Chapter Text
Morph nursed their third bottle of beer, tentatively taking another sip of the piss water with a frown. The bar was small and just far enough away from the mansion that Morph didn't have to worry about anybody they knew walking in on their little pity party.
“Bad breakup?” The bartender had asked when Morph came in, visibly upset and asking for the worst beer they had on hand.
“Something like that,” the shapeshifter had responded. It wasn’t that far off. If you didn't take into account the man they “broke up” with was never even interested in them. As a romantic partner or a friend, it seemed. All he cared about was Jean.
Jean, Jean, Jean, stupid, perfect Jean, they thought bitterly. It wasn’t Jean's fault. She didn't make Wolverine stab Morph until they took on her form in a desperate attempt to not die. It wasn't her fault that Morph had fallen for the most emotionally stunted man in existence. It was their fault for thinking there could be more Logan. There had to be. Morph remembered the Logan who stopped at nothing to save them from Sinister. The Logan who would visit them to make sure they were still okay. The Logan they drank with after a hard mission while they talked about how the Rangers were. That's who Logan could be. Or maybe that was just the Logan in their head. A Logan that never really existed.
God, could I sound any more pathetic? Morph wondered as they caught their reflection staring back at them from the side of the beer bottle. They'd assumed their “Normal Kevin” appearance. After the shitshow that was the Weapon X mission, they didn't want to deal with random drunk douchebags harassing them. Probably with some variation of “mutie freak.” You'd think with how often they threw those kinds of slurs around they would at least get a little more creative.
“Another Corona,” Morph signalled to the bartender who complied, turning around to grab a bottle from behind the counter. The shapeshifter's eyes followed the man, settling on the neon sign above the racks of alcohol.
We ID. Must be born on or before this date: 12:01 A.M. , October 12th.
“Heh,” Morph laughed slightly. Logan's birthday. If they were doing the math right, that meant he would be one hundred and sixty-five years old today. Alone and miserable, pining after a woman who was already happily married. Well, mostly. “Cheers,” Morph said as they were handed another bottle, raising it before they took a sip.
~~~
An hour and two more beers later, Morph had finally decided they had enough. They stumbled out of the bar, the start of a headache starting to creep into the back of their skull. It was just past one A.M. when the cool New York air hit their face. It was late, almost no one was out and there wasn't a taxi in sight. Morph groaned, confronted with the fact they could either take their chances and try to get back to the mansion, or they would have to find somewhere else to sleep for the night.
Great idea Morph, getting drunk a town over without telling anyone where you're going.
They contemplated trying to find a payphone to call the mansion but they doubted anyone would be awake to pick up their drunk ass.
Okay, sketchy motel down the street it is.
Morph shuffled down the sidewalk, pulling their jacket to their sides as the cool fall weather brushed against them. The mutant was struggling to focus on anything except for keeping their “normal” shape until they found somewhere warm to sleep. The buzzing of the streetlights over them thrummed, mixing with the chirping of the insects for an almost calming ambiance. An ambiance that was disturbed by the rustling of something in the nearby bushes. Morph paused their trek to stare at the disruption, catching a glimpse of something with tan fur moving in the greenery.
“Aw,” Morph kneeled down to the grass as they patted their legs and let out a small whistle. “Here little kitty, come on, don't need to be scared.”
“I'm not the one who should be scared,” a strangely familiar, grizzled voice called out. Morph watched as the fur poked out and grew. Taller and taller, Morph found themselves falling back on their ass as the figure took a step towards them. It took a few moments for Morph's alcohol-ridden brain to recognize the mound of muscle and tacky fur as Sabretooth.
“Oh….big kitty.” Morph gulped as questions started to run through their mind. None of the answers to said questions were probably good. They didn't want to find out. Attempting to get up, their effort was thwarted by the man bringing his foot back and kicking Morph in the chest. Hard. They cried out, the attack aggravating their injured shoulder even further.
Morph's body moved, trying to shift into something protective but all it seemed to be able to do was drop their “normal” appearance to reveal their true form as Sabretooth stalked closer.
“Wha-what do you want?” Morph asked as they attempted to crawl away. The only answer they received was a hard fist to the face that sent them spiraling into unconsciousness.