Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wolverine checked the address the professor gave him a second time. There's no way this dingy, rundown apartment building had a 'needed ally who requires our assistance' in it. Logan huffs and pulls his mask up and walks up the mildew-smelling stairwell to find this apparently aphla-leveled mutant.
"402," Logan mutters, reaching the top floor.
The hallway was dusty, and the floors were sticky, but this was the place.
Wolvinere got to the door marked '402' and knocked.

Nothing.

He knocked harder.

Nothing.

The old mutant could smell someone inside, so he just kicked the door open. With how easy it broke, he could have done that without any powers.

The door falls, and Logan is hit with the scent of weed like truck. He looks around the sees a sleeping bundle on the mattress on the floor of the little studio.

There was a small man, shorter than he was, and there weren't many of those. Looked 22 tops. He had messy shoulder-length dark green hair, patchy black stubble, and pale, almost sickly skin. He reeked of booze and seemed out of it. Wearing jeans, a black shirt, and shoes still. Looks like he stumbled home and just flopped on his bed. Logan nudges the man with his foot, and all he got was a sleepy groan 'go way'.

"fuckers a drunk," Wolverine mutters, slinging the little man over his shoulders, no protest or even acknowledgment from the drunken bastard. Logan looked around the apartment, just a sad box with a fridge and stove, a mattress on the floor. No belongings or personalization beyond a box on the floor with the words "MY SHIT" in sharpie and a few empty whiskey bottles. Wolverine can feel a depression just standing in the space. So he leaves, grabs the box in one hand and the passed-out man in the other.

"You found him-oh dear." The professor is delighted to see Wolverine back with Quinn, but much less so, seeing how utterly wasted he is.

"Who the fuck is this kid, Chuck? You said I was looking for an alpha-level mutant, not some sad drunk." Wolverine huffs.

"I picked him up five years ago. I tried reaching out, and he shut me down. His name is Quinn, according to him. I didn't get much. But he needs our help; you're lucky he was intoxicated, but he is likely not going to take being here well." The professor explains with a heavy exhale. "Take him to the Lab. I'll be there to explain everything to Hank soon. Thank you, as always, Logan."

"Yeah, yeah, see ya, Chuck." Loagn huffs walking to the med-bay. He just wants to get rid of this little fuck and go cuddle with Scott and Jean.

Chapter Text

Hank is about to finish up for the night when Logan walks in and throws a very wasted man into the first empty table in his lab.

"What is the meaning of this!?"

"Chuck told me to drop him here." Logan grunts while walking out the door.

"I'm going to need more than that. Why not take whoever this is to the medical bay to sleep off...god knows what?" Hank huffs, looking at the small body sprawled out on the table.

Logan shugs, "special case or something? fuck if I know. I was told to drop him here, and I did, Night fuzzball." Logan says, walking out before Hank can protest further.

Hank stares at the body on his table and sighs before moving it to a medical bed in one of the rooms connected to his lab. Once the man is situated, Hank prepares a heart monitor and an IV. The chapped lips and sunken eyes make it clear that this man is very dehydrated. Hank peels the smaller man's shirt off to reveal something unexpected under tuffs of black stomach and chest hair. Scars, so many of them, too many of them for how young the boy looks. Claw marks, stab wounds, bullet holes, clusters of self-harm (poor thing), thin mastectomy scars as well, but no nipple grafts. The scars seem to be a bit aged, suggesting it may have been a purposeful choice. Even odder, the man doesn't have a belly button, which could be genetic, but the scientist doesn't think so.

But something stands out to Hank on this Jackson Pollock of scars that painted this mysterious man's skin. Every joint Hank could see has clumps of scar tissue, clearly made by medical devices. If it were just his hip or shoulder, Hank could write it off, but every single connection point? Hank turned the man on his side and found even more scars on his back. But lo and behold, more medical ones as well—thin lines about every inch down his spine. Hank's blue eyes trailed up further, moving the smaller man's greasy, green hair to the side to see the circular scars on the back of his neck. Scorched and poorly healed skin around them. 

"What on earth happened to you?" Hank whispers to himself. 

"I have a few ideas." The professor says behind him. 

Hank glances back, "Who is this, Charles?"

"Quinn, but that's all get gave me. I don't know how, but he can shut me out. Even with cerebrio, I struggled to pinpoint him. All I can so for sure is he is powerful but suffering greatly." The professor says mournfully. 

"That much is clear." Hank adjusts his glasses. "I have some tests I want to run, but most of them have to wait until he wakes up and consents." 

The professor nods, "Do what you can. Be...gentle when he wakes up. I may not have been able to see much inside his head, but torment doesn't need to be clear to be visible." 

Hank nods and looks over Quinn's torso again. "I'll do what I can for now."

Hank hooks up the IV and sticks a few pads on his chest, mindful of the hair there. The man reeks of booze and regret, so Hank moves a trash can beside his bed just in case.

Quinn's head is throbbing; last night got a bit out of hand. Before he can even open his eyes properly, he leans over and grabs the first thing he sees and vomits into it. As he blinks away the spots from his hangover headache, he's suddenly very aware that this isn't some random person's bed. It's a medical bed.

"Ah, good morning, my boy."

Quinn yelps and grabs the first thing at his side, which is a glass of water, and throws it with surprising precision at the source of the voice. The younger man sees the glass get caught by a swift, blue hand that engulfed the cup. He's met with the sight a large furry man, an odd, almost cat-like face, and ape ape-like body, but blue. Wearing a lab coat with no shirt. Quinn springs awake, ripping off the sticky things on his chest and the IV in his arm, thanking everything he can think of that he's not bound to the bed. He gets up and looks around the simple room, a few medical beds, a messy desk covered in paperwork work and a monstera plant by the door. Before stepping back slowly. Who the fuck was this guy? Where the hell was he? The door didn't seem locked; he could run.

The stranger puts his hands up. "I'm Doctor Henry McCoy, head scientist."

Quinn's eyes narrow at the word scientist. But this man doesn't seem like a threat, even being a behemoth. Hell, the bastard looks like a marketable plushy of a person.

"W-where the fuck am I?" Quinn spits, stumbling a bit.

Hank just sighs and adjusts his glasses. "Not an unanticipated reaction. This is the X-mansion, my lab to be specific."

Quinn growls, "That fucking teleapth, I told him I didn't want to be here!" That old bastard didn't listen to him. He told him no, and he meant it.

Before Hank can explain further, Quinn is running out the door, sniffing the air. Hank runs after him. He's fast, Hank notes. Quinn smacks into a wall as he takes a turn a bit too wide, but keeps going anyway. Stubborn too. But the mutant can still see the lingering effects of his previous night of enebriation.

"Young man! Could you please stop so we can talk!?" Hank calls, staying just behind him. He'd rather not have to tackle him down or restrain him. So, staying just behind till Quinn calms down or gets tired seems like a better option. 

"Fu-gag-ck you!" Quinn calls back; he really wants to vomit again, but is running on pure adrenaline and rage. Too overwhelmed, it's so bright, so white everywhere, his head is pounding.

Hank sighs, keeping close behind him as the younger man navigates the white halls. Searching for the professor. With how he keeps sniffing, he must have heightened senses. Quinn finds the meeting room surprisingly fast and runs through the door. As Hank walks in, and sees the empty meeting room beside the professor. Quinn gets right in his face, gripping tight on either side of his chair and pants. 

"You-mother-motherfucker." He huffs, "I told you when you tried brain fucking me that first time. No!" 

The professor just smiles calmly, unfazed by the rage rolling off the man before him. But Hank gets closer, just in case.

"You didn't give me a choice, you're crumbling. I can feel it. We can help you." The professor says kindly. 

"You think I don't fucking know that!" Quinn snaps, chest heaving. "I don't want your help. I've been 'crumbling' for the past two decades, and frankly, it's taking too damn long already."

Hank interjects. "If you consent to further testing, I could help you. But I require more information. Your vitals were unstable, and your blood tests came back inconclusive." 

Quinn's hateful glare shifts to Hank. "Yeah, well, because I'm not a damn mutant." The smaller man spits bitterly. Hank can see the true conviction and belief in the smaller man's silver eyes, even though his statement makes no logical sense. 

"I told you when I first sensed you, you needn't be afraid. Whatever your powers, wherever this fear comes from. You can have a place here. You would be a worthwhile ally, my boy." The professor says kindly. 

Quinn grips the side of the old man's chair till his knuckles turn white. 

"You don't know anything. Do you? You just felt a disturbance in the force or some shit. You just felt power. You don't even know what I am." 

"I felt suffering. But perhaps you could explain your power?" The professor says back with his same soft smile that he uses on the younger kids. 

"You don't get it, do ya old man?" Quinn leans in close to the professor. Suddenly, the professor places a hand on his face. It's gentle and kind. 

"Let me get it, I can feel so much fear and pain. Whatever your sins, whatever weight you hold, we can help."

"NO!" Quinn yells, tears forming in his eyes, but he seems stuck in place. "J-just leave me be. I won't fuck with you, and you people won't fuck with me. I won't be a problem for long." 

"Son, that's not how we work here. If your powers are harming you or others, we have to intervene. The X-Mansion is a safe haven, you would be treated well, a room and three square meals a day." The professor responds in kind.

Quinn just growls in his face. The professor gasps softly as Quinn's eyes widen. He broke through, and he sees something inside Quinn's head.

"GET OUT!" Quinn screams desperately, body shaking.  

Hank pulls Quinn by his shoulders off the professor once he sees sweat forming on the telapath's temples. Quinn collapses to the ground and passes back out. 

The scientist scoups the younger man up and looks to the professor, who has a disturbed look on his face. Hank doesn't like that look. 

"What did you see?" 

"Take him back to the med bay. Now." The professor says firmly, wheeling after Hank.

Hank puts Quinn back on the bed and turns to the professor. 

"Run a DNA sequencing test on him and an X-ray." 

Hank doesn't like the gasp in his old friend's voice, the shake. But Hank does so, and the results are horrific. 

The X-ray showed gaps of metal plating in his skull; it almost looked unfinished. As if whoever was putting them there just gave up. But the more Hank he found more oddities. All of his back teeth were ripped out and replaced by sharper ones. The cartilage around all his bones was artificial, and his tendons stretched. It was mimicking the effects of minor mutations. With how aged it looks, he couldn't have been fully grown when this was done. 

"Someone did all this to...to a child." Hank whispers as the DNA sequencer beeps. 

"They did more than this old friend; I could feel something breaking deep inside." The professor replies darkly.

Hank gasps as he sees the information displayed on the screen. Quinn's DNA is broken, with gaps and frayed edges. No human or mutant with an internal structure like this would be breathing or even whole. Hank scans for an X-gene and finds none. 

"Stars and gaters, Charles..." Hank looks back at the man in the medical bed, still passed out but stable by some miracle. 

"He didn't lie, he's not a mutant. But he's no human either." The professor whispers before turning his attention to the box on the floor. Logan has brought it with Quinn. 

Hanks gets closer to the cardboard and hears a soft humming, which seems to be coming from the backpack inside. Hank gently pulls the bag out and finds dirty clothes and a case, that's the humming. Hank looks at it closely, a small black case, a lithium battery, refrigerated, it seems. It clashes with the cheap, worn-out look of everything else in the box. 

"This is important, I saw this case in his head. It filled him with shame and fear every time. But he needs it." 

"Do we know the contents?" Hank asks, sniffing it. 

"You don't wanna know." Quinn whispers behind him, Hank doesn't know how he got so close so fast without him knowing. 

"Oh good lord!" Hank steps away from him, his heart rate spiked a bit. Hank is seldom startled, but this man was finding ways. 

Quinn just stares at him. A dead look in his eyes. 

"Are you aware of the damage to your body?" Hank asks softly. 

"Yes." Quinn replies. 

The professor sighs "Quinn...We can not suggest you to go; you need help." 

Quinn's eye twitches, but that's all the reaction he gives. He's too exhausted, hungover, and mixed with a brain fuck. He just wants to sleep.

"Just get out of my head. I don't need that shit." 

"I'm not in your head. You're suffering is clear. You've been alone for too long." The professor says, wheeling closer. "Stay. At the very least, until we can get you somewhat stable. You have to be in so much pain. I can have a room arranged right now."

Hank sees the boy think. The gears in his brain are turning. Quinn looks back at Hank with an unreadable expression. 

"What's the catch?" Quinn snarls, eyes darting between Hank and the professor. 

"You allow Doctor McCoy to help you. You will visit him as much as he sees fit during your time here." The professor says gently. 

Quinn glares at Hank and looks him up and down. He suddenly gets very close to him. 

"Ah, hello there. I believe I already introduced myself." Hank says, standing perfectly still. 

Quinn huffs, "What kinda shit would you do?" Quinn asks, crossing his arms.

Hank thinks for a moment, "A proper physical, first and foremost. Blood tests and more X-rays. But it's all subject to what I find; the results I do have only raised more questions." He says the smaller man calmly.

Quinn thinks for a long time. Food and a bed don't sound half bad. He has enough in his case to hold him over until they kick him out. 

"You think you can fix me?" Quinn asks Hank in a small voice. 

 "I will do everything in my power, my dear boy. That I can swear." Hank says with a kind smile. 

"Not a yes." Quinn huffs and turns to the professor. "But whatever. Just no more brain fucking me." 

The professor beams, "Of course, son, now let's get you something to eat and a room." 

Quinn gulps and grabs his box and case before dragging his feet to follow the professor, but stops. 

"You're gonna need all the help you can get," Quinn says softly before tossing Hank a USB. 

Hank catches it. "What might this be?" 

"The answers to the questions I see rolling around in your fuzzy head. Ask that first. I don't wanna answer them." Quinn huffs before catching up to the professor. 

Chapter Text

Quinn followed the professor to an elevator out of the endless white hallways. Once they were upstairs, he was greeted with painfully bright sunlight and the smell of old wood. Quinn groaned and adjusted his hold on his box to rub his eyes. He realized he was still shirtless and barefoot, 'fucking fantastic.' He thinks to himself. 

"I'll show you the room you'll be staying in. You can get settled in." The professor starts wheeling down the hallway in his chair, and Quinn follows.

The whole place reeks of mutants; the faint sounds of children surrounded him. He was starting to sober up and regret this deeply.

"No need to stress, young man, the room is soundproof and you're in a storage wing below the teachers. No children, no one to bother you."

"Fuck did I say about that?" Quinn growls. Even if all that sounds nice, he doesn't need this old man in his head to any copasity. 

The professor puts his hands up in innocence, but Quinn just growls softly and follows him to the room. Once they arrive, Quinn notes that it's near the stairs, likely those that lead to the teachers' area. Noting to himself to never go up there. The professor gives a brief overview of the communal showers and other details about curfew and mealtimes, but Quinn doesn't really hear as he walks into the room. He sets his box near the door and flops on the big bed with a soft navy blanket and white pillows. 

The professor smiles, "Welcome to the X-Mansion, son. Please cooperate with McCoy. But for now, you can rest." He uses his powers to close the curtain and shut and lock the door. 

Quinn grunts an approval at the lack of child noise and curls up. Quinn sighs as he has to work later and pick up a few things he's sure got left at his apartment. But for now, he can lie back and enjoy a big bed with no sweaty person he's trying not to touch on the other side of it. Besides, he knows it won't last long; if fuzzy tits can't fix him, they'll see him as the monster he is, and he'll have to run again.  

Hank goes through Quinn's X-rays further and finds more signs of horrific physical trauma. The scientist sighed deeply and put the USB in his pocket before collecting his notes and the blood samples he had taken and heading to his main lab.

Once he had the blood samples in a machine that could analyze them further, he looked at the USB Quinn had given him. But upon inspection, this wasn't a normal USB; it was government-grade, could hold terabytes. The muatnts' brows furrowed as he plugged the odd thing into his computer. (Making sure to unplug it from anything else, just in case there was something unsavory hiding within whatever could be on what Quinn had given him) 

His screen went black, and he swore to himself, thinking Quinn had given him some kind of virus, but suddenly bold white words appeared on the screen: 'Project Hunter'.  

The screen shifted to hundreds of files and their subfile. All are dated, ranging from 40 years old to 18 years old.  

Hank clicked on the oldest one titled 'DNA Alterations-Anti Mutant Soldier' 

The mutants' cobalt blood ran cold as he looked at the images on the screen. This was all beta tests. An idea to make something that could kill any mutant, adapt to anything. Something this horrific should never have been considered, let alone funded. But there were still decades worth of files after this. How? Hank looked closer at the DNA changes, manufactured dependencies, and the code was riddled with instability and gaps where an x-gene would normally be. Something with DNA like this couldn't survive. But it looked eerily similar to what he found in Quinn's DNA. Hank pulled up his glasses and rubbed his furry face. It can't be, but those scars, the fear Quinn had on his scent at any given moment. 

Hank gulped and scrolled down the file labeled 'Incubation', dated 32 years ago.

A video file. Hank took a deep breath before clicking it. A man in a lab coat, eyes black barred, showed up on the screen. 

"After a decade, we have gotten approval to start 'Project Hunter', but my team and I have already started." A picture showed up on the screen of a woman, maybe 25. black hair and blue eyes, round face and button nose. She looked...Like Quinn, just without a scowl and haunted eyes. "Diane Jeffords, our source DNA. A lovely and kind-faced human woman with no family history of mutants. She was the perfect start. Once we applied our needed changes, we started incubation. Say hello to QN23."  An embryo was shown, maybe 10 weeks old. QN...Quinn. Hank put a hand over his mouth. "It may not look like much now, but once it starts to grow, we'll have our soldier and a source of DNA for a generation. Mutants will be eradicated, and when the mutants are gone, our soldiers will die out having served their purpose." But how? How could this child, how could Quinn destroy mutant kind?

Hank just stared as the video continued about the DNA changes, everything he saw in Quinn's DNA. Feeling his fur on end, the scientist scrolled further to a file labeled 1 day-20 weeks. He doesn't know if he has the heart to click it, but he still needs more information. He hopes can help that young man recover or at least ease his suffering. 

Hank clicks it, and images of an infant covered in injections and vital trackers. Tubes sticking out of the poor thing. Everything referred to the infant as an 'it'. Hank almost crushed his mouse as he scrolled further. This isn't what he needs. He needs to understand how Quinn was supposed to 'cull mutant kind'.  Hank kept scrolling past the horrific images of the baby. He got to a file called 'Ages 3-5, managing instability.'  

Another video. It showed a toddler walking around, reaching for the scientists, unable to form words, and being nudged away from every lab coat they tried to grip onto. They just ignore him, leave him alone most of the time. All other videos showed the child alone in a plain beige room, with complex 3D puzzles on the ground. Hank watched in horror and awe as the child completed every puzzle in two days by the look of the time stamps. Soon, he finds clips of the child collapsing onto the ground almost every day. And every day, a scientist walks in with a gray clump of goo in a bowl and leaves it on the floor. Once the scientist leaves, the child runs to and devours swiftly before returning to more puzzles. 

"QN23 is starting to feel or effects of its instability. We started supplementing with what I call X filler. It's condensed mutant plasma mixed with nutrients. It temporarily fills the x-gene gap within QN23 and keeps it alive. Now that we're starting to build a further dependence, power training can begin. QN23 will learn that the only thing that can satiate it is mutant."

Hank wants to vomit as he pauses the video and reads over the information further. This...This is the most sickening thing the scientist has ever had to look upon. They didn't make a soldier; they made a predator. From a child no less who knew no better.

"It has to consume mutant DNA in filler X form, which doesn't absorb powers, but the substance only lasts 8 hours. We need to up the dosage and add blood cells. We hope it absorbs powers as planned, but certain safeguards must be added to ensure QN23 stays in line."

Another file. 'Age 6, electrotherapy' 

Hank doesn't know if he has the heart to click on it. But he does. A video file of young Quinn thrashing on a table, as on the many black eyed lab coats, puts something similar to a collar on him. Hank remembers the singed skin of the back of Quinn's neck, the holes and nerve damage that showed up in the X-rays. The collar clicks shut, and they release the child, and they scurry into the corner.

"QN23, Come." One scientist holding a remote orders. 

"Please no," Hanks whispers. Knowing what will happen next as the child doesn't move. 

Little Quinn's pained scream echoes from his computer and through his lab. It goes on for too long, but eventually, the child crawls to the scientist silently. Body shaking and twitching. 

"After two weeks of therapy, QN23 is responding well to commands. It's learning swiftly, growing faster and stronger. But asstsince is still needed, without an x-gene the body is still human. Surgical advancements pending." Says the scientist to the camera, who popped onto the screen. Young Quinn's body torn apart and put back together, Hank knows they did this more than once. Likely every year after this point. The files seem to agree with Hank's assumption. The images...Hank pauses. The eyes are open in every single one; a video shows tears streaming from the child's eyes as they opened him up. They did this to him awake?

Hank vomits into his waste bin. Panting softly, He can't look at the child torn open for such vile reasons. That the product of this is still alive, still breathing, is a miracle. Hank slams his laptop shut and bolts out of his lab, straight to Quinn's room.  

Quinn, around that time, was in the middle of work in an alley behind a mutant BDSM club.

He'd put on a mesh shirt and jean shorts. An outfit he hates, but he often gets customers in. An oceanic mutant cornered him in the loud, sweaty place, about 6'1 with gray, leathery skin. Sharp teeth and no hair. He started commenting on Quinn's scars and even bought him a drink. Quinn shared his rates, and the stranger agreed. With that, Quinn found himself pressed into a brick wall as the stranger's webbed hands struggled with his button. Quinn undid it for him, and he was right to work. But paused as Quinn moved his packer pouch out of the way. 

"Oh, you're a..." The stranger starts with unsure eyes. 

"Got a problem?" Quinn grunts. He's gotten some people who we're prepared for him as he is, which is why he always makes sure to get paid upfront. 

The stranger shakes his head, likely just wanting to get his money's worth. He started palming Quinn through his boxers, while Quinn wasn't particularly into it tonight(Didn't drink enough), his body still responded, his cunt stirred at the contact, and the stranger grunted in turn. Quinn felt around in his white denim jeans and found a slit. Quinn tauted the slit until two silvery blue pointed cocks slipped out. Quinn is more annoyed than impressed. He didn't plan on getting fucked that hard tonight; he still had shit to do after. But with how blown out the stranger's eyes were and the slick covering the two cocks, the smaller man didn't expect it to last long. The stranger pushed Quinn up further on the wall and lined up one of his cocks. 

"Hmm, just do both." Quinn huffed. If he did this one at a time, it was gonna take longer. Quick shift is what he planned on.

The shark-like man before him gulped, as his cocks twitched and pressed against each his holes. Quinn groaned as the slick members invaded his insides and the stranger fucked him into the wall. Hard and fast, not well, but he was clearly enjoying himself. Quinn grit his teeth at the dual penetration. It would have been nicer if he had more prep time, but whatever. He'd get what he needed. As Quinn felt the cocks twitch in his ass and cunt. Suddenly, the man felt a stinging pang in his shoulder. Just as the stranger climaxed, he bit Quinn through his shirt and left a large bite on his shoulder. 

"Motherfucker." Quinn grunted as the stranger spilled into his stomach with a shaky moan. 

The shark-man mutters a half-apology before setting Quinn on his feet. Quinn keeps himself up despite the soreness forming between his legs and the damn bite he'll have to deal with. Quinn slips his vile into his pocket and scrambles into the bathroom. His shoulder was dripping pretty well and mixing with the unnecessary amount of cum on his stomach. After a half-assed wipe down and a subpar bandaging, Quinn called it a night and headed for his apartment. 

He collected the cash he had hidden in one of the floorboards and got his bike out of the alley. It was an unpleasant ride back to the mansion, but at least he had the rest of his shit and got an extra 350$ plus another 50$ for the bite. 

Hank ran down the halls of the X-mansion towards Quinn's room when he heard a rumbling sound. It was a motorcycle, sounded too ragged to be Scott's. The sounds stopped as Hank made it to the entrance hall and Quinn limped in. Hank took in the younger man's ragged look. Shortest jean shorts he's ever seen with the zipper down, a torn mesh shirt. But what really caught Hank's attention was the bleed through the bandages starting to leak. 

"Stars and garters, what in blazes happened to you? Where have you been?" Hank exclaimed, walking swiftly towards him.

His large hands hovering over the ingiry. As the mutant got closer to Quinn, he smelt a vile mix of sex, gin, and shame.

Quinn just glared at him, but he was too tired to hold it. 

"Just had a long night," Quinn muttered vaguely. 

Hank just raises a brow.

"No, no, no, this will not do," Hank mutters, looking at the poorly wrapped bandage. "You need to come to the med bay so I can properly treat that wound." 

Quinn just narrows his eyes at him. "I'm tired, I'm going to my room." Quinn sniffs himself, "Ugh, eh, whatever. I'll shower tomorrow," He mutters to himself as he walks away.

"My dear boy, that injury needs tending too. Part of you staying here is allowing me to assist you." Hank pleads as he follows beside the unsteady little man. 

"I don't need your help with this. I'll deal with it in myself." Quinn huffs. That's a lie. He plans on passing the fuck out. 

Hank sighs deeply. He knows Quinn is in no state to even keep himself upright. He wonders how he got back in such a state. The muatnt will not allow him to simply bleed alone; he suspects the smaller man has done that far too much in his life.

"What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?" Hank Quotes. "Quinn, please allow me to at least rebandage that wound? I would hate for you to get an infection and make a mess of the apoplastery." Hank says with a slight smile, hoping Quinn will accept his help. 

Quinn is too exhausted to give a shit. He just keeps walking to his new room and doesn't say another word to the man stalking behind him.

Hank takes that as a yes and follows Quinn as he throws off the mesh shirt and sits on the edge of his bed, staring at Hank. Or perhaps he was the one staring as Quinn grumbled. 

"Ya gonna help or not?" 

Hank pushes his glasses up and heads into the bathroom to grab a wet rag and some bandages in the medkits he got put in every room. His forethought is paying off as always.

Hank sits on Quinn's left side, and before removing the poor bandage job Quinn must have done. It's a bite. Hybrid mutant most likely. 

"Would you mind telling me what happened?" Hank asks gently as he cleans the wound, glad to see he won't need stitches. 

"Eh, some shark man two dicks deep thought I'd taste good apparently, got paid extra for it tho so whatever," Quinn says as if it's the simplest thing in the world. 

Hank's bandaging movements faltter for a moment as his face turns a slightly deeper shade a blue. 

"You're a...courtesan?" Hank manages to get out as he finishes bandaging Quinn's shoulder. 

"350 an hour if you're interested. 400 if you wanna get rough." Quinn huffs bluntly as if he were telling him the price of a coffee. 

"I most certainly am not! Of course, you are a consenting adult, and I have no judgment about this particular way of earning a living when done safely. I just personally have no interest in paid intercourse." Hank rambles as he stands. Hank can feel his face growing darker as the younger man just stares at him blankly. 

Quinn gives him an up-down look. Hank normally doesn't mind staring; he's used to it, but he suddenly feels taken apart and exposed under this man's unfocused gaze.

"Hmm. I'd give you a freebee, maybe another night tho." Quinn yawns and curls up into his bed. His scar-covered back was exposed to the scientist.

Hank stands there for a moment. Unsure what to say to Quinn, having just been rather bluntly offered himself up to the mutant. 

"I...." Hank starts. He thought not much could surprise him, but having a man half his age, whom he had met two days ago, tell him he would 'do it for free' was not something Hank ever expected to hear. 

Quinn lets out a slight snicker, glancing back to see how Hank's fur was on end."Relax. I'm pretty sturdy, you could dug those-" "-If you're finished." Hank interrupts, not wanting to hear anymore, "I do need you in my lab tomorrow, first thing when you wake up." 

His bright blue eyes follow the trails of scars on the smaller man's spine; he can see the way the tissues stretched as he grew up. He can also see wounds made from a hard life alone, growing up in the worst parts of the world. 

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Quinn mutters sleepily, curling up. "And quit staring at me like that." He adds harshly, but there's a softer emotion hidden under it.

Hank holds back his questions and steps back. "Goodnight, Quinn," Hank says kindly before shutting the door behind him and walking up the stairs to his room, knowing he won't get much sleep. 

Chapter Text

Quinn rolled over and groaned every swear word he knew as he flopped onto the floor. With a yawn, he forced himself up to go to the bathroom. As Quinn was getting dressed, he heard a soft knock. 

He opened the door and saw that fuzzy face and wide, fangy but kind smile at his door, holding pancakes. 

"Good morning, Quinn." Hank says, holding the plate out to him.

Blueberry. Quinn loves blueberries. But how the fuck did he know that? Lucky guess? He eyed the larger man suspiciously. 

"Why?" Quinn huffed, glaring at the food and ignoring the rumbling in his stomach. 

Hank tilted his head to the side slightly. 

"You need to eat before my physical, and I'm sure you didn't plan on it, so I took matters into my own hands." Hank says with nothing but firm compassion. 

Quinn looks at him and the plate. The muatnt wasn't wrong, but it still rubbed Quinn the wrong way. Yet he was too hungry to endure the smell for too long. Quinn snatched the plate away and devoured all three pancakes swiftly. 

Once fed, Quinn drags his feet to where Hank is leading him. He realises it's not the same place he woke up in, and he's leading him upstairs to a smaller room. Still medical, clearly, but softer pastels covered the walls, and there was rainbow paper on the examining table.  

"This is where kids go for their boo-boos?" Quinn huffs. 

Hank chcukles softly, "I thought it would be more comfortable." 

Hank noticed how much his lab resembled the place Quinn was raised. He was sure Quinn did as well. The upstairs med bay has everything he needs for a physical. Hank also hoped it would likely make this process easier and allow Quinn to be more open with him. Hank has Quinn stand on a scale and checks his weight and height. 5'0, 103lbs, he could stand to gain a bit of weight. Hank grabs a clipboard and takes a sip of his coffee at the desk, with his dexterous foot gripping the mug as he fills something out. Before glancing up at the mildly bewildered Quinn. 

"Bendy for an old muatnt. You just like that or....?" Quinn asks, not even hiding the fact that he is staring.

His mind wanders as he observes the older man's hip mobility.

"Oh, apologies, most aren't used to the sight of my hypermobility. But to answer your question, I was simply born this way. It's quite useful." Hank takes another gulp of his coffee before setting it down on the desk and standing on two legs again before Quinn. 

"I bet," Quinn says with a much different meaning. 

Hank chooses to ignore that tone and hands Quinn a paper to fill out. 

"Would you mind? I'll get it put into your file at a later date." 

Quinn takes it and fills it out swiftly with an unreadable expression. 

Name: Quinn son of none. Hank almost smiled at the joke, but Quinn didn't likely have any name beyond the adaptation of if lab ID. 

Age:31 

Sex: male

Pronouns: He/Him 

Hank skimmed the rest of the basic questions and nodded. 

"Thank you, my boy." Hank says, before setting the paper aside and grabbing a stethoscope. 

The check-up goes well, Hank notes a bit of high blood pressure, but he chalks that up to anxiety. Everything else seemed normal; if Hank didn't see his scars or take those DNA tests, he wouldn't suspect immediately wrong with the young man before him, beyond a lack of rest. Now it was time for some questions. He hoped Quinn would answer them, even after looking through the files as far as he did; Hank didn't know what to make of it. 

"How's your shoulder feeling?" Hank asks, starting lightly. 

"Fine, took the bandages off since it's mostly scabbed over," Quinn says indifferently, sitting cross-legged on the rainbow examination bench. 

The scientist nods and sighs. mentally preparing for how to ask this next question. 

"I have some questions about the nature of your power. It is some kind of absorption, correct?" Hank says as calmly as he can. 

Quinn's eye twitches, and Hank can see his whole body tense at once. 

"Yes." He says simply. 

Hank doesn't want to ask this, but he needs to know.  

"How are you getting....' sources' to absorb from? How often is it needed and how much?" Hank asks, ready with his pen.

Quinn lets out a shaky breath. "I...I slip needles into my customers. I can last about a week before it gets bad, I can manage with maybe an ounce or two, powers for a day, mostly stable for a week." Quinn says in a small voice, looking away. 

"You steal blood from people you are intimate with?" Hank asks, "That's...quite-" "Fucked?" Hank places a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Perhaps, but I can help. I will work on a synthetic option so it can be less 'fucked' as you so eloquently put." 

Quinn just stares at him. He just told the older man he needs to drink mutant blood to live and steals if from people he has sex with, and he got a reassuring hand? 

"What happens when you don't absorb?" Hank asks with an almost professional kindness. 

"I-uh..start slipping..." Quinn says vaguely, shrugging off Hank's hand. 

"Could you elaborate?" Hank leans in a bit. 

Quinn fights the urge to lean into him. He smells so good. But Quinn is way too sober to try anything.

"You must have stopped at the collar. You're in for quite a treat if you didn't see." Quinn says seriously.

Hank shudders at the thought. But he can see the look in Quinn's eyes, the suffering and emptiness. But there's a fear, a shame. Hank thinks he knows what. 

"Do you wish to consume a mutation right now?" Hank asks in a professionally detached voice. 

Quinn hesitates answering, not sure what the truth would get him. This man seems genuinely kind, but even kind people have their limits. 

"I-look...I'm not gonna hurt anyone here." Quinn says in a tone that worries Hank. As if he's saying it more to himself than to him. 

"Quinn, look at me." Hank says firmly. 

Quinn listens for reasons that are beyond him.

"I want nothing more than to assist you, but I can not do so if you are not open with me." 

Quinn stares into the baby blue eyes, and damn if he doesn't see anything more than determination and compensation. It sickens him, but there's an odd comfort. 

"Sorta..." Quinn mutters. 

Hank nods and notes. 

"Thank you. I will continue to go through the files you gave me and start synthesizing something better than stolen mutant blood. But I believe that's all for today, but next time you consume I want to know and compare the blood tests." Hank says with a smile. 

Quinn doesn't return it, but he doesn't scowl at him and leaves without another word. Hank takes that as a win. 

Hank thought it best to give Quinn some space over the next few days. Allow the younger man to come to him. After about three days, Hank had barely seen Quinn. It worried him, but the scientist didn't need anything immediately, and the professor said he was still adjusting. Rushing him would do no good. The muatnt knows that, but he still feels odd about it. 

Hank got his day started nice and early. showered and had his coffee made before 6 am. Once that was all handled, it was right to the lab to see if he could remake a sort of 'X-filler' that he saw in the files. He reviewed everything he could find about it in the files, but it was minimal. No information on how it was made, no dosages, no records of the effects it had on Quinn beyond short-term stabilization. Hank would have to start from scratch, which can take weeks, maybe months, before he has something safe and effective. 

Hank had to take a moment. He swung up to one of the many metal bars on his ceiling and let the blood flow to his head. Feet gripping the bars tight as he closed his eyes and thought of the next course of action. 

"Uh Hey." 

"Oh good lord!" Hank yelped, rather pathetically. Just managed to stick his landing and not look like a total fool.

He realized for the first time that Quinn didn't really have a smell. He smelt like the shampoo from the showers with a whiff of weed but there was nothing under it. Likely why the young man was quite good at sneaking up on the scientist.  Quinn was standing there. He looked more ragged than normal, almost sickly. He stared at Hank with a worried expression, one trying to be hidden by apathy. Hank then saw the vile in his hand. 

"Oh, you remembered. Thank you. Do you think you could allow me to get monitors set out before you take it?" Hank asks, hand hovering over Quinn instinctively.

Quinn nods and sits down in the office chair, and Hank sticks a few trackers to his forehead and neck. He notes how Quinn is salavting heavily with how much he keeps swallowing. 

"Bottoms up," Quinn mutters before lifting his vile and popping the needle cap off.

This feels oddly intimate to Quinn. No one has ever seen him do this; hell, he doesn't think anyone ever looked at him this closely at all. He gulps the vile down, and Hank just watches. Quinn lets out a deep breath, feeling the red slide down his throat and the craving subside. 

"How are you feeling?" The scientist asks, looking at the monitors. 

"Fin-AH! fuck!" Quinn grunts, leaning forward. "Fuck fuck fuck!" 

Hank gets closer and looks him over when suddenly two little nubby horns tear through his skin, and his legs start growing more dense hair and bending oddly. His shoes even fell off, revealing tiny hooves. Hank turns to grab something before Quinn grabs his wirst.

"I-i'm alright." He pants, gulping. 

Hank turns right around and crouches down to look at him in the chair. 

"Do you always experience such a violent reaction?" Hank asks softly, calming a bit now that Quinn's vitals have leveled out. 

"Nope, just forgot what the power was," Quinn rubs his shoulder. "Physical mutations like this hurt like a bitch, but outward powers are harder to control." Quinn huffs.

"Perhaps you should invest in a labaler," Hank says with a sigh. 

Quinn lets out a humorless laugh. "Just do your damn blood test." 

Hank does and looks through it. Almost all of the instability in Quinn's system has leveled out. How interesting. Hank looks for an X-gene, and there it is. 

"So your body seems to take the X-gene from the mutant you got the blood from, and your DNA adjusted to express it," Hank mutters, looking closer at his screen. 

"Yep." Quinn huffs. Looking at his new goat like legs and fiddling with the ears with a disgusted look on his face. "I look like that little fucker from Narnia." 

Hank smiles despite himself at the comparison to Mr. Tumnus. 

"It's not funny," Quinn mutters, standing up, and his new hooves slide out under him on the resin floor. 

Hank catches him by the waist. Hank could almost touch his thumb and middle finger together; the young man really did need to gain some weight. 

"Do you need assistance getting back upstairs?" Hank asks. His hand was still around Quinn's waist. 

"No." Quinn says firmly, staring hard at the large fuzzy hand gripping him. 

Hank realizes his mistake and lets him go once he's on his feet-hooves again. 

"You said the powers last a day?" Hank asks. 

"Give or take. But this will be gone by tomorrow." Quinn says firmly with a fierce look in his silver eyes. 

"You seem quite sure of that," Hank says, not liking the harsh tone of voice. 

"See ya, Doc." Quinn huffs.

"You can call me Hank!" Hank calls as Quinn clops away. 

Chapter Text

Hank was enthralled by looking at these blood tests. How just the simple addition of an x-gene stabilized Quinn is astounding. Hank puts the new vile away for further testing before going back to the files. There are only four subfiles he hasn't looked at yet. He has been avoiding it. Its main file is titled 'power training'. Hank has an even worse idea of what could be in those files after he saw how much pain Quinn was in after his body changed this morning. After staring at his computer screen well into the evening, the scientist swallowed his discomfort and opened the first one. 'feeding.'

The main scientist appeared on his screen again, showing a rabbit in a cage. "QN23 has learned that it needs to x-gene to stay alive. It can sniff it out impressively; we have starved it for the past two days, and we're going to start only feeding it through living sources. An injection of x-filler into this rabbit should make QN23 think of it as nothing more than food." The rabbit is injected and then released from its cage into the small, dark room where the young Quinn was kept. The child looks sickly, being deprived of what it needs. The child sniffs the air and looks at the rabbit. The rabbit senses a predator and tries to run, but the child is too quick and gets their teeth in its neck before the creature even has time to think. Hank watches the child choke down the rabbit until nothing but bones and fur remain. It seemed that after the age of 10, this was the only way Quinn was fed. The mutant takes a deep breath; this all makes him sick. Dinner is not in his cards tonight, but he has too much work to do to eat anyway."Now that QN23 understands its food will fight and run, we can move to real prey. We found a subject. Jean Powell, arrested for jumping the Canadian border, has a canine-like power. A perfect start. QN23s first contact with a living mutant." 

Hank doesn't watch the video; he knows what it's going to be, just reading the description is enough to make his throat burn with bile.

The introduction to a living mutant didn't go as expected. QN23 has never seen anyone but my team, and an emotional and unstable mutant was confusing. QN23 only avoided the mutant's attacks without fighting back or attempting to eat. But after further collar training, QN23 disposed of the mutant in less than 200 seconds. We've begun raising the voltage. QN23 is learning to attack on command. Hopes for further power testing are forthcoming, with experimentation in outwardly expressing power. 

Hank closes his laptop. Just sits in the silence of his lab for a moment. He almost always knows what to do, sees the best course of action. Yet this...Hank can't figure out what to do next. He can make something as a temporary solution, help Quinn lead a normal life. But a person can't come back from this kind of treatment. this kind of torture. The scientist doesn't feel right just making a drug to hide the cause. He feels like that young man deserves so much more from him, even with how illogical it is, but the feeling won't go away. 

The scientist needs a moment to think about anything else. He can finish up tomorrow. Hank heads to the library, his favorite place next to his lab. He hopes a few chapters of 18th-century russian poetry would calm him enough to get some rest.

As he entered the library, he was surprised to see a side light on beside the couch. It's far too late for a student to be in here. As the mutant silently walked closer and looked over the back of the couch, a lump of hoodie curled up around a larger book. Tiny hoofs sticking out of sweat pants. Quinn didn't acknowledge him, but Hank knew he was aware of the mutant behind him. Without a word, Hank grabbed his book and sat in the large brown chair across from the couch, just a chess table between. 

The mutant turned on the lamp to his left and tried to read, but kept glancing at Quinn. He noticed the book title "1,000 Facts About Bugs". The young man seemed deeply invested. Hank turned back to his poetry, reading a few lines before he looked up, and Quinn was gone. Hank looks around and sees him putting away his book, seemingly into the proper place. That man's ability to sneak around the mutant will never not leave him in awe. Quinn sighs before walking back silently on the carpeted floor to the couch.

Quinn doesn't know why he didn't walk out. But something inside didn't want to be alone. So he flooped back into that lumpy old couch and stared at the fuzzy mutant sitting in the chair, pretending to read. Quinn could tell he wasn't; the man could feel the scientist's eyes darting to him every few seconds. Quinn, feeling bored, mindlessly fiddled with the chess pieces on the table. 

"Do you play?" Hank asked softly, setting his book down. Konstantin Batyushkov could wait.

"I know the gist of it. Pony, castle, queen, king, bitch, little guys." Quinn says in an unreadable tone, pointing at the pieces. 

 "Knight, rook, bishop, and those are pawns." The mutant corrected with a slight smile.

Quinn smiled ever so slightly, Hank could have blinked and missed it. "I'm fucking with you. You any good?" 

"I have only ever lost to Charles, but it's difficult to play a fair game against a telepath." 

"How about a goat?" Quinn asks, slumping to the floor to get closer to the table. 

Hank's mouth opens a bit at the ask. Not often do people wish to play with him. 

"Of course, but I will not go easy on you," Hank answers, showing off his fangs a bit. Leaning forward in his chair.

Quinn stares at the mutant's smile for a moment. Not too different from his own, Quinn tounged over his own sharp teeth subconsciously. Wondering if the mutant felt that same tug inside if he accidentally smiled too wide. 

Hank made the first move, a white pawn.

Quinn responded swiftly, a black knight. 

Hank won in seven moves, even giving Quinn openings. 

"Do not worry. It isn't your fault-"One more?" Quinn interrupted, already setting up the board again. 

The scientist raised a brow; the man before him didn't seem the least bit discouraged. While not particularly enthusiastic, the smaller man's face was more relaxed than Hank had ever seen it.

"One more then." He moves his first piece. 

Quinn responds with his knight. 

After about ten moves, Hank is surprised to see himself in check. He seemed to notice before Quinn did.

"Oh, check."

Was the smaller man even thinking ahead? The scientist got himself out of a check but found himself thinking harder about his next moves. It was stimulating, feeling like he had to work to win this match.

"So how are you feeling?" Hank asked after he assured his king's safety. 

"Fine, I miss my toes though," Quinn says in a way that Hank can't tell if he's kidding or not.

"I'm sure. You said it will be gone tomorrow, yes?" 

Quinn just nods and moves his piece. 

While Quinn was putting up a good fight, the mutant was sure he could still win- 

"Checkmate." Quinn declares in a neutral tone. 

Hank stares at the broad, bewildered. He lost? Quinn beat him? He cleans his glasses just to be sure. But there it was. His king was trapped in a prison of his own making. 

"I am impressed. Perhaps we could settle this two out of three?" Hank asked hopefully.

Quinn just yawned and shook his head. 

"I'm going to bed, Night...Hank." Quinn said softly, standing and not looking back. 

Hank looked at the time and found it best to retire himself. But after a few standzas of Konstantin Batyushkov, he was still a bit buzzed after losing. That young man kept finding ways to surprise him.

Once Hank is in bed, he finds he can't get to sleep; he tosses and turns and reaches in his bed for something(or someone) that isn't there. Logan's words ring in his head: 'Touched starved old mutant, you need to get out of that lab.' Hank caves and goes into his closet and grabs a spare pillow, and curls up around it. It soothes the animal part of his brain, but his logical mind finds this display quite pathetic. But a mind can only fight the body for so long before exhaustion takes hold. 

Hank opens his eyes the next morning, feeling the pillow in his arms. Touch starved indeed. He thinks to himself as he stands. He looks out his window, he can normally catch the sunrise, but it seems the weather had different plans, nothing but overcast. The scientist yawns but sees movement below his window. There was Quinn. Running in the same outfit he was wearing in the library, but it was 80 degrees. Hank also took note that his promise of the mutation fading by the next day seemed to be kept. 

Hank pulls on his blue plaid robe and heads outside. He sits on the steps with his coffee, waiting for Quinn to come back around the building. He wondered what the younger man was up to. He didn't seem to be keen on exercise; perhaps Hank was wrong, but the choice of attire was surely going to cause him to overheat. The mutant knew he was correct when he heard what could only be described as pained wheezing around the corner. 

Quinn was still running quite fast, went right past Hank without even noticing him. Hank stands, tying his robe and running to catch up with him. A morning run would do him good anyway. 

"Good morning," Hank says once he catches up with the smaller man's pace 

Quinn just grunted at him. He was sweating profusely, his cheeks looking quite warm.

"How long have you been running?" Hank asks, his bare feet thumping on the path beside Quinn. 

"I don't know, couldn't sleep, needed to sweat out those stupid goat legs," Quinn mutters bitterly, struggling to talk a bit with how winded he is, but he doesn't want to stop. 

Hank keeps pace beside the smaller man. He doesn't look good at all. Yet Quinn keeps running, ignoring Hank. After two more laps, Hank realizes the stubborn young man beside him will not stop unless he passes out from heatstroke or pure exhaustion. The mutant grabs the back of Quinn's hoodie and lifts him off the ground, halting his movements.

"HEY WHAT THE!" Quinn thrashes a bit, but Hank sees the hours of running hitting him now that he has stopped.

"I apologize, but you are clearly beyond fatigued," Hank says firmly but not unkind, keeping Quinn's feet just off the ground. 

Quinn just pants, body hanging limp as sweat drips from his nose. But Hank notices something. As the mutant holds the back of his black hoodie, there are bandages peaking through under it, wrapped around the smaller man's stomach. 

"What on earth-Agk!" Hank's finger lifts the bottom of the hoodie slightly, and suddenly, the heel of Quinn's boot hits him in the throat.

Hank dropped him, and Quinn stepped away from him, but stayed within a few feet. Quin doesn't know what he feels bad seeing the older man cough and lean down after he kicked him. The fuzzy bastard deserved it. It wasn't his damn business. But this odd guilt builds more and more when Hank looks at him and doesn't even seem upset that Quinn kicked him. He looks almost concerned.

"You didn't just sweat out that power, did you?" Hank says as if it's a question he doesn't clearly know the answer to. 

Quinn just crosses his arms over his chest. 

"So fucking what. I'm not such an asshole that I'd kill myself in a building filled with kids if that's what you're worried about." He spits, looking at the ground. "And it's not gonna interfere with your damn tests, I got plenty more blood left to take." 

Hank is taken aback but the words that just tumbled out of Quinn's mouth. How little he truly thought of himself. 

"That is not my concern, you are. Not the tests." Hank gently steps closer. 

Quinn just stands there, almost seeming to curl up inside himself, to hide away from Hank's compassion. But the scientist will not allow it. He places a gentle but coaxing hand on the smaller man's elbow.

"Why don't we go inside. We can skip the tests I had planned for today, but would you allow me to look at the wounds? All that sweating and moving can not have been ideal, unless you were looking for an infection." Hank says in a voice one would use for a scared animal. 

Quinn growls at the tone but allows the scientist to carefully drag him inside. After much more coaxing, Quinn finds himself in the upstairs medbay, taking his hoodie and undershirt off. Quinn hates how personal this feels. He's been more exposed to worse people, yet this fuzzy scientist looks at him in such a gentle way. He looked worried about Quinn. Quinn tells himself it's just because of the tests that this will slow it down. Yet that genuine look makes Quinn think he's lying to himself. But no one gives a shit about him; everyone just wants something. What does this sweet doctor McCoy want?

Hank tries to make quick work of cleaning Quinn's stomach, but it is a heartbreaking sight. 12 cuts around where a belly button would be on your average person. All of which we're bleeding slightly, thankfully none are deep enough to need stitches, but it was still quite gruesome, with how jagged some of them looked. This was done with something serrated, repeatedly on a few. Quinn didn't say a word or even look at him. The scientist could see shame in his eyes and a tension in his whole body. 

Hank wrapped him up, and Quinn tried to walk out, but two large furry hands stopped him on his bare shoulders. 

"Why don't I prepare you something for breakfast, and we can discuss this properly?" Hank says, gripping Quinn just tight enough that he can't wiggle away.

He was not about to leave this man alone with his thoughts after seeing that, if he just wanted to rid himself of that power, he could have done so in a million ways. Those marks were made with hate and pain. 

Quinn feels how hard he's being held; he isn't talking his way out of this. 

"Fine." 

Hank does as he said, makes him and Quinn a veggie omelet. Quinn watches as the mutant shakes the pan around with his dexterous foot while he reaches into the fridge. 

"Would you like a glass of orange juice?" Hank asks.

"No." Quinn huffs. He's sitting at the island, knees to his chest. 

Hank steals glances at the scars he can see now that Quinn's just in a white tank top.

Once the food is done, Hank sits beside Quinn. 

"I hope it is to your liking, my dear boy," Hank says, eating his own portion, sipping coffee with his foot.

Quinn eats in silence, waiting for it. He knows it's coming; he got the same talks in foster care.

"Now, I would like to speak to you more about those wounds." Hank starts as delicately as he can. He doesn't want to startle Quinn or push him away, but the words he said triggered something inside Hank. 

"I'm not gonna kill myself. I told you. And I'm not gonna interfere with your damn tests. What's your problem?" Quinn huffs, staring at his empty plate. 

"Your complete and utter lack of self-respect," Hank says bluntly. "I have been tasked with helping you, and I intend to, but as Epictetus put it, it is impossible to lead a full life and be unhappy at the same time.”

Quinn stands and tosses his plate in the dishwasher before slamming it shut. 

"I don't need a fucking lecture, I just wanted the stupid power gone so I got rid of it," Quinn says, though gritted teeth. Not a lie, but he does that shit, power or not.

Hank stands and suddenly seems very imposing for the first time. He very well has a foot on Quinn in height and could easily be three times his weight in muscle. 

"You did much more than that. I have an IQ of 279 and will not be easily fooled. You made those marks with pure self-loathing...Quinn, look at me." Hank says in a tone that leaves Quinn no option, "When was the last time you could honestly say you were happy?" Hank asks, his arms boxing Quinn against the counter. 

Quinn freezes for a moment. His breath hitches as if the scientist struck him physically. He would have preferred that, actually, as opposed to the burning starting to form in his eyes and chest. Fuck, what was happening? Does the old man have a secondary mutation or something? There was no way a stupid, pointless question made him feel like this. Monsters don't get to be happy. 

Hank looks at the young man before him crumbles. His justifiably hateful eyes are watery, just holding back decades of suffering. The mutant doesn't know if it's that look or having to spend the last week watching the painful start of this poor man's life. But Hank does something neither of them expects.

Quinn watches the arms that are on either side of him get closer and closer. No fucking way he's about to-He does. Quinn can feel the mutant's large arms wrap around him. His face is suddenly pressed into his chest. The larger man's robe opens just enough that Quinn can feel the scientist's insanely soft fur and firm pecs rub on his cheek. 

Hank holds the smaller man close, arms wrapping around his torso snuggly. The scientist feels a bit guilty; he should have asked before he just hugged him. But with the soft whimper, the leaves Quinn and the slight nuzzle into his furry chest, Hank thinks he made the right choice. Suddenly, Quinn grips tightly at the sides of his robe, pulling the fur under just a bit. While a bit of an unpleasant sensation, Hank isn't going to dare disrupt this moment of weakness, Quinn clearly needs to have.

"Next time you feel the need to harm yourself, please come to me. I do not care what time it is or what I may be doing. You may interrupt." Hank says, patting Quinn's head softly. He means it. 

Quinn berated himself in his mind. What the fuck was he doing? Why was he letting this old scientist hold him? Because he was warm? Kind? Soft and smelled so nice...NO! no no. Quinn was not about to sob in the arms of this mutant. Not about to take this pity ment for a child that's long dead. 

Hank grunts as Quinn shoves him away abruptly. He takes a step back, giving the smaller man some room to breathe. Quinn looks to be on the cusp of tears, but if fighting it, refusing to show anymore more weakness than he already has.

"Fuck. You. I'm not the pathetic little girl who spent the first 12 years of her life in that damn lab. I'm all grown up and a piece of shit who has earned his own suffering. I'm only here so that damn telepath can see I'm more trouble than I'm worth and leave me alone." Quinn spits bitterly, trying to be angry, lest his tears fall.

Hank just sighs, pushing up his glasses. "You are worth more than you think, my dear boy." 

Quinn's rage fades from his face again as his gray eyes grow glassier, and a tear escapes. Without a word, Quinn runs out of the kitchen, wiping his face. 

Hank stands there for a moment, missing the feeling of the smaller man in his arms. With a heavy heart, he heads for the professor's office to let him know about the true extent of Quinn's self-loathing. 

Chapter Text

Quinn was fuming, rubbing away the tears that managed to escape from his eyes painfully hard. Why did the fuzzy fuck do that? Who does he think he is? Quinn isn't some fucking child who needs hugs and kisses and for someone to say it's all gonna be okay. He's a grown ass man, if he wants to suffer alone, who gives a shit? 

He got to his temporary room and slammed the door. Looking at the bloody knife still on the bedside table, staring back at him, screeching his shame. He threw the knife in his bathroom sink and just left it there before curling up around a pillow. His stomach hurt, his feet hurt, well, everything hurts all the time. More and more tears find their way out. He can't recall the last time he cried sober. What was this scientist doing to him? 

He needed a drink. Quinn forced himself out of the bed, wiped his face, and grabbed his wallet, keys, and a hoodie. Just as he opened the door, he saw the professor smiling kindly at him. No, not kindness, worse, pity. 

"It's a bit early to go to a bar, isn't it?" The professor said in that condescending tone of his.

"Gonna stop me?" Quinn growls, walking past him. 

"You may be missing a few things when you return." The telepath calls. 

Quinn ignores him. Of course, Hank ratted on him to the old man. Quinn shakes away the thoughts of how warm that mutant felt as he mounts his bike. How nice his arms felt around him. FUCK!

Hank barely sees Quinn over the next few days, not of his own accord. The professor swore to keep tabs on him while he was in the mansion, but the man needed space.

This is all new to the boy, Beast. We can not risk scaring him off.

While the scientist tried to keep busy with the tests, he had lined up tasks that didn't require Quinn to be present. But there was still something nagging at him.

Getting nowhere on his remake of an X-Filler, Hank chose one evening to follow Quinn to the dive bar he frequents. It started something that continued almost every evening after that. While the scientist felt guilty about it, he felt more concerned for Quinn. Even though the professor offered to send Scott or another X-Man to keep an eye on him, Hank felt the need to do it himself. Even had been helping him home, Hank was sure the smaller man was just aware enough to remember what Hank had been doing. Quinn has to be allowing it, but saying he "Doesn't remember shit".  

Quinn will bitch and swear for a little while when he stumbles out of the bar and sees the mutant. But normally doesn't say too much once he curls up in the back seat of Hank's SUV. The sight tugs at the mutant's heart more than he wishes to admit. Hoping not to have to clean vomit out of his car, Hank carries Quinn to his room. The walk to Quinn's room from the garage was getting longer and longer each time Hank got to hold the smaller man. But he does always get to Quinn's room and tucks him in. The scientist yawns, pulling up his glasses to rub his eyes; this new routine his killing his sleep schedule, not that he had much of one to begin with. He stood once he was sure Quinn was sleeping soundly and headed to his own room.

Hank was astonished by how fast he fell into this task. He knew any of the X-Men could do it, but the idea felt wrong to Hank. He needed to be the one to do it. The scientist flops on his bed and curls up around a pillow, trying to soothe this growing mammalian protection instinct.

The next evening, Hank had his SUV parked outside that filthy bar, Quinn's bike already attached to the back. He was re-reading Nicomachean Ethics, a favorite of his. Just waiting for Quinn to stumble out. Suddenly, his side door opened and Quinn plopped into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut. Quinn was sober enough to buckle his seatbelt after the third try, but was clearly still very disoriented. 

"jus' fucken' drive," Quinn mutters, feeling Hank's stare, not daring to look at the mutant.

Hank smiles softly. He didn't need to coax him or drag him. No having to break up fights with another patron who was as wasted a Quinn. The mutant didn't even receive his normal threats of being shaved in his sleep if he kept this up, nothing.

The drive was quiet, Hank played a classical music CD just to fill the silence. Quinn just stared out the window with glassy eyes. The scientist noted to himself to try to start weaning Quinn away from booze as a daily depressant. But that was a conversation to have with a sober Quinn. 

Hank's routine continued as normal, but as he was laying what he thought was a sleeping Quinn onto his bed, something happened. Quinn's arms were wrapped around his neck. Before he knew what happened, Quinn's lips pressed on his. The older man's thoughts halted all at once, but his lips responded in kind. Quinn tasted of whiskey and something else Hank couldn't place; he wanted to know. God, the younger man's lips were so soft and warm; it had been far too long since Hank had someone like this. But the scientist's mind took over swiftly as Quinn started to grab at his belt, halting him before anything more happened. 

"Quinn...No, you are inebriated and can not consent to such things," Hank says breathlessly, removing the busy hands that somehow already managed to undo his belt.

"Wha? I thought..." Quinn looks genuinely confused.

The mutant doubts anyone has stopped him when he was drunk and lonely before.

"No." Hank says frimer. Realizing he's practically hovering over the drunken man below him.

Scrabbling off the bed, Hank was feeling how his fur was on end and how flushed his cheeks were becoming. There was a sharp yet sweet musk of arousal in the air that made it harder to create more distance. But the mutant managed. 

"Why do ya keep doing this then? What do you want?" Quinn slurs bitterly, slumping into his pillows. 

"Because..." Hank is unsure how much he wishes to say, but Quinn likely won't remember the finite details of the evening. "As Charles Darwin said: A scientific man ought to have no wishes, no affections, a mere heart of stone. Yet, I have grown quite fond of you, more than I had anticipated. While I will not deny any physical attraction I may have, I refuse to take advantage of you in such a state. As for what I want...All I can say for certain is I have no interest in abusing you." Hank says definitely, despite the ache between his legs, he will need to deal with it. 

Quinn lifted his head slightly and just stared at him with big, empty eyes. 

"Soooo, you'd fuck me if I was sober." 

'That's what he gathered from that?!'  Hank rubs his face. "'Were sober' first and foremost. Now I am through with this vulgar conversation; you are going to sleep."

"Come on, I owe ya one. At least let me help you~" Quinn coos with a big drunken grin, cheeks red and eyes unfocused. 

Hank practically ran out the door before he did something he would regret. He stood in the hallway for a moment. Attempting to make sense in his mind how his heart fluttered at the man's smile, and how his body was reacting. 

He couldn't; his cock was throbbing, nearing painfully hard. He swiftly made it to the shower rooms. It was almost 3 in the morning, and no one should be there. Hank stripped down out of his plain button-up and jeans. Turned the water to as cold as it would go. Even as the freezing water soaked his fur, the heat between his legs wasn't going away. He cock simply refusing to return to his sheath. After about ten minutes of freezing, the mutant gave up on repressing this reaction without some sort of release and set the water to warm. 

Hank coaxed his aching hardness fully out of his sheath. Gripping the rosey tip, thumbing over the point before moving down the darker blue shaft. Hank groaned softly. He had been neglecting this task as of late. He feels like a pent-up teenager in college again, pleasuring himself in the communal showers late at night. But that didn't stop the mutant from stroking a bit faster, feeling the soft nubs on every upward stroke. The mild resistance sends shivers down his spine. Hank switches to his left foot, the manurable digits doing the job just as well. The scientist puts his hands up against the wall to keep himself upright, trying to shake away the thoughts that are entering his mind.

He remembers Quinn's soft tongue trying to prod into his mouth during that drunken kiss. Hank feels a twinge of guilt for how his cock twitches at the thought, but the precum steadily leaking from the tip is convincing him to continue. As he kept going, his thoughts got less structured and more animalistic. Hank bit his lip hard, thinking about how Quinn's tongue would have felt on his, what kind of sounds would come from his mouth. Drops of blue dripped from his lip and down the drain. Hank dug his claws into the tile wall as his foot went faster and faster. Quinn's taste. The way Quinn's thighs would feel wrapped around his waist. Hank couldn't silence these thoughts as the knot in his stomach grew tighter. 

He came with a deep growl, leaving deep gashes in the tiles in front of him. Panting softly, the mutant feels his knot swell against nothing. But that mild discomfort is nothing compared to the post-orgasm clarity washing over him like a 50-foot wave.

What was he doing? Having such thoughts about a man half his age, a patient no less. Hank shook his fur out, a habit he tried to kick, but he didn't have the time ot the will to blow-dry his fur out. The floor thumped as the mutant ran back to his room. Hank shut the door and slid down it, thumping his head against the wood softly. He felt guilty; he was better than this. Quinn deserved better than this.

Chapter Text

Quinn rolled out of bed the next morning and violently emptied his alcohol-filled stomach into the sink. He felt like shit, but no less than normal. His room smelled like Hank. It had been a lot lately. The man sighed deeply, feeling guilty about all the trouble this mutant was going through for him. Quinn licked his lips. Fuck did he kiss him? Quinn doesn't feel like he got fucked into next Tuesday, so Hank must not have let him get far. The scientist was too kind for his own good. Quinn isn't where he should be putting it.

After rinsing out his mouth, Quinn's phone buzzed. After digging around in his pillows, the man managed to dig out his old, cracked cell. 

I know this is you. I found something you may find interesting about a certain scientist in government hiding. This is your chance to make it up to me. My entertainment for tomorrow night's get-together bailed on me. I got an outfit picked out already. You still an extra small? -Theo

Quinn stared at the message, feeling like bugs had found a way under his skin. How the hell did he find his number? Quinn glanced at the photo attached; it was a picture with blacked-out information, but the face was one he knew. The head scientist who worked on him, Doctor Vald Nikko. He aged horribly, but Quinn knew that face anywhere.

Where?

My building downtown, top floor, I'll tell the doorman to expect you.

After this we're even?

Let's see how good of a job you do.

Quinn's heart sinks. This is bad, this is gonna be real bad. Theo may just be a spoiled brat, but he isn't a man you fuck with, and Quinn has in more ways than one. Theo had information, info he knew Quinn would do anything for. Even be entertainment for a night. Quinn takes a deep breath. He needs to do this. Vlad was the last one on the list. The last man breathing who created him. Quinn would make sure that the ability to create anymore died with him and the rest of the bastards who defiled nature to force him to be here.

No matter what.

Once Quinn had all the info, Theo would give up; he had nothing to do but wait. 

and wait....

                      and wait.... 

                                            and wait... 

Quinn chain-smoked his way through the next 24 hours, keeping a buzz on before his thoughts wandered about whatever the hell 'entertainment' he had agreed to give. Theo only gave him a time to show up and a reminder to be sober. Meaning, he wanted Quinn on his feet, or at least able enough. Or he wanted to fuck up Quinn in his own way. 

8:30, He had to be at the building by 10:00. Taking one last puff off his joint, Quinn headed to the garage.

"You don't have to do this." A kind voice calls from behind him. 

"Yes, I do!" Quinn snaps at the professor. 

"You're angry and scared. Just come back inside, and we can talk about whatever you feel you have to do." The professor says from the door to the garage. 

Quinn just mounts his bike.

"I don't need your help. I need to do this." Quinn starts his bike. "I'll be back sometime tomorrow!" Quinn calls before speeding away from the mansion. 

The professor rubs his temples. This boy was growing more difficult, but he could feel a sense of finally in his goal. Whatever it was. Quinn's mind was scattered and guarded to get specific thoughts. But wherever Quinn was going tonight wasn't going to be good.

Quinn parked his bike in the alley, about a block down from the tall old building. He dragged his feet getting there. 9:56. Perfect timing.

As Quinn walked into the gold and white modern-style lobby. The doorman looked at him, this short, plainly dressed young man in dirty shoes looked very out of place. 

"Who are you?" He asked judiciously. 

"I'm the entertainment for tonight, Quinn." 

The doorman looked at a piece of paper. 

"Hmm, 21st floor." He huffed, glaring at Quinn as he walked past. 

Quinn walked to the elevator and pressed 21. His heart sank further with every floor the elevator rose.

The doors opened into a large open space. Empty of people, but a large round table with a red cloth on it in the middle of the room. Quinn stepped in and jerked his head to the left. He could smell a human, a shitty one.

"QUINNCY!" Theo called from a balcony, before walking down a spiral staircase. He looked no different than the boy Quinn met all those years ago. A bit older, sure, but no more than Quinn. Same big brown eyes, Same sun-tanned skin. Same clean-shaven face. Same overpriced suits. Same fake niceties plastered on his face.

He pulled Quinn into a big hug as if they were old friends. Bit awkward given the height he had on Quinn. 

"You're looking scuffy as I expected. Let's fix that. Everyone is showing up in an hour." Theo leads Quinn to a backroom, a large white couch, and a bathroom attached. 

"Where is the damn file?" He growled at Theo. 

Theo just grinned his perfect 15,000$ smile.  

"Nowhere can you get it until you've finished your job. Now go take a shower, you reek. Oh, make sure to keep your hair dry, and wash with this." Theo hands Quinn a bottle. 

"Hair remover?" Quinn looked at Theo with an appalled expression. 

Theo just tilted his head as if Quinn were the stupid one. "It'll grow back if it matters that much, but I need you hairless for tonight." 

Quinn's eye twitched, but he took his shower. Rubbing his body in the cream, and watching his chest hair and arm hair, and leg hair, but disappear down the wide drain. With a heavy heart, Quinn rubbed some on his face as well. As he stepped out of the shower, he wanted to vomit at the sight of himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. He hadn't seen his face and body this bare since before taking T. Was he really that skinny? and pale? 

Once dried off a bit, Quinn wrapped the towel around his waist and walked into the room with that couch to see Theo sitting there with a mocking grin. 

"Much better, but did you really have to get rid of those gorgeous tits?" Theo groaned as if Quinn did it to make him upset. 

"Yes," Quinn growls, though gritted teeth.

Theo sighs dramatically. "Nothing some padding can't fix." He says before grabbing a skimpy red dress. No cevelage, but sleavless and about as mini as mini could be. 

Quinn's nose twitched at the sight. He had to wear that and entertain what he can only assume are Theo's business partners.

The smaller man snatched the dress and was about to walk away to get dressed when Theo grabbed his arm. 

"We need to cover all that first." Theo gestured to Quinn's scared body. "ANNABELL!" 

Suddenly, an older blond gray woman walked into the room with a case of makeup. 

"I'll be back to see how pretty you look in 45."

After Annabell covered Quinn's body in a layer of unpleasant feeling creams and powders, she moved to his face. 

Theo walked in 45 minutes later on the dot. 

"My associates are here. Are ready-" Theo looked at Quinn, and his jaw dropped. "My my, there's my pretty girl. I missed her. Annabell did a great job on your scars. The wig was a lovely touch." 

Quinn stared at himself in the mirror. He couldn't believe what he saw looking back at him.

There was a woman with long, bouncy, light brown hair, a bold red lip, and soft glittery eye makeup. Perfect, untainted sun-kissed skin, wearing a dress that was snug against fake silicone c-cups. 

Quinn wanted to rip his eyes out and stomp on them. Then tear his skin off just to get rid of this suffocating cover-up job to hide the patterns life had placed on his skin. 

Theo was smiling behind him as if Quinn was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Quinn knows that look. It's bullshit, along with everything else about the man.

"One last thing." The sharply dressed man added. Handing Quinn a flask. 

Quinn stared at it. The moment he opened it, he knew what it was. Theo had given him this many years ago. No drugs have ever come close to the contents of this flask. A mix of mutant blood and a kind of condensed aphrodisiac.  

"That kind of night?" Quinn whispered, gripping the flask so tight his knuckles turned white and the metal strained.

If Theo was giving him this, Quinn knew what was coming. He knew what awaited him the moment he walked into that room.

"Don't worry. My associates won't do a thing without my say first." Theo said as if it was comforting. "Once the effects wear off, you get your file." 

That was the kicker. Theo knew Quinn knew that this was gonna be an awful night. But the man knew Quinn wanted this file more. Telling himself it was worth it, before downing the flask in two gulps. Feeling his skin ignite familiarly, a healing factor. Odd, Quinn was expecting something more flashy and fetishized.

"That's my girl," Theo said with a grin. Smacking Quinn on the ass. 

Quinn's brain started to go numb. The power setting in and the aphrodisiac taking hold of his higher functions. Quinn was putty in a pretty dress, walking into a room with four men just like Theo, powerful, fake, board, men, waiting to be entertained. 

Hank was hanging upside down in his lab, writing things on his whiteboard wall. DNA sequences, hoping a new angle would help him see whatever he was clearly missing. When the professor wheeled him. Hank assumed it was to offer to send Logan or Scott to pick Quinn up again, as it was about that time. But as the mutant stared at the worried face of his old friend, he flipped onto his feet. 

"Sir?" Hank asked, unsure. 

"Quinn isn't at his bar tonight," Hank walked up to the professor and looked at the tablet he gave him. A small light flashing on a map. "That's where his dreadful bike is."

"This is another city over," Hank muttered, looking at the location. "What on earth is he doing?" 

"I can't say, I attempted to watch him using cerebro, and all I felt was rage and fear. A flash a disgust and dysphoria. It's all gumbled within drug-induced pleasure. Whatever he is doing is taking a turn for the worse. I do not believe the man is in imminent danger, but I can not say for certain." The professor said with a disturbed look.

Hank was already running out of the lab, swiftly getting dressed before sticking the location of Quinn's bike into a small jet in the hangar.

Quinn's vision was blurry, skin on fire, mind useless. But he knew he was being touched and talked to. Face pressed into the red tablecloth as hips were shifted up, his dress pushed back to expose his lower half. Was he in panties? He didn't remember putting any on. Why were they so wet? Was that all him?

"She's pretty, but what's so special about her?" One of the men asks. 

Who Quinn thinks is Theo grabs Quinn's wrists and stacks his hands on top of each other before something goes through both palms into the table. The pain gave Quinn a moment of lucidity to see the impressed smiles of the suits and to clearly hear Theo say:

"She'll heal from anything. Do as you want."

Quinn's brain goes away again, just the ache between his legs remains. A jolt, someone was touching him through the cloth, not enough. A tease. Quinn pushed his hips back into it needily and got a sharp slap to his face. Different person?

"Such a needy girl, do you want your clit played with?"

"cock" Quinn mutters, drooling onto the table. 

"Aw, she thinks her cute little clit is a cock. This is cock sweetie." One of the men said before putting something against Quinn's mouth. 

Quinn opened his mouth. Next thing he knew, he couldn't breathe. His eyes watered, making seeing even harder than it was before. He pulled on his hands and was swiftly and painfully reminded of why it was so hard to move them. There were too many people touching him; the pain made it clearer. Eight, no, nine, hands touching him in different places, none in the place he needed. Harsh grips on his thighs and ass, someone was kissing his feet. Another feeling up the fake padding on his chest.

"mhph!" Quinn gasped, still choking as the throbbing in his hands got worse and then faded all at once. 

The warmth on his fingers grew cold as he was picked up. He felt so small, stuck between two suits. Without warning, his cunt suddenly felt very full, too full. When did his bottoms go away?  

"Ah~" He moaned pitifully.

Wet slapping filled his ears as teeth dug into his neck and shoulders. Just human teeth, he's had worse, but they keep making more bruises as the marks fade.

It kept going. When was it going to stop? His insides felt sore. He wasn't even sure if it was the same two men. Something was dripping down his thighs, hard to say if it was blood or cum or his own drug-fueled slick. Someone's tongue was wiggling in his mouth, tasted like muddy tobacco. Burning sensations down his back as the embers of a cigar sizzled on his skin.

The duel movement inside stopped for the first time in what felt like hours. More and more cum started dripping out of his hole. Quinn's dick twitched and throbbed. He tried to touch it and got dropped on his ass. 

"Ah ah ah, pretty girls don't play with themselves. If you want to be touched, you need to beg." 

"Go on, beg." "That's right, sweetie." "Tell us what you need."

A dress shoe stomped on his back, forcing Quinn onto his stomach; it must have been hard with how his brain rattled when it hit the hardwood and the crunch he heard. His nose was starting drip into his mouth. 

"P-please," Quinn begged.

He didn't care how pitiful he sounded; he just needed this ache to go away.

"Use your big girl words, sweet cheeks."

"Play with my coc-fuck!" Another shoe smashed his hand. Quinn felt the bones give way under the full weight of whichever man this was.

"You don't have a cock. If you want to be touched, use the right words." Another shoe kicked Quinn square in the stomach.

The pain cleared his head enough for Quinn to know that it was Theo speaking. God, he could hear the smile on his face even if he couldn't make out where his voice was coming from. 

"Play with my clit p-please." Quinn whimpered.

The weight was lifted off of him, his bruises fading and bones clicking back together. The mild relief didn't last long. His cunt was still aching, and cock was neglected. 

Quinn was picked up back on the table. Laid on his back. Hands pinned back above his head with the same sharp thing held them prior. Hips sitting just on the edge, legs spread open wide. Even the pain wasn't clearing his head as well. He just needed to be touched. Quinn didn't care about whatever he said or begged for to make it happen. 

Quinn cried out in relief, feeling something pressed against his cock and start buzzing. He came fast, and he heard the men around him snicker and whisper about his "cute pussy". 

Things were starting to clear up a bit until the buzzing between his legs grew.

"Ah~ fuck fuck fuck!" Quinn squealed at a much higher pitch than he wanted, to the amusement of the men around him. Quinn tried to close his legs, but felt harsh grips on his thighs keeping them open. Something sharp holding his feet in the way his hands were trapped.

Quinn had to feel himself get filled up again and again and again and be forced to orgasm again and again and again. Too many smells in his nose. Too much overstimulation. He was gonna pass out at this rate. Quinn's mouth lolled open, drool escaping when whoever was fucking him splattered on his thighs. There was shifting, who was next? 

Quinn suddenly felt something hard shoved in his mouth. Metal, there was a hole Quinn felt with his tongue. It took every bit of thought he had left to realize this was a gun. 

The adrenaline helped Quinn's eyes focus just long enough to see Theo's smug grin. 

BANG!

Hank jerks his head back. He swore he heard something.

The mutant had landed the blackbird on an empty rooftop and climbed down to find Quinn's bike in the alley. Where was the stupid man?

The scientist didn't like the look on the professor's face when he gave Hank Quinn's location. While he claimed Quinn wasn't in danger, something still rubbed Hank the wrong way about this. He hadn't seen Quinn since the night before last, a moment of weakness on both their parts. Hank had been avoiding the smaller man. It's much harder to look someone in the eye after you pleasure yourself to the thought of them.

Hank squatted down and put his face in his hands. 

What was he doing? 

He allowed his own unfounded feelings to make a gap in his already fragile relationship with Quinn. Now the man was doing god knows what, and Hank can't make sure he's safe. The scientist didn't realize how important this became to him. He had put himself in charge of Quinn's safety beyond what any doctor would dare do. Allow himself to feel such vulgar things when he is old enough to be the mans father.

What was becoming of Doctor Hank McCoy?

Quinn gasped awake. Still spread open on that table. He scrambled to his feet and felt his legs try to give out. Quinn just managed to keep his footing as he felt cum drip down his legs. He wanted to vomit. Scratch that, he wanted to kill Theo. 

Quinn scanned the room and realized everyone was gone. Just a file remained on the table with a note attached. 

"I turned off the water and threw out your clothes. <3 Theo."

Quinn opened the file and saw it was real, a government relocation. Vald Nikko. Now, Dan Vactan in Brisbane? They sent him far. But not far enough. The man tried to take a step and felt his whole body protest the movement. The healing factor was out of his system. It took everything to rebuild the brain matter that was splattered on that table. 

After vomiting a few times, a wipe down, and finding nothing more to change into, Quinn walked into the elevator. Sitting on the marble ground. He got a horrified look from the doorman as he limped out of the building to his bike. The sidewalk was cold on his bare feet. Every step felt like he was scooping out his organs with a rusty spoon. What the fuck did those bastards do to him? 

Quinn walked by a closed shop and saw himself in the glass. He was covered in dried blood, smeared makeup, and dressed like a whore. He felt like one, too. Still somehow had that stupid wig on and padding. Quinn ripped it off his head and threw it into the empty street. It looked like a bloody rat. He pulled out those stupid fake tits and threw them just as far. Suddenly, he started remembering bits of what happened. 

"Pretty" "Good girl" "Cute little pussy" "You don't have a cock, now beg me to touch your clit, baby girl." "Honey baby." "Sweet girl" 

Quinn couldn't keep looking at the glass, at himself. The fifthly feeling on his skin. The ache persisted despite the healed wounds. Quinn ran down the block, feeling his feet thump on the hard ground. Tears burned in the corners of his eyes.

"Cry like the pathetic little girl you are," Quinn mutters hatefully to himself as he keeps running. Holding the file to his chest. "It'll be worth it, you can be done once he's gone. It can all be quiet." Quinn whispers as his pace slows.

"QUINN!" He hears from above him. An overjoyed yet worried voice.

The mutant lands on the ground in front of him gracefully. With a wide smile that swiftly fades as he sniffs the air. 

"Quinn..."

Chapter Text

Hank was glad to see Quinn ok, but he wasn't ok. The mutant's nose was assaulted by the scent of four, no, five men, and a scent that can only be described as raw sex and pain. 

Hank swiftly made his way towards the man. He was covered in makeup to make his face look more feminine. A layer on his whole body was also peeling in places. He was hairless, head to toe. The scientist had never seen the small man quite like this.

"Hey Hank, what are you doing here?" Quinn said with a painfully fake smile.

His voice sounded worn; he was swaying as he stood. Hell, he was actively crying. Hank took a cautious step closer. Quinn didn't seem to have any injuries, given how much blood covered his petite dress.

"The professor said you may need assistance. It seems he was correct." The mutant answered softly.

Quinn's smile faded as the man fought hard not to sob. 

Hank already took the liberty of carrying Quinn's bike to the blackbird on the roof. Now, he needed to carry Quinn as the mutant chose a building with no roof access. 

Hank explained that to Quinn, and he was surprised when the smaller man willingly walked into Hank's arms.

"L-let's just go," Quinn whispers, holding something to his chest. A file? 

The scientist chose not to comment on it as he held Quinn in one arm and scaled the balconies to get to the roof. The man's body was shaking with every breath. He smelled violated for lack of a better word. Hank's heart could barely take the sight. While the beast inside was begging him to track down whomever these scents on Quinn's body belonged to and-no. Hank took a deep breath. Quinn needed comfort, not some monster.

Once the barely lucid Quinn is buckled up, Hank gets the plane in the air. The mutant glanced back and saw Quinn staring at nothing with empty eyes, holding the file tight to his chest. He looked like a freshly shaved animal, disturbed, and unsure about what to do. 

"You need to stop scratching, you're going to break through your epidermis at this rate," Hank says kindly. Putting the plane on auto before going to sit beside Quinn. 

Quinn was sitting awkwardly, legs crossed, leaning over himself in that mini dress. Clawing at his shoulders, peeling off the makeup, and soon the skin. The mutant places a soft hand on his wrists and moves them. 

"You can wash this off when we get to the mansion." 

Quinn just looks at the mutant, god. He looks so vulnerable. Hank stands abruptly and undoes his button-up.

"What are you-" "You are clearly uncomfortable in that insubstantial piece of fabric you are wearing. I assume not of your own volition." He didn't need it anymore; his fur was starting to feel squished down anyway. 

Quinn stares at him for a moment. This fucking mutant literally just gave him the shirt off his back.

"I...Thanks." Quinn says softly. The most genuine tone Hank has ever heard from the man.

Quinn takes the white button-up and pulls the dress over his head without care, much to Hank's panic. 

"I would have appreciated a warning." The scientist huffed, turning around.

"There isn't much to see," Quinn muttered self-deprecatingly, sliding the massive button up over his frame. "This had to be custom." 

"Indeed, I have...abnormal proportions, but I rarely wear more than needed unless the situation calls for it," Hank says, turning back around to Quinn, looking absolutely swallowed by his shirt. 

Hank goes back to the yolk. While the plane is flying itself, Hank still feels he should keep an eye on it. His eyes need to be there and nowhere else, even as his nose urges him to look back.

Quinn sits in the oversized button-up. It smells like mutant, old books, and something that's just Hank. Quinn gulps as his cunt stirs at the scent. Fuck. The drugs must not be as out of his system as he thought. He sees the mutant's nose twitch as he grips the yolk tight. He can definitely smell it. Damnit.  

"I took a lot of aphrodisiacs. I know I smell like a bitch in heat. Among other things, I'm sure." Quinn huffs, pulling his knees to his chest.

Hank was very aware. 

"You smell like you went through hell tonight. What exactly happened if you would care to share?" Hank asked without looking back at Quinn.

"Ask your nose," Quinn responded. Deflecting.

Hank resigned from prying further.  

The rest of the flight was silent. Quinn just pulled his knees to his chest. The smell of Hank's shirt was oddly calming. Quinn didn't realize how used to the scent he's gotten. 

Hank looks at the sleeping lump of fabric as he lands in the hangar. 

"Quinn," Hank whispers, trying to wake Quinn softly. 

Quinn mutters but doesn't wake up. As he shifts, the file falls to the ground and opens. 

Hank recognizes the face; he's seen it in all those horrific videos. This is what Quinn spent the night suffering for? 

"Quinn," Hank says a little firmer. 

"Hm?" Quinn mutters, rubbing his eyes that suddenly widen when he sees Hank holding the file. 

Quinn tries to grab it, but the mutant moves it out of his reach. 

"Is this what you exchanged your body for?" Hank asks flat out. 

"ew, don't say it like that." Quinn groans. 

"Enlighten me on how you would explain it." Hank demands, a growl in his voice. 

Hank isn't sure why he's so upset all of a sudden; maybe it's seeing Quinn wrapped up in his shirt while smelling so violated still. Maybe it's the fact that Quinn struggled so much just to find a monster.

"I did what I had to." Quinn says softly. 

"I could have helped you, the professor could have helped you. We have the resources to locate people if needed." Hank gulps. Swallowing his frustration and leaning down to Quinn.

"I don't need help from you people," Quinn growls, snatching the file away and stomping out of the plane. 

Hank swiftly follows behind. Quinn is still very unsteady. 

"What are you planning?" 

"Drop it, Hank," Quinn growled, walking in a very wonky line.

"I will not drop it. Why did you need this? Why did you have to harm yourself so extensively to go around people who could have helped you?" Hank growled back. But he wasn't upset, just worried. 

Quinn suddenly jerked back and stared the mutant down. 

"You aren't people! You're all just dirty muties, and if those bastards finished me, all of you would be dead!" Quinn smiles widely, but tears well up in his eyes. "I'm a monster." He whispers, holding himself. 

The scientist inches closer to Quinn before placing two fuzzy hands on his shoulders.

"You are not a monster. You do not have to be what they made you to be. You're hurting. You're angry. I will not lie and say I understand, but I am right here. I am willing to listen and attempt to." The mutant says in such a gentle voice. His big blue eyes look so damn kind.

Quinn sobs further, the smile gone. 

"I'm just so fucking tired. I can't let go until t-they're gone." He whimpers, forehead falling on Hank's chest. He can't hold himself up anymore. "Everything hurts..."

Hank instantly wrapped the sobbing mess into his arms; it was clear Quinn's body wasn't able to keep him up anymore. 

"I'm so sorry," Hank whispers into the smaller man's bloody, musky hair. "We can talk about this tomorrow with the professor-" "But-" "No buts," Hank says firmly. 

Quinn sniffles and curls up in his hold. The man was still covered in makeup, dried blood, and other stains that made the mutant's nose scrunch. 

"You're not a mutie," Quinn whispers shamefully.

"I've heard worse in my time, my dear," Hank says, holding Quinn perhaps a bit closer than necessary. "You're clearly not able to stand long enough for a shower. But I happen to have a bathtub in my room." Hank says, walking with sure steps to his room. With this, Hank can make sure Quinn doesn't drown himself. 

Hank sets Quinn on his bed before running some warm water, adding some Epsom salt to ease the ache the man is surely feeling. At least on the outside. 

"Do you require any assistance?" Hank says, turning around and seeing Quinn looking in the mirror and rubbing his face. 

"I look so...wrong." Quinn rubs his hairless arms and face. "I feel like a fucking dolphen." He mutters with disgust. 

Hank did miss the man's scruff. He looks so young and meek without it. 

"I have something that can help." Hank reaches over and opens the side cabinet, pulling out a small jar with gray goo in it. "Once you get out of the bath, put this on and you'll feel much less like a sea mammal in the morning." 

"What is it?" Quinn asks. 

"Something I made when a group of students thought it humorous to put hair removal in my body wash." Hank shudders at the memory.  

Quinn lets out a small exhale, not quite a laugh but close. 

Hank steps out to allow Quinn some privacy. He hears a soft wince and moan with shifting water. 

The mutant took a deep breath, steeling himself to ignore those sweet little sounds. 

After a little while, Hank can't take it and goes to grab Quinn some clean clothing. 

"I'll be right back. I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't drown." Hank says through the door. 

"No promises," Quinn calls back.

The mutant shakes his head and goes to Quinn's room. He digs around in the backpack, finding something cleanish. Hank ends up with a pair of boxers with the Star Trek insignia all over them and a gray tank top. The scientist didn't bother with the outer layers since Quinn was going straight to sleep. But something in the backpack caught Hank's attention. There was something blue and fuzzy. He pulled it out and found a mini version of himself. Not the most flattering comparison, but it was clearly him. It was worn out and smelled like deeply of Quinn. The scientist was vaguely aware of the fact that toys of him and his fellow X-Men had circulated a few years ago. But Quinn had one? Of him no less. The mutant chuckled to himself and placed the stuffed toy on the bed before heading back to his room.

Knock knock

"Quinn, I would like to come in and set your change of clothing on the counter if that's alright?" 

"I don't give a shit," Quinn called back. 

Hank opened the door slowly and set the clothes down, not looking in Quinn's direction, but he caught a glimpse of the muddy pink the bathwater turned into.

"Uh, hey, wait..." Quinn mutters, Hank almost didn't hear him.

The mutant froze at the door.

"yes?" He says, gripping the door frame.

"I don't think I can get up....least, not without cracking my head open," Quinn mumbles as if it's painful for him to say. 

The scientist realizes what Quinn needs. 

"Ah..." 

Hank steps closer to the bath, but keeps his eyes on the ceiling before reaching his hands out. 

The smaller man feels so pathetic, but reaches for Hank's hands anyway. The larger hands engulf his and pull the green haired man very gently to his unsteady feet.

Quinn stepped out of the bath and swallowed a groan. While the soak helped, the ache was really starting to set in now. 

Hank kept a firm but kind grip on Quinn's biceps, keeping him from falling. Once the smaller man was wrapped up in a towel and sat down on the closed toilet seat, Hank turned and offered him his clothing. 

"Do you require any further assistance?" Hank asked, his voice going up slightly. He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on the ceiling as Quinn dressed. 

"I'll be alright. You gotta stop doing this." Quinn huffs, getting dressed. 

"Whatever do you mean?" Hank responds.

"This, helping me for nothing. I kissed you the other day, right?" Quinn hints at what Hank did, or rather didn't do.

A light pink in his cheeks, Hank is telling himself it's just residual makeup.

"I don't know what kind of mutant you take me for, but I will reiterate: I am not going to take advantage of you, and I do not require 'payment' for the help I am giving you," The mutant says firmly, feeling his own cheeks turn indigo. 

"I gotta give you something dealing with me. You keep dragging my dumbass back here by yourself." Quinn sighs, "I'm too sober for this shit." He mutters.

"Any of the X-Men can perform the task. Everything I am doing is purely by choice-" "-Shit choice-" "-If you would let me finish." Hank growls slightly. "I don't wish to see any more harm come to you. You have clearly suffered enough in your short life. If I can by some means lessen that suffering, I will gladly do so."

"Oh...I get it." Quinn walks past Hank into his room. "You see that little kid get all fucked up and think 'aw poor baby', that 'aw poor baby' gets transferred to me." Quinn snarks, turning around to face Hank fully. "Well, in told you. I'm a grown ass man. I don't need that cuddly shit." 

"Who on earth told you care has an age limit? I see you as you are now, and that does not dampen any affection I wish to give you. As far as I’m concerned, you are egregiously overdue for it." Hank replies calmly, stepping closer to Quinn, looking down at him.

Quinn is still quite unsteady on his feet. Hank offers a hand. 

"Now, allow me to assist you to your room if you're through." 

Quinn sighs deeply and takes it. He leans most of his body weight on the large mutant as they walk together. He hates how weak and pathetic he feels, more so how nonjudgmental the scientist is being.

The man's silver eyes widen as he sits on his bed and notices the plushie on his bed. He instantly shoves it under the pillow, hoping Hank didn't notice. 

The blue mutant doesn't say a word, just makes a mildly amused sound. If Quinn weren't so exhausted, he'd be mortified. 

"I'm going to ask you this once: Can I trust you will go straight to sleep if I leave you alone?" Hank says firmly once Quinn is sitting on his bed.

The way the smaller man's eyes flicker down gives the mutant all he needs to know. He already caught the younger man harming himself before; he will not allow it to happen again.

"Quinn, you understand that-""-Yeah, yeah." Quinn interrupts, curling up in bed.

Hank sits down at his side; the bed creaks a bit in protest. 

After a long while, a silence stretches painfully. The mutant can tell Quinn isn't sleeping; he keeps twitching and chewing on the inside of his cheeks.

Quinn can't sleep; every time he closes his eyes or relaxes, he feels them touching him again. His skin keeps tricking him.

Suddenly, a large warm hand settles on his shoulder. Quinn trusted that hand.

"Are you alri-" Hank tried to ask before Quinn interrupts him. 

"Keep doing that." He whispers. Relaxing into the touch. 

Hank doesn't say anything more, just rubs Quinn's back through the blanket. 

Quinn settles swiftly, exhaustion taking hold once he relaxes. But the muatnt stays for a moment longer. He tells himself just to be sure the younger man reaches his REM. But Hank knows he's lying to himself. Everything about Quinn fascinated him; he wanted to know more. Not just about his existence, but the man he is. The older man moved some of the muddy green hair from his face, fingers grazing a scar on his cheek.

"What am I going to do with you, my dear?" The mutant whispers before heading to his own room.