snow until he was in reach. Didn't try to speak this time, but only pointed towards the animal, then raised his dark eyes to look silently at the man.

"I know ya want it, boy. You're gonna hafta come take it."

The kid...glared? Glared and jabbed a finger forward fiercely. Creed raised a thick eyebrow and didn't budge. A scowl briefly crossed the kid's face -- either he thought Creed was the dumbest bastard in history, or he wasn't too happy with being forced into getting closer. Either way, he took another step, stubborn determination warring with the fear he still obviously felt in being so near to the big man. Eyes met his...dropped to the rabbit...raised to his again.

Then he took a deep breath and reached both hands for the creature.

Victor schooled his grin back and let the kid take the animal from his hands. It gave another abortive leap. Hind claws dug sharply through the fabric of the sweater. Creed smelled blood welling, though the boy did no more than grimace and grip the rabbit tighter. He knew how to hold it, too, even though it was quite an armful for him. Without another glance at the man Logan turned and started back across the snow.

"Hold up."

Logan stopped at his voice. Looked over his shoulder.

"Say thanks."

The smooth brow wrinkled. The kid hesitantly took another step.

"No," Victor growled, standing and stepping forward. "Thanks."

Logan froze in place and looked up at him.

Impatiently, Creed dropped into a crouch again to put his head more on a level with the boy's, then took his shoulders in an ungentle grip and turned him. The eyes went wide and the boy...clutched the rabbit? What's he think...I'm gonna let him take the thing, then snatch it back? Creed again fought the grin. He looked directly into the dark eyes and said it again. "Thanks."

Logan was silent.

Victor grabbed his chin swiftly, claws nipping lightly into cheeks. "Thanks, boy. Say it. Thanks."

Breath had picked up again. That heartrate was skyrocketing.

"Thanks," Victor growled. The kid babbled something quick and nervous. Creed shook his head and said the word again.

And finally-- "F-fangks," the boy hissed between gritted teeth, gaze flicking across his apprehensively.

Victor very nearly smiled. "Thanks."

"Fang--"

"No. Thanks."

"F--"

"Thanks, ya little dumbshit. Thanks."

A hard swallow. "Thangs..."

Heh. So he could be taught. "Close enough." He released the kid's chin and stood. Logan backpedaled a step -- of course -- but didn't skitter off as far as he might've. Creed grinned down at him. "Not too bad, boy."

Logan backed. Turned, still watching him warily over a shoulder. Creed nodded at him, and Logan started walking again, half-pausing with every step as if waiting to be called back again.

But Victor just followed, curious now as to exactly what the kid intended for the rabbit.

After a dozen steps or so the kid seemed to forget he was back there. Small legs strode out as determinedly as a preacher late to service on Sunday. The rabbit struggled some more, claws tearing welts along Logan's neck and shoulders, but the steps didn't falter and he didn't so much as twitch at the pain.

The boy led them out into a wide swath of untouched snow a little ways from the cabin. When he stopped, Creed dropped down into a crouch again at a small distance and watched. Logan sent an uneasy glance his way, then proceeded to ignore him so deliberately that Victor had to grin again.

Logan dropped down to his knees, sweater covering his heels, and firmly pressed the rabbit into the snow. One hand pinned its shoulders with more strength than was apparent in the tiny body. The other slipped beneath the animal's chin and closed around its head.

Victor shook his head sharply and forced his attention to the kid's actions.

With a sharp twist, the boy broke the rabbit's neck. The wet "crack" seemed very, very loud in the still air. Creed fought off a surge of memory with gritted teeth, watching and evaluating. Runt had no trouble killing, then. Not animals, leastwise.

But what else was going on here?

Logan said something to -- the rabbit? Some god he believed in? Whatever, he said something. Then set the corpse beside one sweater-swathed knee and started digging through the relatively thin layer of snow to bare earth. His hands had to've been freezing, but he didn't stop even once it was dirt he was tossing aside rather than snow. Bare fingers scrabbled at dark soil, digging, nails cracking against frozen earth and rocks, eyes intent. He dug. And dug. And dug until he had an indentation big enough for the cooling body and deep enough that maybe it wouldn't be unearthed right away by a hungry scavenger. When a hand reached for the animal, Creed saw smeared blood staining fingers along with dirt.

Reverently, chanting something beneath his breath, Logan laid the body in the shallow grave; head up, legs stretched in a lifeless leap. Victor found a comment rising in his throat -- something that would've mocked the actions that obviously were so important to the kid. Somehow he choked it back down. The expression in those eyes...

Creed didn't believe in anything past himself, but he recognized the need to believe when he saw it.

Voice almost singsong, Logan started covering the rabbit, packing earth almost lovingly around the body. Creed watched for another several minutes as the slow, methodical burial took place. The boy'd really forgotten him -- forgotten everything but this ritual he performed.

And just like that, as the last bit of earth was packed in and the snow was brushed carefully over the grave, the moment was over.

Logan sagged back to sit heavily -- as heavily as a pipsqueak could -- on his heels. Red, cold hands were raised...stared at. They were probably starting to hurt by now despite the numbing cold, even if the nails were healing.

Creed stood, and Logan looked up at him with an expression of utter exhaustion chasing away the usual fear. Sitting there in the snow, nose and cheeks reddened from the cold and huge sweater draped all around him, the boy looked even younger than he had before...more like a child. Victor wasn't sure what to say just then. He didn't know if he wanted to order the boy inside, leave him sitting for as long as it took to gather reserves, or pick him up and cart him in bodily.

"Thangs," the boy said tiredly.

Victor blinked. The kid didn't know what the word meant...he was just echoing what Creed'd made him say, that was all. Bein' one o' those birds that talked like people without knowing the meanings of the words. It was just happenstance that he'd say it now...

And "Thangs" again, tongue moving unfamiliarly around the word.

Creed stared. Glanced at the new grave. Stared again.

Then he gave the only response that seemed appropriate: "You're welcome."

The kid sighed heavily and pushed himself to his feet, nearly falling as the sweater entangled him. Without Victor saying a word or making a gesture, he turned and started shuffling through snow back towards the cabin.

Creed watched him a moment, then took a last look at the burial site. His brow wrinkled. He scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"Huh," he said, summing it up with a grunt. Brow still lined in thought, he followed the boy inside.

[next part]

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