samecgh: Winter scene with water (Winter)
Title: Hated and Hate
Fandom: X Men Movies
Prompt: Self-harm
Warnings: Prompt is self-harm. Warnings for it.
Summary: He had to be perfect, but he wasn't.

He had to be perfect.

First born son, middle class family. Almost exactly middle class. His younger brother was the trouble maker, so Bobby had to be perfect for his parents. His grades high as he could get them, good player on the sports field. He never argued, nor fought, with them about much. Obviously, there were the small items, staying out just a tad bit later than curfew, some different clothes than what his mother wanted for him. But he was perfect for them, no major problems, no issues.

Then, he discovered he was a mutant.

It wasn't obvious, but that was the worst. He knew he wasn't perfect. His parents tried to hide their opinions, their bigotry. He still caught their snide comments, the not quite glares at those that weren't their color, not part of an approved religion, poorer than them. Mutants brought out a hateful tone in his father, which was echoed fervently in his mother and brother. It made him wonder how they would look at him if they ever caught on that he wasn't their perfect son any more.

He couldn't talk. No one would understand. Many had come from the streets, from broken homes and outright hateful parents. What right did he have to complain? He was Mister Perfect, two parents, a younger brother, no money problems, no health problems. His mutant was hidden, he could pass as human.

The first time something hurt, he grabbed John's lighter out of his hand. The flame was still going, so it burned him for a second before his power kicked in and protected him. He hissed before throwing it back, point made. When he was cleaning out his stuff after he turned traitor, joined Magneto left, he took one of the plastic lighters that were more for backup. He lit it and held his hand in contact with the flame. It burned for a second before his powers kicked in again, protecting him from harm. His body wanted to live, which wasn't the way he felt part of the time.

After getting rid of those, he allowed himself to be thrown around more in training. The beatings, bruising injuries from Logan and Storm helped. The pain drove all the stupid, self absorbed thoughts out of his head temporarily. It would have gone on, but he had to improve in fighting, so he was developing more. He was hit less. Even outings to stop the Brotherhood didn't bring back the pain that he had relied on to empty his head.

He tried a few other ways. Hitting himself wasn't worth the strange looks. He knew what he was going to do, so he would tense up. Scratching himself worked for a little while until he started getting stares when they would show on his arms. He couldn't always bite his arms in public. Hair pulling, biting the inside of his mouth, none of it worked.

A Brotherhood outing had Bobby going up against Sabertooth while Wolverine was taking on two other mutants. A swipe had him falling to the ground with several cuts from the claws. The immediate pain cleared his mind, and he focused on freezing his opponent before taking out two others. He felt better than usual, and it carried over a couple of days before he ended up inadvertently pissing Rogue off and bringing back his normal mood.

With access to the lower levels and medical lab, he sneaked in when most of the others were asleep, except Logan, Scott and Miss Munroe. They had scalpels in case anyone needed some type of emergency surgery. Doctor Gray had to perform a few appendectomies when she had been there. He frowned at the sad memories before finding where they had been stored and taking two from the back, figuring they wouldn't be noticed as quickly. Not many people were able to do perform surgeries there anymore.

His room now had two other borders living with them. Privacy was low. He walked out of the mansion and headed to the trees that lined the property. Security was heightened, but they had to keep the trees relatively clear for mutants that used it to roam. Using a couple of them to block him from view, he pulled out one of the scalpels and thought about cutting his arm.

“Wait,” he mumbled, “That's too noticeable.” He thought about the areas he could hurt and get away with it. His legs were mostly covered, so he unzipped his jeans and pushed them down until they were out of the way. His thighs were pale as he hiked up his boxers to get to the area. Unwrapping the blade, he breathed deeply once before slicing carefully down his leg.

It hurt. It hurt enough that his thoughts of being perfect were tapped down when the pain blossomed and took over. He looked down at the new cut, bleeding down his leg and dripping on the ground. “I forgot to bring something to cover that up,” he pondered. He didn't want the blood getting on his boxers and jeans. It was something he noted for next time. Strangely, he didn't feel bad about not being perfect the first time. To him, it was working.

 
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