X-Men Fan Fiction ❯ Seven Deadly ❯ Envy ( Chapter 2 )

Seven Deadly

A X-Men Fanfiction

Written by RogueMoon

 

Chapter Two

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ENVY: Sorrow over another's good fortune; love of one's own good perverted to a desire to deprive other men of theirs; sinful pleasure from seeing others brought low.

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It had been exactly five days, eight hours, twelve minutes and forty-two seconds since he succumbed to the Devil and allowed himself to be take out of hell.

Exactly five days, eight hours, twelve minutes and forty-two seconds since he lost his hearing to the numbing cold of the frozen wasteland she had left him in.

The Devil had pulled off a miracle to save his life. Frostbite had already seeped into his limbs. He still didn't have the full use of his fingers. It would take time. Therapy.

Almost lost his sight, too. Optic nerves were so delicate. He would still need corrective surgery to return his vision to what it had been. It was tentatively scheduled for next week. Once the Devil was confident his body could handle the procedure. His eyesight was blurry, but at least he could see.

He shivered despite the heated blankets surrounding him. The cold was burned into his body now and it felt like it would never go away.

The door opened and a flatliner entered, mouth moving, chatting away before deft ears.

He scowled, sneered, glared at the woman. Was she daft? Had to be. She kept waving her hand in front of him, the mouth moving slower as if saying each vowel individually. He was deft, not blind.

He kicked out at her. Foot striking her stomach and he imagined the cry of pain that had surely escaped that pretty mouth. A cry only she could hear.

He used to hear so much.

Another flatline ran into the room, his mouth moving franticly. He could imagine that the man was asking the woman what happened. Asking her if she was alright. He was leaning down over her, starting to help her to her feet.

He should of heard the man before he got the to room. Should have been able to hear.

Both of them stared at him while their mouths moved. Talking. So much talking.

He could talk too. But he couldn't hear. Couldn't tell if his words came out right. There was no point in talking when you couldn't hear yourself.

So he kept his mouth shut and watched the two. The woman began picking up whatever it was she had dropped. The man approached him, hands up in surrender, mouth moving.

Both of them were stupid.

He kicked the man, aiming for the face this time. Satisfied with the feel of bone collapsing beneath his heel.

The woman dropped whatever it was she had brought. Again. Her mouth was moving. He imagined she was screaming for help.

He couldn't hear it.

He wanted to hear it.

At least he could see it, right? At least he wasn't blind.

Blind would be better than deaf, he decided as more people rushed into the room. More flatliners. More people scared of his eyes. His mutant genes.

They skirted around him, staying just out of easy reach of his legs, dragging the man away from him. Checking him for a pulse. Still had one, of course.

He was a lot of things, but he wasn't a killer.

He glared at them all.

Another one tried to approach, holding one hand up, the other outstretched. Two black pills lay on his palm. His mouth moved slowly. Caution in his eyes.

Had none of them read the medical reports? He was deaf. He couldn't hear them.

Couldn't even read lips. Maybe they thought he could read lips.

He felt his blankets charging.

Their eyes widened and several of them started backing out the door.

He snatched the pills from the outstretched palm with one hand and grabbed the man's wrist with his other. Pulled him close. Charged the pills and stuffed them in the man's mouth. Pushed the man away and laughed as the pills went boom.

The man wasn't dead. But it would be months before he could eat properly again.

Served him right.

Served them all.

He wished he could hear his own laugh. The blankets stopped charging as another shiver ran through him and he pulled them tight. He wished he could talk to them. Hear their words.

Hear their screams.

The Devil walked through the door.

He should have been able to hear the Devil's approach. He wanted sneer at him. Glare. Scream at him to go away and leave him in that horrible silence.

The Devil placed a hand on his head. Brushed his hair back. Murmured in his mind.

He could hear the Devil.

Tears he didn't want to shed, didn't want to feel, poured out. He couldn't hear his own sobs. But he could hear the Devil telling him it would be alright.

The Devil would bring back his hearing. Would not let him be condemned to this silent hell as he had been condemned to the frozen one by the X-Men. By her.

The Devil would be there for him. Would perform another miracle.

Could he please refrain from injuring the help while he waited for the miracle to occur? It was so hard to find competent servants.

He hugged the Devil to him, desperate to keep the sound in his mind.

He could ignore the flatliners for now.

The Devil was talking to him.

And he could hear the words.

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End Chapter