Title: (s)AINT

Author: Zee

Disclaimer: I'm not an artist, I'm a fucking work of art...

((NOTE)) Yeah, if the format is messed up, I am so fucking sorry (dies) I have no idea what's wrong with my computer, NOTHING IS WORKING!!! (sob)

So, yeah, as my faithful readers know--

hide-chu: No one.

Zee: –when I have no ideas what to write, I do songfics and WELL HERE WE ARE!! After spending three hours at a dentists and listening to Marilyn Manson for about two hours and a half of that time, I got this plot bunny. But moving right along. Is his name spelled 'Eric' or 'Erik'? Well, I don't know because I'm a MORON, but my brother spelled it 'Eric' so we'll just go with that, okay? And please don't flame me about something as stupid as that, because it's...well, it's stupid XD

Oh, and the lyrics have been fucked with a bit. The order, I mean. Just because, well, it fits better. Yesh. And stuff.

/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/

I don't care if your world is ending today
Because I wasn't invited to it anyway

You said I tasted famous so I drew you a heart

But now I'm not an artist, I'm a fucking work of art

The wind howled outside and the storm brewed, just waiting for the right moment to attack the city with roars of thunder and stabs of lightening. In the house, if you could call it a house, shadows twisted around the gnarled furniture, edging closer to the crackling fire and the figure hunched in the armchair before it.

Eric stared at the picture in his hands, of his son and daughter at the ages of six, smiling brightly at the camera with cotton candy all over their faces. The last day before Wanda had developed her powers. The last day when they could truly say they loved him.

He had forced Wanda to love him again, had raped her mind and filled it with images making him out to be the loving and wonderful father he only wished he was. He had heard her, in the back of his mind when he was controlled by Apocalypse he had heard her. Crying for him, hugging her brother and sobbing, asking Pietro why, why did Father have to die, she loved him, she was going to destroy Apocalypse.

But he hadn't heard Pietro.

He had heard him comforting her, Apocalypse had allowed him the 'comfort' of listening to their grief. But he had heard nothing of Pietro. And he had almost let out a sob when he heard Pietro on the subway, telling Wanda that he wasn't the perfect father he had needed her to believe she was. It was at that moment he had realized it.

Pietro hated him more than Wanda had.

He had done everything for that speed demon. Trained him, gotten him out of jail, given him a place to stay, let him lead the Brotherhood, didn't comment when he saw him spending nights in John's room, said nothing when the pyromaniac and his son disappeared together for hours on end, and yet Pietro hated him.

Eric's grip on the photograph tightened and winkles and creases appeared across Pietro's laughing face. He could understand why the boy would be angry at him for his mother. He could understand why he would run away at ten for what he did to Wanda and what his training did to him. And he could understand Pietro's displeasure at being hated by his old friends from the Brotherhood. But Eric had fixed all of that. He had made it better. And Pietro still stiffened when he rubbed his shoulder, flinched when he kissed on the cheek for a night of good work, preferred to sit next to John in important meetings and clasp his hand than sit next to his father and in a seat of power.

Eric didn't understand.

I got an F and a C, and I got a K too
And the only thing that's missing is a bitch like you

He had made mistakes. Every father did. But that didn't mean he hadn't tried. Eric had tried so hard for that boy. He had always known it was too late for Wanda, she couldn't be controlled, she was too angry, too powerful. But Pietro wasn't like that. He could crow about how perfect he was, how amazing he was compared to the others, how no one could ever be better than he was, how he strived for a challenge, but Eric knew that his son knew the only reason he was so perfect was because of his father.

Since the second they had developed, Eric had worked with Pietro endless hours, days at a time to hone his skills. It hadn't been easy. Even before Pietro had become simply a moving blur, he had been fast, impatient, always running towards something, getting bored there, and running somewhere else. It had taken sweet pleads, patiently leading the boy through training. But soon Eric's fatherly patience ran out and the training began an endless torment of cruel words, beatings, and sometimes Eric forced metal around Pietro's legs and made him stand upright and still for days at a time without food, tormenting the boy by eating and talking conversationally about what a horrible child he was, what an awful son, faggot, freak, how he should be locked up and his sister should be back, just so Eric wouldn't have to look at his face.

Pietro would cry and beg and plead and say he was a good boy, he was sorry, Father, please, let him down, he would be better, he would listen, he wouldn't talk back, he would be perfect, if only Father would let him move, let him eat, let him sleep. Eric would say he could consider it and leave Pietro standing and sobbing for maybe an hour, maybe a week, then come back and let him down, tell him with a sneer to go clean himself up and tell the boy he expected him in perfect shape at dawn the next morning to train harder than before. This was, of course, ignoring that he had let Pietro go at five in the morning and the sun would be up in an hour.

Spare the rod, spoil the child.

But Pietro would always be there. Exhausted, malnourished, but there.

You wanted perfect, you got your perfect
Now I'm too perfect for someone like you
I was a dandy in your ghetto with a snow white smile
But you'll never be as perfect whatever you do

Eric had told himself, of course, that he was doing this for Pietro's good, that the son of Magneto should be the image of perfection, even if his powers were effeminate, even if he would stare longingly out the window at the boys playing outside, even though he would sometimes sit quietly in his room and stare at an old faded picture of Wanda smiling. Eric would never let Pietro see Wanda, though he visited her himself. He wanted Pietro's memories of his sister to be when she was happy, not the vengeful beast she was now, breaking windows and killing orderlies whenever she saw her father.

Eric conveniently forgot that Pietro's last memory of his sister was, actually, her being dragged into the asylum, screaming for them to save her.

Eric had spent most of his time worrying about how Pietro was growing, how his body seemed much more...girly than it should have. Whenever they ventured out of whatever house they happened to be living in at the time, women and girls would stop to stare and giggle at Pietro, whispering about how cute he was, what a beautiful boy he would be when he grew up, but that wasn't what bothered Eric; it was the men. He had lost count of how many times men had walked up to him and asked how much for a go with the kid. Eric had proceeded to kill them immediately, but he couldn't stop Pietro from talking to these men when he had his back turned. Eric's blood turned cold when they had been at the market once and he had heard Pietro giggling and flirting with a man at least nine years his senior. He had promptly grabbed his son, now called Quicksilver at all times, rushed him home, gave him the beating of a lifetime and tied him up for three months, with meals once every three days, always fed excruciatingly slowly in Pietro time and filled with talks of how wretched he was, what a fucking faggot he was turning into, he didn't deserve to be Eric's son, he wasn't perfect.

And Pietro had cried I'm sorry Father, please, Father, I love you, don't do this to me, I can be perfect, I'm so sorry Father.

And they trained, and Eric let it slip in a rare display of affection that he thought Pietro was perfect. And with that blessing, Pietro ran away.

He was ten.

What's my name? What's my name?
Ah-ah, Ah-ah
Hold the S because I am an ain't

It had been six years before Eric saw Pietro, saw either of his children for that matter, again. He hardened himself against everything, against his age, against his emotions, against Charles Xavier, everything.

He freed his son from prison, his beautiful son who could have been a carbon copy of him. His son who wanted to kill that boy, Evan Daniels. His son who, upon meeting Lance Alvers, became attached to him immediately. Eric had watched with cold eyes as his son flaunted over that damn earthmover. Eric would have killed Avalanche slowly if he hadn't been such an asset to the Brotherhood.

But Pietro soon forgot about loving Lance. He was too busy worrying about the return of Wanda.

Eric had heard the fights between Pietro and Lance, even if they thought he didn't.

"Lance, please, I can't talk to her, she's gonna kill me!"

"Pietro, she's not gonna kill you!"

"Yeah, you're right, she'll maim me, then she'll kill me."

"Come on, Pietro, it'll make you feel better if you talk to her, tell you that you're sorry."

"I have told her that, Lance! She won't listen." here he would sniffle and try to huddle in the warmth of Lance's embrace. "She's scary. She always was. She's uncontrollable, how could she understand someone like me." Eric's words were coming out of Pietro's mouth and he wasn't sure what he should have felt at that moment.

But Lance hadn't held Pietro, he had pushed him away, disgusted. "So WHAT if she's 'uncontrollable'! I'm uncontrollable and you still talk to me!"

"It's different, Lance, you're different."

"Pietro, she's your fucking sister! How could I be different for her, you said you love me and you must love your sister, what's the problem?"

"Lance, please, don't do this to me..."

"Pietro, I'm not asking a lot! I just want things in this house to go back to normal, or as normal as they can be with her here. Is this some stupid brain washing your dad's given you or something?"

"NO!"

"Then what is it?!"

"There's nothing, Lance. You know what, forget it."

"Forget what, that you have a sister you never told us about and that you REFUSE to try to calm her down?"

"No, Lance. Forget US."

And Pietro had run out the door and through the city and into Eric's arms, sobbing. Oh Father, he cried, I'm such a horrible person, I can't do anything right, I can't be a good boyfriend to Lance, I can't be a good brother to Wanda, I can't be a good son to you, I'm not perfect, I'm so SORRY!

And Eric should have held him. He should have wrapped his arms around his son and whispered how it was alright, he didn't have to be all that, all he had to do was be Pietro, wonderful little perfect Pietro.

But what Eric had done was thrust Pietro away in disgust and said with a sneer:

"Boyfriend to Lance?! You fairy! What are you going on about, you faggot whore! You're right, you're not perfect, you queer. The very sight of you sickens me! But," he had said, as the sobbing form of Pietro began to stand up and get out of Eric's sight, since it sickened him so, "you're still a good fighter, and I need you. You are now in the Acolytes. This is your first mission." And tormenting him all the while, Eric had told Pietro of his first mission for Magneto's new group.

I am bone top, a death set, on a mop stick
You infected me to diamonds, I took all your shit
Your sell-by-date expired so you had to be sold
I'm a suffer-genius and then a sex symbol

But Eric had made a mistake. A grave mistake. He had introduced Pietro to John Allerdyce and decided to take pity on his son by not saying or doing anything about their...relationship.

It was now John Pietro went to to sob about being a traitor, being a horrible child, being a fucking faggot. And when Pietro, realizing what a horrible sin his mere existence was, tried to run away, John would grab his wrist and lay him on his bed, whispering to him, comforting him mentally and physically in ways Eric didn't want to know. He did, however, want to know what John said to Pietro to make him seem so upbeat when he left after a night of simple talking, no carnal activities involved.

Actually, mused Eric, staring into the fire, after all of that, he could see why Pietro hated him. But he must, he though hurridly, know that Eric loved him more than anything else in the world. He loved him more than he loved the thought of a world free of non-mutants, he loved him more than he loved the power of not being affected by Charles Xavier (as long as he wore the helmet), he loved him more than life itself.

Suddenly, Eric heard the door creak open over the sound of the oncoming storm outside.

"Father."

"Ah, Pietro, come here. I was just thinking about you." Eric smiled tiredly at the fire as he heard Pietro come to stand next to his chair.

"Father, I need to ask you something."

"Ask."

"Am I perfect yet?"

Eric looked up from the fire and at his son with mild surprise. "What do you mean?"

Pietro was holding back a look of annoyance, it was obvious. "When I was younger, you told me you'd stop training me and everything when I was perfect. Am I perfect yet?"

Eric regarded his son with weary eyes. "Why do you ask?"

This time Pietro did glare at him and make a small noise of irritation. "Because I want to know!" His eyes widened as soon as the question slipped out, and Eric could see he regretted his words immediately. "Be-because I want to know..." he said in a softer tone, suddenly finding his shoes much more interesting to look at than his father's face.

"But why do you want to know?" It was painfully obvious that this wasn't the only reason.

Pietro gulped and looked at his father in the eye. "I'm leaving. And I want to know if I'm perfect yet."

Eric's eyes widened, then narrowed with rage. "Leaving?" he asked sharply, no longer Eric but Magneto. "What do you mean leaving."

Pietro's glare matched his own. "I mean I'm going Father." he hissed through clenched teeth. "John is too. He's taking me away, Father, away from you and your psychopathic ideas, your sadistic training, and your complete lack of anything that could be considered care for your children or minions."

Eric was shocked. Pietro had never talked to him like this before. "You're-you're leaving with Pyro?!"

"Yes."

"Why?!"

"Because I love him and he loves me and he wants to give me a good life away from you. His book was just published and is raking in money as we speak. He can take care of me a shitload better than you could, because he really loves me, unlike you, you fucking MANIAC!" Pietro's usual poised image was crumbling as his anger took hold. "We were going to leave without telling you, you know! He's already bought an apartment in a city fa-ar away from here, but I just couldn't stand leaving without knowing whether or not I'm perfect in your eyes. So tell me, Father, am I perfect? Is your fairy, faggot, pussy son finally fucking perfect enough for you? Because let me tell you, you are NOT perfect for me! You're an overbearing self-centered psychopath who's spent more time worrying about how history will remember him as the Mutant Who Saved Us All then he's spent paying attention to his goddamn kids! Even if you hadn't sent her to a friggin' nuthouse, Wanda would still hate you because you're such a horrible person, not to mention father! So, tell me, Eric, am I good enough for you? I'm not leaving until you say it." he glared daggers at his father, trembling with rage and fear. "I'm not leaving until I hear you say I'm perfect and I don't fucking care what I have to do to hear you say it."

You wanted perfect, you got your perfect
Now I'm too perfect for someone like you
I was a dandy in your ghetto with a snow white smile
But you'll never be as perfect whatever you do

Eric found he no longer had the ability to speak. How could he? How could Pietro leave him? He was his father, no matter what he did he should love him and stay with him and forgive him for his sins, Eric didn't know how to be a father, he'd spent most of his childhood in a goddamn concentration camp!

And so Eric found his voice

"You-you-HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME THAT WAY?!!!" Eric screamed, the metal scattered about the room lifting with his anger. "YOU UNGRATEFUL BRAT!! I SPENT GOD KNOWS HOW LONG MAKING YOU INTO WHAT YOU ARE TODAY, TAKING CARE OF YOU, TRAINING YOU, GETTING YOU OUT OF PRISON, MAKING YOU THE LEADER OF THOSE MISCREANTS IN THE BROTHERHOOD, AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?!?! BY RUNNING OFF WITH THAT AUSTRALIAN POOF?!?!?! WHAT HAS HE DONE FOR YOU, BESIDES STICK HIS PENCIL-DICK UP YOUR WANTON ASS?! NOTHING!!! HE'S DONE NOTHING FOR YOU BESIDES THAT!! WHEN HE LEAVES YOU, WHEN YOU'RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH, WHERE WILL YOU GO THEN, HUH?! YOU'LL COME RUNNING BACK TO ME, THAT'S WHERE! YOU-"

"Father, I didn't come here to hear what you've done for me over the years. I know. I was there, in case you forgot. I just want to know if I'm perfect or not."

"FINE!!" roared Eric, metal flying around the room in a storm, much like the one only a mile away outside. "YOU'RE NOT PERFECT!! YOU'RE THE MOST IMPERFECT CREATURE I'VE EVER SEEN!! FAGGOT!! WEAKLING!! I'M ASHAMED TO ADMIT THAT IT WAS MY SEED THAT CREATED YOU!! YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN A NON-MUTANT!!! YOU'RE LOWER THAN A NON-MUTANT!! YOU'RE LOWER THAN BUG SHIT!! YOU'RE THE FARTHEST THING FROM PERFECT THAT EVER EXISTED!!"

Pietro stared back at him, anger burning in his eyes. There was no love. There was no remorse. Nothing was between them except anger and hatred.

"Say I'm perfect." Pietro growled out.

"NO!" bellowed Eric. The metal whirling in the air launched up and flew straight towards Pietro's head.

Pietro sidestepped it. The metal flew and stuck to the opposite wall.

"You can't hit me, Eric. You can't control me. Just tell me I'm perfect and I'll leave. John tells me I'm perfect. Why can't you?"

"Because you're NOT!" He screamed again, pulling the metal out of the wall and flinging it at Pietro again.

I got an F and a C, and I got a K too
And the only thing that's missing is a bitch like u

I am the penny in the ghetto with a snow white smile
Super ego-bitch, I've been evil a while
I am a dandy in the ghetto with a snow white smile
Super ego-bitch, I've been evil a while

Fast as lightening, Pietro was standing before him, the metal stuck in the other wall. Pietro's hands gripped Eric's throat tightly. "Tell me." he hissed. "Tell me I'm perfect and I'll leave. I'll never see you again."

"I don't WANT to not see you again!" gasped Eric, clawing at Pietro's hands. His only thought was getting Pietro's hands off him, he didn't even consider flying metal at him again. "I love you, Pietro, please!" he gasped for air. "Don't leave! You're not perfect but I can MAKE you perfect!"

"No you can't father. I already am perfect. John says I am. I just want to hear you say it."

"Why do you need him to tell you you're perfect?!" panted Eric, still struggling against his son. "What's so special about him?"

"He loves me."

"I love you."

"Prove it. Tell me I'm perfect. Let me go."

Eric stared into Pietro's eyes as if for the first time, those cold blue eyes so much like his. "Fine." he whispered hoarsly. Behind Pietro, the metal silently removed itself from the wall. "You're perfect Pietro. I love you and you're perfect."

Pietro let go of Eric's neck and stood back to regard his father with cold eyes. Eric massaged his neck, his eyes never leaving Pietro's. The metal flew in the air, ready to strike.

"Do you mean it?" asked Pietro, leaning in close again. "Or did you just say it to get me off you?"

"I mean it, Pietro, you're perfect. But I can think of one more way for you to be perfect..."

"What?" asked Pietro skeptically, leaning closer so his nose almost touched his fathers.

"If you were with your mother." said Magneto icily. "If you were dead."

Pietro's eyes widened in realization and at the last second he sped away from the metal.

The metal, on the other hand, sped straight into Eric's chest.

Eric gasped, his eyes wide. He stared up at his son, his beautiful son, his perfect son. "Pietro..." he gasped. "Help....me...."

"No." said Pietro simply. He turned and walked to the door, where John materialized. The Aussie stared at Eric with morbid fascination.

"I suppose it didn't go as well as you thought." said the pyromaniac, almost cheerfully.

"Not really..." said Pietro with a bored sigh, slipping his arms around John's neck. "But that doesn't matter. I got what I wanted."

Eric coughed up a mouthful of blood.

"Mmm...that's good. You're perfect, you know that, don't you PiePie." murmured John, kissing Pietro passionately on the mouth. To Eric's horror, Pietro responded energetically, clawing his hand up John's shirt. The moans the two boys made as they swapped saliva sickened Eric to no end, more than the blood caught in his throat did. Pietro pulled away from John and stared Eric in the eye with an evil, triumphant smile. "I do now. Let's go. Oh, no wait." he said, almost as an afterthought. For a breif, fleeting moment Eric thought that maybe they'd come and help him, take him to a hospital, something. "Why don't you have a little fun with that fire over there? Burning wood smells so much better than some stupid rotting corpse." he gave a little wave to Eric as John spread the fire around the room.

The image of his son kissing Pyro, yet staring victoriously at his father was the last thing Eric ever saw.

His perfect son.

What's my name? What's my name?
Ah-ah, Ah-ah
Hold the S because I am an ain't

His ain't.

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Zee: WOW! Twelve pages for a oneshot!

hide-chu: yeah, it was rather long. Also, Z-girl, I think you could have done better with getting the point across.

Zee: Hmm...yeah, I probably could have. Well, I think you all get the general idea. That I can't explain. Don't you hate when you have ideas you can't explain?

hide-chu: That's how I feel when I talk to anyone about you, Zee.

Zee: Quiet. So, yeah. Fear my attempt at...um...well, I don't know what genre that was, but it was....odd....yeah...(goes off and plays Final Fantasy Seven)

hide-chu: (rolls eyes) Please review....