shapeshiftersandfire - Tumblr blog

shapeshiftersandfire · 14 days ago

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the first piece in a new series i'm working on ft madelyne pryor my beloved. it picks up a few months after she's left the mansion to go her own way. she planned to eventually make her way to genosha, but she doesn't get very far.

@badthingshappenbingo - kidnapping

tagging: @painful-pooch

CW: kidnapping, reference/implied torture, referenced/implied lab whump/experimentation, hitting, beating (both on-screen and heavily implied to have happened off-screen), captors mocking their victim, degrading use of nickname

The walls are black and the air is cold.

Those are Madelyne’s first two thoughts when she wakes up.

Gone are the off-white walls and yellowed lights of the cheap motel room she’d checked into, and here are black walls and cold air. Gone is the soft mattress she’d fallen asleep in, and here is a plain, hard floor. The only thing that remains the same is the plain t-shirt and running shorts she’d worn that night for bed.

Madelyne sits up, wincing at the ache in her shoulder and her hip, and looks around the room. There’s no discernible light source, yet she can make out every detail just as easily as if there were. The walls are solid and black, not an imperfection to be seen, and there are no windows or doors anywhere, except on the wall facing out into the hallway. A wall that she’s shocked to discover is made of bars.

She’s in a cell.

And she doesn’t know how she got there.

Her heart starts to race. She tries to get up, but her body isn’t fully cooperative yet, and she falls over as she tries to push herself to her feet. She rolls onto her side again and looks around at the walls, at the bars, at the ceiling, but there’s nothing she can learn from this place, wherever this is.

There’s another cell across the way, just as large as hers is, but she can’t make anything out beyond that. The hallway continues onward out of her sight.

“What the hell is this place?”

What was meant to be a whisper comes out louder than she intended, and it’s met with a scream from somewhere deeper in the building.

Madelyne scrambles backward, all but throws herself into the nearest corner and huddles up, pressing herself against the wall. What the hell was that? Where had that come from? She can’t see anything beyond the walls of her cell, and there’s no indication of anything coming down the hallway, no voices, no footsteps, nothing. She strains to listen for any other sounds, braces herself to hear the screaming again, but there’s nothing but cold silence.

Her first thought is of a graveyard—dark and eerily silent, until a sound from seemingly nowhere echoes over the yard and fades away without a trace.

Her second, louder thought fills her with terror: the walls of this place are black, no obvious light source, not even an air vent to be seen; now there’s screaming coming from somewhere in this place, and she’s trapped in here with whatever that was, with whatever, whoever caused it, and she has no memory of how or when she got here.

It has all the hallmarks of Mr. Sinister.

No no no no no

He’d had her once already, hadn’t that been enough? Hadn’t he hurt her enough? Hadn’t he gotten everything he wanted from her when he’d taken her son and torn her life apart? Hadn’t she suffered enough?

This is what it must have been like for Jean. Waking up somewhere strange with no memory of how you got there, or when, or how long it’s been since you left (and now there’s a clone in your place and neither of you have any idea), and what you know next is nothing but pain pain pain for months and months and months until you have the strength to run away and look for help.

Madelyne hugs herself, curls up tighter in her corner. She can’t do that, she can’t do that again, she can’t be in his hands again, she won’t make it, she won’t survive. There’s no doubt in her mind, and there hasn’t been, for a long time, whether she’s wanted to admit it or not, that she wouldn’t survive another brush with Sinister. He would rip her apart until there was nothing of her left, and he would take his time doing it while she screamed and pleaded for mercy that wasn’t coming.

The sound of soft whimpering drifts up from further down the hall. Madelyne trembles.

No, no, no, please, please, I can’t, I can’t—

She swears she hears voices, too far away to tell for sure, and too far away to make out any words.

It does nothing to quell the fear growing inside her.

And then she tries to think back, as far as she can, to that night in the hotel. She’d hitched a ride there from some guy going the same way, was going to pass the place on his way through town, he’d said, so sure, I’ll drop you off. There hadn’t been any meaningful interaction between the two, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that set alarm bells off in Madelyne’s head, but could he have been working for someone? With someone? Did he have ties to Sinister? She hadn’t thought to look inside the guy’s head, but she’s sure she would have gotten some inkling that he wasn’t quite right.

And then there was the hotel staff, the woman at the front desk in a green velvet vest that had checked her in without asking questions and handed her the key to her room with only a Room 112 is across the parking lot and sent her on her way. There hadn’t been anything off in that interaction either, nothing that Madelyne remembers, and nothing off in the parking lot as she’d made her way across to her room.

She’d unlocked the door, dropped her duffel bag on the table under the window, and looked around the place before she’d fished out her sleepwear, utterly exhausted, gone to the bathroom to change, and then—

Nothing.

She doesn’t remember. It’s a blank, gaping hole in her memory.

This place offers her no clues, either, as to how long she’s been here, what time it is, what day it is, and aside from the noises down the hall, she’s seen no one else here.

There’s nothing else for her to do but sit and wait and listen, and hope that whenever Sinister finally comes around for her, that he makes whatever he plans to do with her quick.

Madelyne doesn’t know how long she’s sat there curled up in the corner. There haven’t been any other screams or whimpers or soft voices since that first time, no hints of footsteps or closing doors. There’s been nothing but complete and utter silence, broken only by the sound of her stomach grumbling.

She doesn’t remember when she’d last eaten. She doesn’t know how long it’s been.

But she doesn’t dare call out and ask if anyone can give her anything. She doesn’t know what’s out there, who’s out there, and she’s not ready to invite anymore unwanted attention to herself.

She thinks she’s slept at some point, but it’s hard to tell. There’s no way to track the change in time. The walls are the same no matter what and the lights never turn off. She feels slightly more rested, if that were possible amid the fear thrumming in her veins, and still she waits for something to change.

Sometime later, she hears footsteps coming down the hall. She curls tighter into her corner, hoping in vain that whoever it is might simply gloss over her being there, if she’s still and quiet enough. But Sinister doesn’t overlook details, she knows that, and he won’t forget where he put her.

Except…

It’s not Sinister who stands in front of her cell.

It’s…

She’s not sure.

And that makes it all the worse.

Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

Four shapes stand at the barred wall of her cell, all of them taller than her, with no discernible facial features save for the blank white spaces that are their eyes. They’re solid black, not unlike the shadowy figures in ghost stories, the ones that lurk at the end of your bed and watch you sleep until you wake up and hide under the covers and wait for them to go away, or the ones that hover in the corner of the room and vanish the instant you try to focus on them.

These four don’t vanish when Madelyne stares at them. They stare right back at her like the lurkers at the end of the bed, just as quiet and just as hostile.

She swallows, her mouth dry, and forces herself to speak. “Who the hell are you?”

They don’t answer her directly. One of them tsks and shakes its head. “No manners on this one. What a disappointment.”

Another hums in agreement. “Even Red was so much more polite than this.”

The fight drains from her body. Red. She knows that nickname, it’s what Wolverine called Jean, it’s what he’d called Madelyne when they’d all thought she was Jean. The way the shadows say it, the way they talk about Madelyne…

Who…who the hell is Red?

(She thinks she knows the answer. She doesn’t want to be right.)

“I-I don’t understand,” she chokes out, her head spinning. Her heart pounds in her ears, thuds against her sternum so hard it hurts. “What do you want with me? Where am I?”

The shadows ignore her. One of them tips his head. “Sounds just like Red, doesn’t she?” he asks, and gets a chorus of agreement.

Sounds just like Red.

“Look just like her, too. Same hair, same eyes.”

No, no, no, no—

“Angrier, though.”

Madelyne gulps, trembling. No no no no, she can’t be right, she doesn’t want to be right, if she has the same hair, same eyes, same voice— “I—I don’t—”

“You look like someone else we know," the tall shadow, presumably the leader, says, and the blood drains from Madelyne’s face. She makes a little sound that was supposed to be a word, but dies at the back of her throat.

No no no please no not her no not her not her—

He leans back to someone down the hallway and says, “Bring Red out here, will you?”

Her heart hammers in her chest, it’s all she can hear. She tries to listen for any sound from down the hall, any just barely makes out a small whimper and a gruff voice saying move it, Red. There’s a shuffle of feet, more footsteps, and a moment later two more shadows appear from around the corner, and between them is—

“Jean.”

Jean stares at Madelyne, pale and wide-eyed, her cheeks stained with tears, her arms wrapped around her middle with a white-knuckle grip on her tattered, blood-stained nightgown. Her face is thinner than Madelyne remembers, littered with cuts and bruises in various stages of healing, one eye with a purple and yellow ring around it. The corner of her mouth is crusted with dried blood, and her hair is messy and unkempt, stuck to her neck and stiff with old blood.

She looks nothing like the woman Madelyne parted ways with that night. Nothing but a shell of who she used to be.

When did they take her?

How long has she been here?

The night Madelyne left was the last time she had seen Jean, the two of them standing outside the gates to the mansion as the fireflies flickered around them. Call me Madelyne Pryor, she’d said.

Farewell, Madelyne Pryor.

Farewell, Jean.

And then she’d turned and left and walked off into the night, to hitchhike across the country to a cheap motel in the middle of nowhere only to end up in this place, wherever it was. She hadn’t turned around again when she’d left; as far as she’d known, Jean had watched her leave and gone back inside.

It could have been then. It could have been the brief moment when Madelyne was far enough away from the mansion and Jean was alone in the quiet night, in the short distance between the road and the front door that she’d been taken again and dragged off to somewhere worse than Sinister’s lab. It could have been then. It could have been later.

The only expression Madelyne can read on her face is pure, unadulterated terror. It takes a moment for Jean to work up the courage to say in a small, hoarse voice, “Ma-ddie?” Another small, choked sound follows, as though she wants to say more but can’t.

One of her guards notices and smacks her upside the head. “Shut up, Red.”

Jean snaps her mouth shut, shrinking in on herself with tears welling in her eyes.

All Madelyne can do is stare. This isn’t the same Jean she’d known months ago, one of the most powerful telepaths out there, the one who’d helped Madelyne break free of Sinister’s control, the one who’d harnessed the power of the Phoenix. This is a frightened, broken thing with all the fight wiped out of her. A different woman entirely.

“Jean,” Madelyne breathes. Looking at her standing beside the shadows, so folded in on herself, Jean looks so tiny, so fragile. “Jean, what happened? What did they do to you?”

“Nothing she won’t forget,” the shadow answers for her, as Jean shuts her eyes and grips herself tighter. He rests his hand on her back and rubs a gentle circle, but Jean draws her shoulders up to her ears as though she expects to be hit. “Isn’t that right, Red?”

Jean gulps and nods with a tiny whimper.

“Her name is Jean,” Madelyne protests weakly, her voice shaky.

The shadow’s hand pauses in the middle of Jean’s back; Jean pales and grows still. “We call her Red around here,” he says, as Jean shrinks away from the sidelong glance he gives her. “Isn’t that right, Red?”

Jean nods frantically; Madelyne peers inside her head and hears my name is Red my name is Red my name is Red please don’t hurt me please don’t make them hurt me Maddie please don’t make them hurt me I’ve been so good please Maddie please please please

Jean…

“Mhm.” He makes another circle on her back. The way he looks at her is…almost fond. It makes Madelyne’s stomach churn. “Ah, Red,” he sighs, running his hand over her head, “you turned out real sweet didn’t you?”

Jean makes a little noise as she looks up at him with desperate affection in her eyes. She nods, leaning closer as he pets her head, even as she tries to fold in on herself and back away. Another shudder runs through her body; a tiny smile, maybe forced, maybe real and against her will, blooms on her face. Madelyne hears the thoughts thrumming through her head, I did I did I turned sweet for you please don’t hurt me please please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me.

Madelyne curls her lip, her stomach churning with disgust. She can’t watch this grotesque display anymore, she’ll be sick. “She’s not sweet,” she snarls, and Jean’s head snaps around, her eyes bright with terror, “she’s traumatized!”

The shadows standing off to the side snicker; the sound brings tears to Jean’s eyes and makes Madelyne’s heart twist. The shadow standing beside Jean says nothing for a moment, then huffs and shakes his head and turns to Jean with what Madelyne can only imagine is a sneer.

“Oh, Red,” he says, his voice full of mock concern as Jean starts to cry, “are you traumatized?”

Jean’s tears spill over and roll down her face as the shadows laugh at her. She whimpers, looking up at Madelyne, begging her for help she can’t give. Please, please, Maddie, please…

Please don’t do this to me.

Oh, Jean… Madelyne shakes her head. “Jean, I—”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough of that.” Jean lets out a yelp as the lead shadow grips her shoulder and cries softly, whining her apologies and begging for mercy Madelyne isn’t sure the shadows are going to give her. He releases his hold on her shoulder and moves his hand to her back to rub another circle with a sigh. “Yeah, I know, Red, don’t you worry.”

Jean takes a shaky breath, shuddering as she exhales and coughing as she lets out another soft sob. She inhales sharply, sniffling, and nods.

He gently pats Jean on the back and motions to one of the shadows off to the side. “Get her back to her room. She’s had enough.”

As two shadows move to flank Jean on either side, she lets out a thin, airy whine, looking nervously between her guards and their leader.

“You’re not in trouble, Red,” he tells her, cupping her cheek. Jean leans into it, turning her nose into his palm. “Don’t worry. I know it’s not your fault.”

Jean nods, shuddering with relief as he withdraws his hand. She spares one last glance at Madelyne as she’s led away into the depths of the building, something between an apology and plea, before she disappears from view.

Once she’s gone, the shadows turn back to Madelyne. “You on the other hand,” he says, pointing at her. Madelyne scrambles back as he flings the door open hard enough for it to swing all the way around on its hinges and smack against the wall. “I don’t care whether you turn sweet or not. You need to learn what happens when you run your mouth. Get over here.”

Madelyne shakes her head, backing up until she’s flat against the wall. “No, no, no wait—wait—”

They’re on her before she can fully process what’s happening, there are hands on her shoulders, her arms, dragging her out into the middle of the cell—

The first blow is landed on her face, rattling her skull, splattering blood across the floor and down her front, and from there—

It’s one after the other after the other, kicks, blows, a baton across her shoulders, across her back, on her ribs, each one heavier than the last—

Something breaks—

Madelyne screams—

And then—

#self reblog

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shapeshiftersandfire · 1 month ago