SCARS - WOLVERINE X READER FF

PROLOGUE

It was a warm but breezy Sunday morning. October 18th, 1989. The rising sun filtered through the red and gold leaves as my little brother and I played in the treehouse that our father built for us a few months back.

"Bet you can't catch me!" he shouted, his laughter like songbirds, ringing out as he scrambled up onto the makeshift ladder. I grinned, chasing after him, my heart light and carefree.

But, that's when everything changed.

"Wait, don't go too far!" I called out. My eyes widened and my voice tinged with worry as I saw him edge closer to the side. But it was too late. His foot slipped, and he tumbled out of the treehouse, the sound of his fall echoing in my ears.

"George!" I screamed, my heart lurching as I rushed down after him. He lay crumpled at the base of the tree, his leg bent at a painfully unnatural angle. Tears welled up in my eyes as I knelt beside him, my small hands trembling as I reached out.

"It hurts... it hurts so bad," he whimpered, tears streaming down his rosy cheeks, his voice weak and scared.

"Hold on, I'm here," I whispered, desperate to help but not knowing how. Then, without any control, I felt a warmth surge through my fingers. George's cries faded as the bone miraculously realigned. The bruises faded until it was non-existent, and just like that, he was whole again.

Our parents came running almost straight after, seeing the entire thing through the kitchen window. Their faces were painted white with horror, and my mother on the verge of fainting. "What... what did you do?" my father breathed out, his eyes wide with a mix of relief and fear. My mother stood frozen, her expression still unreadable.

"I-I don't know... he fell and-and then... his leg... but?" I stammered, just as confused as them. If not, more. My hands were shaking even more now.

George was helped up carefully by our mother, and she rushed him to go inside the house.

Away from me.

I saw it in their eyes that day. The day they no longer saw me as their daughter, but a monster instead.

~

My parents and I sat in tense silence in the living room. My mother clutched the phone to her ear, already on hold with someone. Her eyes stared blankly into space, tears brimming but not yet falling. Beside her, my father watched me with wary eyes. Every move I made, every breath I took, caused them to flinch. They weren't just scared of me—they were terrified.

The line must have picked up, because my mother had suddenly let out a shaky "Hello?". Her voice trembled as she glanced at me hesitantly, nodding along to the voice on the phone. The fear in her eyes remained evident. I could barely make out the words she spoke next, but they were laced with desperation. "I—I don't know what to do... She just... she healed him. His damn leg was..." she stopped to cover her mouth and compose herself. "Bent."

Hearing those words, my father's hand gripped the armrest of the couch so tightly his knuckles turned white, just like his face when he saw me. He hadn't said a word since we came inside, but the silence was louder than anything he could have to say.

I wanted to speak, to tell them I didn't mean to do anything wrong. I just wanted to help my brother, to stop his pain. But the words stuck in my throat, choked by the realization that something had changed between us all, something that might never be fixed.

Minutes passed like hours as we waited, my mother's hand still gripping the phone, her breathing even more uneven than before. Finally, headlights swiftly swept across the front window, and the low rumble of an approaching car filled the silence. My father stood up, moving to the door with heavy, reluctant steps. He opened it to reveal two men in dark suits and sunglasses, their expressions as cold and unreadable as my father's had been.

"This is the child?" one of them asked, looking down at me, his voice devoid of any emotion.

My mother nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please... just help her," she whispered, as though that might make it all okay. But I could feel it—this wasn't help. This was something else.

I started to hear voices this time. Overbearing, ringing, loud suffocating voices. My hands clutched the sides of my head.

The men approached me, their presence now suffocating me. "We'll take good care of you." one of them said, reaching out a hand. I looked up at my parents, silently pleading for them to stop this, but they just stood there, helpless.

"Please, please don't let them take me," I sobbed to my parents. But my words fell on deaf ears. The man's grip tightened on my arm as he pulled me toward the door. I glanced back, kicking and screaming. I did everything I could, but I knew I was powerless at this moment. I knew that these men aren't what they claimed they were. I couldn't tell at the time, but I could hear every sick and twisted thought going on in their heads.

Hoping to see some spark of love or regret in my parent's expressions, all I saw was the reflection of the headlights in their tear-filled eyes, and the crushing realization that they had already let me go. I saw my little brother sitting at the top of the stairs, clutching his teddy bear, eyes as teary as mine, as he watched me be taken away.

But I made a promise to myself in that moment. A promise that I would find him again, no matter how long it takes.