A/N Damn he's back and full of piss and vinegar. Yes another Victor/OC and not really sure where this one has come from, except I really like horses.

As usual I don't own him or any other Marvel character I happen to pluck off the tree, I do own my OC and the Lazy D is all mine - at least in my head (I could use 1000 acres of ranch land but that's just wishful thinking).

This is a departure for me in several ways. I am looking forward to following it where it leads.

Chapter 1

She heard the motorcycle come up the drive behind her as she pulled the coral gate shut. She pulled the barbed wire latch over the top and turned. The man on the bike looked haggard, tired and she knew the type. Drifter, looking for a meal, willing to work a bit for a place to rest and something to eat. That was about all she had to offer at the moment, the ranch wasn't doing as well this year and money was tight.

"Can I help you?" She said as he shut the bike down and climbed off.

"I'm lookin for the owner." He said, his voice hoarse from disuse and road dust.

"That'd be me."

"I was wonderin, could you use a hand, I know my way around a ranch." He stood there, hands buried in his long duster's pockets.

"I can't afford to pay hands at the moment. All I can offer you is a place to bunk in the bunkhouse and three squares a day." She dusted her hands off on her jeans and took a good hard look at him. His clothes were worn, he had several holes in his jeans, and his shirt was pretty ragged too. His eyes were dark, filled with pain and something else she couldn't put a name on at the moment.

"That'd be fine with me." He said.

"Okay - bunk house is over there, you can go get in the fridge for supper. I've got too much to do today to cook." She reached a hand out to him. "Kathy Davis, Lazy D ranch."

He seemed to cringe as he pulled his hand out of his pocket and took hers. "Victor Creed." She noticed the fingernails immediately, and shook his hand. She didn't care if he was from Mars, she had a mare about to drop a foal and was afraid it was going to be breach. If he could work those hands up inside without hurting the foal, and if he knew how to turn a baby, she needed his help.

"Know anything about foaling a mare?"

"Done it a few times."

"The red bay, she's about to drop, foal hasn't turned right. You ever turned one?"

"Yep...a few times."

"Okay, go introduce yourself. Her name's Dixie...stay with her while I go call the vet."

He nodded and she turned toward the main house. Something told her to be wary of him but right now she needed the help. She'd had too many accidents, and she needed this foal alive.

XXXXX

He watched her jeans clad ass as she walked to the house. She shouldn't live alone out here, there were a lot of unscrupulous people that would take advantage of an ass like that. He grinned at his own thought, just a few weeks ago, he'd have been one of them. Right now, all he wanted was someplace to rest and hide. Too much had happened too quickly and he needed to get his head around what was going on inside him. He took off the duster and lay it across the seat of the bike.

He turned to the barn and opened the door. Inside one of the stalls was the red bay, she was heaving on the ground and he could see the foal moving around inside her skin. The woman - Kathy - had said the foal hadn't turned and she was right, he could see the impression of the head against the mother's side. He grabbed a pair of gloves and pulled them on carefully to avoid cutting them with his claws. He touched the horse gently and she just snorted at him. He'd always been amazed that most animals feared him, but horses just treated him like any other person. He kept one hand on her back as he moved to her rear. There was a bucket of animal lubricant near the birthing blanket Kathy must have laid down for her. He soaked his free hand in the bucket, and brushed Dixie's tail aside.

He clamped his hand tight and eased it into the horse's opening, avoiding a weak kick as he tried to find the foal's rear feet. He let out a moan of pain as her body clamped down during a contraction and waited until it eased. He was hoping to do an easy turn, get the foal into position and let the mother just do what came naturally, but the damned foal wasn't cooperating. He'd get one leg, and it would move the other one out of his reach, at one point it presented its head to the birth canal and he knew that would be death for the damned thing so he had to let go of the foot he had hold of and push the head back the other way. He was sweating like a pig, but he'd done this more than a few times in his life and knew patience was the only way to save them both.

He finally got the foal into position, feet eased into the birth canal when the barn door opened again and she came in with another man.

"Over here, Dr. Lemons." She was saying.

"I got it." Victor said, as the foal's legs eased out with the contraction. "Stubborn pain in the ass, but I got it turned." He peeled off the glove and knew he'd have to find a shirt, this one was covered in birth fluids and blood.

The foal dropped to the ground behind them and the mother eased herself up onto her feet, licking the birth sack off the baby, and nudging it to stand. The vet was examining them both, and he grinned at the soft whicker from the foal as it looked for a teat.

"Thank you." She said softly, and he smelled a deep relief from her.

He just nodded and walked to the barn door while the vet finished examining the horses. He walked to the bike and grabbed his saddle bags and duster. He headed to the bunk house she'd indicated earlier and opened the door. Inside, he dropped his load on the bed in a room toward the front. He opened the bags and pulled out a clean pair of jeans, not in much better shape than the ones he was wearing, and a ragged long-sleeved shirt. He laid them on the bed, kicked off his boots, and turned to the only other door in the room. It lead into a small bathroom with a shower and he turned on the water. He peeled off the shirt and looked at himself in the mirror. His torso was scared, red welts crossing over and over, his healing barely had the skin closed. He knew that meant he had internal injuries that needed healed first, but he wasn't used to being this weak. He unfastened the jeans and slipped them down his equally scarred legs and stepped into the hot water. It stung the welts and he winced as he rinsed the blood and birth fluids from his body. It had hurt like hell reaching into that horse, the bone in that arm wasn't fully set and all he wanted to do right now was lay down on that bed and sleep. Food would be nice, and she'd promised him a meal.

He grabbed a thin towel and dried off, before going into the bedroom. On the bed were different clothes, a clean pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. His ragged things were gone. There was a slip of paper with that sticky stuff on the back stuck to the shirt.

These should fit, you're about the size my father was. Food's in the fridge, I've got to go into town to get the money to pay the vet. I'll be back later. Thank you, again, Kathy.

He pulled on the jeans, they were a little shorter than he liked, but that didn't stop him from enjoying the feel of clean denim on his skin. The shirt was a good fit too, the arms were too short but he just rolled them up. He pulled on his boots and headed out the door. The main house was across the farmyard and he took a good scent as he passed. He could smell alfalfa growing in a field, but it was almost too old to bale, there was a small chicken coop with a rooster and a few hens, a pig pen with a sow and a few piglets and the horses in the coral. He smelled the stale smell of cattle, but they hadn't been around in years, same with sheep, there was even a sheering coral set up near the main house. There was a tractor in a shed, but the disks on the haying platform were rusted, as were the conditioners. There were several bales of hay near the barn, stacked up as if they'd been delivered, and he wondered why she was buying hay.

He walked over to the tractor and took a sniff. No fuel for one thing, he popped the hood on the engine compartment, cracked distributor cap...corroded wires...and the smell of sugar told him someone had sugared the tank. He looked around and saw an old tool box against the wall. Sugared gas was a mess to clean up after, but there was no reason not to do it. He was under the tractor pulling the tank when he heard a truck pull in.

"That old thing hasn't run in three years." She said as she slammed the truck door. He smelled frustration, anger, tears and resignation as she walked into the shed.

"Nothin' a little clean-up won't fix. Thanks for the clothes." He said as he pushed himself from under the frame.

"I picked up some more, and under things...I didn't know if you had any or not."

"Thanks again." He muttered taking the blue plastic bags from her. He couldn't imagine wearing tighty whities right now, they'd hurt too damned much.

"I'm going to warm up beans, if you're hungry." She said.

"Thank you...damn I'm sayin' that a lot." He laughed. "I'll be in as soon as I put these away." She smiled and turned toward the house.

"Don't get any ideas." She said.

"I won't. You don't know how much I appreciate this." She just nodded, and he walked back to the bunk house.

"That is it. Scream. Louder. No one will hear you, No one will care. You are a monster the world wants rid of, and I'm going to give the world what it wants, one scream at a time."

He flinched as the whip ripped into his back again. He wasn't giving this bastard the satisfaction, until the metal barbs ripped the skin off his back again, even his will couldn't keep the scream from his throat.

They'd caught him unaware - used a whore to lay a trap for him. He'd killed three before they subdued him with some sort of drug. It had been agony in his system, and it had only been after three days of torture that he'd realized it had been a diluted version of the Cure, just enough to subdue his healing factor, not enough to shut it off completely. All his senses were subdued, less than normal, but still there.

They'd cut his balls off first, then his cock...then started using the whip on him, barbed piece of shit. He breathed slowly as the pain receded. He had no idea how long they were going to keep this up.

He started awake, one hand gripping his groin. It was back, just a limp piece of flesh still, but it had grown back slowly. He wasn't sure what was worse, the torture - or the pain of re-growing what they'd taken off - and out. He'd only laid down on the bed for a moment, just to rest, but the stars were already in the sky outside the curtain less window. He smelled food and looked over at the table. A pot, a plate and a glass of dark tea were sitting there with another note.

You looked like you needed the sleep. Food will keep.