Because X3 severely disappointed me with their misuse of many characters and lack of character development, I decided to write my first X-Men story in about a year and a half. This is going to be post X3, and it'll address what I think might have happened to Pyro after the movie . . . this is going to be fairly open ended, but it'll only be a one-shot, because I really don't have time to start another multi-chaptered story right now. Reviews will be much appreciated!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything from X-Men.
The first thing that struck him was the stark loneliness of his surroundings.
Holding his throbbing head in his hands, Pyro looked around at the devastation, and for once, wasn't able to enjoy it. It reeked of defeat. The whole area –every speck of rubble –smelled of death, even if he couldn't see any bodies around him.
This just made that infernal iciness inside him all the more horrifying.
What happened to everyone? He knew, saw the "pawns" charging, had seen them fall one by one, sacrificed for the greater good. He had witnessed –and caused –the deaths of many of the human soldiers fighting against them. So where were they now? And where did Bobby go?
Part of him wanted Bobby to have died, but at the same time, to have lived. Bobby had been his first friend, after all –despite how much he tried, no matter how disillusioned Bobby was to the cruel world, Pyro couldn't begrudge the nice, preppy kid who'd befriended him while everyone else ignored him because of his irritable temperament. But Bobby had changed; they both had. His old friend had become one of them, the traitors to their own cause.
What was Pyro's mission now? He'd devoted himself to Magneto's cause, to their cause. They were fighting for mutant freedom, for his fellow mutants who didn't even realize that they were being trapped, suffocated by society. They can't give up on them now; not even in the face of defeat, of desolate rubble. He had to find Magneto. He tried to pick himself up, but his muscles groaned with protest. Still, Pyro managed to stagger through the pain, and slowly but surely made his way across the broken Golden Gate Bridge.
Charles always liked to build bridges, Magneto had said.
But what happens when bridges break?
Pyro hated weakness. And this damn limp he had to suffer with was really staring to piss him off. Hands stuck determinedly in his pockets, Pyro trudged down the lonely San Francisco streets, reflecting on how much it sucked that Storm had killed Callisto. Otherwise he'd be able to find Magneto easier; he could be miles away by now. His increasingly bad mood was descending into hopelessness; there's no way he can find Magneto now.
But his thoughts were interrupted as he was suddenly sent sprawling on the ground by the person he'd walked into.
"Watch it, punk!" the guy snarled, spitting on the ground next to Pyro.
Pyro balled his fists, feeling a familiar sensation of fire in his veins –anger. Adrenaline burning up inside of him, Pyro leapt up, not so much as registering the sharp pain in his leg. "Yeah?" he mocked, "What're you going to do about it?"
But once the guy got a good look at Pyro's face, his eyes grew as big as saucers. "You –you're that mutant on T.V.!"
"Huh?" Pyro asked dumbly, the rush gone now, replaced by increased pain in his leg. Then he turned his head to the electronics store to his right, the televisions on display playing a newscast featuring a large shot of Pyro, with the label "Dangerous Wanted Mutant Terrorist: Involved in Alcatraz Raid and Various Terrorist Activities".
"Shit," he whispered, fear seizing him.
"Hey, CATCH THAT GUY!" the man yelled as Pyro suddenly took off. Soon, a police officer who happened to be nearby was on his tail, along with some more meddling do-gooders.
Why does this always happen to me? Pyro thought angrily, cursing his damn leg, its limp preventing him from running properly, and his horrible luck. Fate was against him now.
Just as that thought crossed his mind, he tripped and stumbled, landing hard on the ground as the hurried footsteps behind him neared. Determinedly ignoring the pain, he launched himself forward, knowing that he'd rather die than get captured. Acting instinctively, he sent out a spray of fire behind him, giving him brief cover.
Turning a sharp corner, Pyro was out of their sight for a few precious seconds. Turning to see if anyone followed, a strong arm grabbed Pyro by the scruff of his neck into an alley and pulled the furiously struggling boy through a door.
"Relax, my dear boy; it's me."
"Magneto?" Pyro asked, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank god it's you; I thought one of them had gotten me."
"Nearly, but not quite. Not while I have anything to do with it." Magneto replied.
Pyro glanced at him questionably. Something was different; he could feel it. Magneto's voice, though still deep and resonant, had lost some of its quality. He just sounded so . . . tired.
"What happened? I mean –we lost, I figured that out, but what about Jean? Couldn't she have just have blown everyone up or something?"
Magneto sat down heavily before gesturing to the chair in front of him. After Pyro complied, his mentor did not meet his eyes for a long, stretching silence, which began to worry him. Just as he was about to press him for an answer, Magneto spoke.
"I made an old man's mistake, my boy, an old man's fatal mistake. Charles was right after all; I had unleashed a monster. Perhaps control is necessary sometimes, as is sacrifice."
Pyro stared at him, unable to believe that the broken, tired man in front of him was the energetic, driven, great Magneto.
"But –but we can stop her, right? Regroup, and finish what we started?"
Magneto shook his head soberly. "Wolverine has already taken care of it for us; he sacrificed Jean in order to save us all from the Phoenix. I must admit that I had never given him much credit before."
"Then let's start again. We've still got to have supporters; we can still fight!"
"No, John, we will fight no longer," Magneto said sharply, his blazing eyes letting Pyro know that he had the last word on the matter.
But Pyro merely shook his head, standing up suddenly despite his leg's protests. "Why? Have you gone soft? Weren't you the one who said we can never give up our cause, even if the whole world opposes us? Didn't you say that our crusade was one of the most important campaigns in freedom for mutants against our oppressors? And my name's not John; it's Pyro."
Magneto looked at him sadly. "No, my boy; you'll always be John. Pyro is merely a costume, one similar to what we all wear." His eyes suddenly locked on Pyro's injured leg. "What happened?"
Pyro looked down. Oh. He hadn't noticed it before, but his pant leg was now soaked with blood. "I dunno," he muttered, "Something must have fallen on it while I was out."
"You need to get that wound cleaned," Magneto said, "Sit back down."
"No," Pyro said, wincing when he realized how childish his whiny defiance was, "Not until you come back to your senses about the Brotherhood!"
"There is no more Brotherhood, John, now sit down!" Magneto snapped, the charismatic authority in his voice briefly sparking some life in him. Grudgingly, Pyro sat down, silently taking off his boots and rolling up his pants. Much as he'd like to deny it, the wound did look sort of bad.
He wasn't sure how, but Magneto had somehow managed to compile a decent first aids kit from the meager supplies available.
"Where are we anyway?" Pyro said grumpily.
"I have no idea; but it seems to have been abandoned for a while, so I believe we are safe for now," Magneto said while cleaning the wound.
They were silent for a long time; Pyro brooding, and Magneto dressing the wound.
"When I was a young man, in the concentration camps, we saw horrors that you cannot imagine," Magneto said quietly. Pyro looked up in surprise, wondering where this was going. Magneto almost never talked about his experience during the Holocaust if he could help it. "Torture, the reduction of human beings to animals, terrible, terrible methods. Did you know that they liked to perform medical experiments on pregnant women and twins, all for the 'greater good'?"
Pyro had to shake his head. They were supposed to have begun studying World War II in history at Xavier's when Stryker attacked. And as he'd never returned, Pyro had never completed that particular part of the curriculum.
"Yes, I knew one of the twins they experimented on. Jewish friends in my youth, you see. I saw them while laboring in the fields; I only had a glimpse, but that was enough. They had been sewn together at the back, their wounds neither cleaned nor cared for, so you can imagine they were in a great deal of pain. That was the point, you see, to test their capacity for pain. I heard later that their parents had somehow managed to get a hold of morphine, and overdosed them in order to put them out of their misery."
Pyro couldn't meet Magneto's eyes. This was obviously a very personal, painful memory for him, and he couldn't imagine why he was sharing this with him now.
"Done," Magneto said, finishing the wrapping. "We had to be resourceful, cunning; those who were any less than that did not survive. And millions did not; most didn't deserve the cruelty they were dealt, just as most mutants don't deserve the prejudice we now face. But sometimes, John, we can fight no longer and must put ourselves out of our misery."
"What are you talking about?" Pyro snapped, angry and scared at this sudden change in attitude. For as long as he'd followed him, Magneto had always been conveniently consistent with his beliefs and actions. There wasn't one day when he'd feel one way then suddenly change it the next. John's parents had been that way; they had never particularly cared about him, so when his mutant abilities were discovered, and they kicked him out, it didn't hurt as much as it should have because honestly, he'd been expecting to be disappointed his whole life. And now Magneto was disappointing him too, and in his own way, kicking him out.
Except this time, it did hurt.
"So that's it, then?" Pyro said angrily, "The great Magneto is just going to give up? You're going to just forget you could ever had powers and –and be nothing?"
Magneto was silent. "I already am nothing, my dear boy," he said in that new, tired voice, "Our fellow mutants have cursed me."
"Wh –what?" Pyro stuttered, taken aback and surprised into silence.
"I have been cured," Magneto said, great sarcasm and bitterness laced in his voice, "by the X-Men. I'm one of them now. So you see, John, I can do nothing for our cause, not anymore. Everything that made me who I am is gone now."
Pyro sat down, unable to bear standing any longer. "I can continue it," he said fiercely, "I've still got my powers, and you've got your brains, even if you don't have your powers; we can still keep on going."
To be honest, even Pyro wasn't sure why he was pressing this so hard. Maybe because without it, he'd be nothing, just as Magneto feels he is nothing; without it, Pyro would have no purpose in the world, and that emptiness would be worse than having died on Alcatraz, fighting for his beliefs.
"No," Magneto said sharply, "No, you will not fight anymore; be honest with yourself, John; you never had enough true ruthlessness in you anyway."
"What's that supposed to mean?" John asked, his temper and frustration flaring up again.
"You could have killed your friend –you should have. Iceman lacks any sort of ruthlessness at all; that's why he merely knocked you out instead of turning you into a Popsicle. You, on the other hand, don't mind playing dirty, and, I might add, have considerably more evolved powers than your old friend does. You were winning, last time I saw; the only reason I can think of your defeat was your own hesitation, conscious or subconscious. You couldn't finish it, despite all your talk of being ready. No one is truly ready to kill; they either can or cannot, but no one really knows until they're tested."
Pyro hung his head. "So basically, I'm a pathetic failure."
"No, dear boy, it's not a failure to be unable to take the life of another; some consider it a virtue. Never be ashamed because you could not kill your old friend."
There was such a bitter sadness in Magneto's voice that Pyro suspected he may not have just been talking about Bobby.
"What am I supposed to do?" Pyro asked, not bothering to hide the desperation in his voice, "I'm a wanted criminal; where am I supposed to go, if you won't take me?"
Magneto looked at him sadly. "You'd be in even worse danger if you stayed with me. I must say that I rank considerably higher than you on the Wanted list, and if they were to find us, I could do nothing to help you."
"I can take care of it,"
"No; they're learning, don't you remember the plastic weapons? Soon they will find a way to handicap your powers as well, and we'll both find ourselves locked in a cell. There's no point, and two people attract more attention than one."
But Pyro just kept shaking his head, unable to believe this. "I can't –I devoted myself to this cause, Magneto, and you're just telling me to start hiding, forget I was ever a mutant? That I could ever do this?" To emphasize his point, he produced a small fireball, rotating it in the air slowly.
"You still have your lighter, do you not?" Magneto asked suddenly.
Pyro frowned. "Yeah. Why?"
"Why do you keep it?"
Pyro shrugged. He'd never really thought about it before. "Sentimental reasons, I guess."
"Go back to them, John," Magneto said, watching Pyro fiddle with the Zippo like he used to.
"Who?"
"Them. The X-Men, Charles, your friends."
"Ex-friends."
"But friends all the same. Despite our differences, Charles and I remained friends, and I could never bring myself to kill him for our cause; Wolverine and Storm asked me, that day, why I didn't save him, but in truth I couldn't. Nothing could have stopped the Phoenix."
Shaking his head stubbornly, Pyro stated, "They'll never take me back, not after everything I've done. Best case scenario: turn me over to the government."
"What's the worst case?"
"Kill me, or shoot me with the cure."
"Do you honestly believe your friends will let them kill you, or cure you, for that matter?" Magneto asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Why not? They did it to you."
"Because it was in the heat of battle, because I was a threat to all they stood for. They hold the moral high ground, John; I don't think they have it in them to force the cure on a boy, one they know personally, who is asking for their help. Well, Wolverine might, but you'd best avoid him, then, won't you?"
Pyro grimaced. "But why are you telling me to go to them? I mean, shouldn't you be telling me to continue the cause, keep on fighting? Never give up?"
Magneto smiled. "I tell you to do what's best for your interest, not in the interest of the cause, because I have never considered you a pawn."
Despite himself, Pyro had to smile. "I never got your obsession with chess."
"Oh, it's quite a lovely game, and holds many parallels to life and our war. I am the king, if I do say so myself, Mystique was the queen, and you, my boy, are the bishop. Never a pawn, not even a knight or a rook. You are far more valuable than any of them."
"Because of my powers?"
"Partially, but not entirely. For both your powers and you, as a person. You were the fledgling Mystique and I took under our wing, who spent sleepless nights with us running from base to base, training and helping us plan. We care far too much about you to just send you into the fray without a thought to your life. Why do you think I held you back at Alcatraz as much as I did? I wanted to reduce your chances of dying."
"And it worked."
"Yes, my boy, it did indeed."
They were silent for a while, the student and the teacher, before Pyro broke the silence.
"Why'd you abandon her?"
"Mystique?"
"Yeah."
Magneto sighed, looking tired again. "Another old man's mistake. I foolishly allowed myself to sway to their beliefs, somehow, without knowing it. I allowed my hatred of the mutant haters cloud my judgment, allow me to hate even the most loyal companion I've ever had, just because she became human –to save me. It was foolish, and now, one of my greatest regrets. She must have felt so betrayed."
Pyro nodded, feeling ashamed. "She did. But I should have told you to bring her with us. I didn't want to, but I should have said something."
"You did, after."
Pyro blushed, remembering his little temper tantrum yelling match with Magneto. "But I should have said it then, on the convoy."
Another wave of silence elapsed. This seems to happen a lot, Pyro thought to himself, but he didn't really mind. After chaos, silence becomes a blessing.
"I'm so sorry, John."
Pyro cocked his head to one side, confused. "For what? You've done nothing but help me."
Magneto shook his head. "No, I'm not sorry for showing you the truth. I'm sorry because I've led you into a dead end. By encouraging you to join my cause, by taking you in, I did not liberate you as I thought I would the world, but instead limited you and your prospects. You're still young, John, and I've ruined everything you could have done with your life."
"But I don't regret it –any of it," Pyro insisted, determined to stop this defeated mood of Magneto's, "I made my choice, and this was it. I don't care –I fought for what I believed in, and that's all I could hope to do."
"But I care, John, and I want what's best for you now. I'm an old man now; I'm obsolete, but you're young and vital . . . you still have a chance to do good in this world, though perhaps you can fight in a different way. By surviving."
Tongue in his throat, Pyro didn't say anything to that, but he did think about Magneto's words.
"I think you should get going, before they discover us here," Magneto suggested.
Pyro looked at his injured leg pessimistically. "It's going to one pain in the ass walk to New York with this piece of shit."
"Walk? Who said anything about walking that long way?" Magneto asked, "You'll have to walk a little ways, but if I remember correctly, it's not far from here."
"Manchester's on the other side of the country," Pyro corrected him.
"Yes, of course, but I'm talking about Mystique."
"Mystique? But wouldn't she be in jail and pissed off?"
Regret flashed through Magneto's tired features. "She's one of the most resourceful and cunning people I know; if I know her as well as I think I do, then she would have struck a deal with the government for full immunity and other benefits in exchange for information on us. And since Multiple Man seems to have been captured, it would appear that she did give away our position."
"Then wouldn't she give me up to the government?"
"Mystique was always quite fond of you; she's more likely to help you than betray you."
"I always thought she hated me."
Magneto laughed. "But you see, my boy, that is merely how she shows it."
"Okay, then, how do I find her?"
Reaching into his pocket, Magneto pulled out a map of San Francisco. "It was always Mystique's dream to live in a particular house here, after the war was over and she was free. You see, she has been living in the shadows her whole life, unable to walk in the sun in her true body. But how she has the chance to, and I would imagine she'd have negotiated with them to place her in this house."
Using a pencil, Magneto showed Pyro the way to Mystique's house. After having to ask him to explain a couple more times, Pyro got it down, and he tucked the map into his pants pocket. They both stood up, realizing that this would be the last goodbye.
Pyro extended his hand, feeling sad despite himself. Smiling, Magneto shook it, his grip still strong.
"Thanks –for everything." Pyro said simply, unable to voice everything he was feeling at the moment. Gratefulness, sadness, fear that he'd be walking alone now. But from the look in Magneto's eye, he understood everything his pupil could not say.
"Goodbye, John. Perhaps one day we'll meet again, and I'll teach you about the fine art of chess; but I doubt we will. So I say goodbye, my boy, and good luck to you."
John smiled sadly. "Goodbye . . . Erik."
John tentatively walked up Mystique's steps, praying that she would be feeling charitable. As he stood in front of her door, he raised his fist to knock before losing his nerve and putting it back down again. Just do it, you coward, knocking on a stupid door isn't hard.
But before he could actually knock, the door had opened, revealing a pale, raven haired Mystique on the other side. "John," she said briskly, "What are you doing here?"
"I –I need help," he muttered, disliking having to ask people for help. "If –if you don't want to, I'll understand."
"Don't be ridiculous," she said, "Come in."
"Really?" John asked, surprised.
Mystique sent him her usual nasty glare. "Would you rather stand outside?"
"No," John squeaked, unsure why he was always scared of her for some reason yet perfectly comfortable around Magneto.
She had obviously just moved in, so John considered himself lucky about his timing. Come a day before, maybe even a few hours, and she wouldn't have even been here, leaving John alone with nothing. Watching Mystique closing the door, John couldn't help but stare. He just wasn't used to seeing her . . . normal. No, not normal; her blue skin and scales were her normality. She just looked so different now.
"What?" she snapped once she noticed his blatant staring.
"N –nothing," John said quickly, "It's just . . . I'm not used to seeing you . . ."
"With clothes on?" Mystique said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. John seriously hoped she was making a friendly joke.
"Tan," he responded instead. "Good look on you."
For once, her expression was neither condescending nor sinister. "Thank you. Sit down."
Obediently, John sat down on the plastic covered furniture. "How've you been?" he asked spontaneously, disliking the uncomfortable silence.
"Oh, since you abandoned me? Peachy."
John winced. "I'm really sorry about that, and he sends his apologies too."
Mystique sat down across from him, crossing her legs confidently. "I know. You probably had a big fight with him about that later, didn't you?"
"Yeah," John admitted. "How'd you know?"
"Your facial expression. But you didn't argue with him then and there. I'm assuming because you didn't want to undermine his authority in front of the new recruits?"
John nodded. "Always amazed me how observant you were."
Mystique graced him with a rare smile. "Thank you. Now enough with the buttering up. What do you want?"
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Mystique was always so blunt; it was one of the things he respected about her. "Can you get me to Manchester?"
She cocked her head quizzically. "You're going back to the X-Men? Why?"
"Apparently Erik says it's in my best interest. And I'm kind of a wanted terrorist now. Please, Mystique; I'd rather die than get caught by them. Even if it does mean going back to the X-Men." John spat..
Mystique listened to his little rant with a strange expression on her face. Standing up elegantly, she picked up her car keys from the table. "Stay here," she ordered as she began to exit the house.
"Wait! Where are you going? Can you even drive?"
The condescending look of disgust was back. "I've flown helicopters with relative ease; what makes you think I'm incapable of driving a metal contraption on the ground? Make yourself at home, but whatever you do stay there. If I come back and find you've taken off, so help me I will hunt you down myself and snap your neck. You will not jeopardize my new life and get me hauled back in a cell."
"Yes ma'am," John said sarcastically, saluting her. And with a scoff, Mystique had slammed the door shut and was gone.
Not trusting her "make yourself at home" commented, John merely made himself as comfortable as he could on her couch, letting his lack of sleep take over as his eyelids slid shut.
However, his nice, dreamless sleep had been rudely ruined by a sharp, experienced hand smacking him on the back of his head.
"Wake up!"
John's eyelids flew open immediately, and had launched himself into an offensive stance instinctively. "You scared the living hell out of me!" he exclaimed. "Don't do that!"
Mystique shrugged, smiling impishly. "But it's so amusing, fire-boy."
He scowled. He hatedthat –that pet name she had for him, the one she only used when she felt particularly like irritating him to no end. "I'm glad I can be such a great source of entertainment blue-girl." But once the words had escaped his tongue, John immediately regretted it, but knew he couldn't take it back.
She was looking at him, a deep sadness in her eyes as she examined the skin on the back of her hands.
"I –I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that –" John apologized, knowing that he had just hit a sore spot, essentially rubbing it in.
"It's fine," she said quietly, "I'll get over it. This is what I always wanted, isn't it?"
But John knew that it wasn't. She hadn't wanted this at all.
"C'mere," she instructed, leading him into the kitchen.
Good, I'm starving, John thought ruefully.
But once he entered the kitchen, Mystique was suddenly advancing towards him, attacking his hair with a comb. Panicked, John dodged out of the way, dancing around her advances, feeling utterly ridiculous while doing so.
"What are you doing?" John demanded as Mystique tried to corner him with the comb.
"Dying your hair," she said a matter-of-factly. "Can't have people recognizing you, can we? The authorities will be looking for a blonde."
"But why?" John all but whined. He wasn't a girl; he didn't enjoy having to deal with hair . . . things! And he really didn't trust Mystique with that comb; with that woman, everything was a potential weapon, and he was sure that she wasn't going to let their abandonment of her slip that easily, despite her wanting to help him escape the authorities.
Unfortunately, Mystique won out in the end, and John grudgingly found his hair being dyed to its natural brown, the same color it had been when he attended Xavier's school. And she had pulled out quite a few of John's hairs in the process, though John seriously doubted that unnecessary pain was anything but accidental on her part.
After that had been finished, she threw a new pair of jeans and a sweatshirt at him, which he quickly changed into in her bathroom.
"What do we do with these?" he asked, holding up his bloodstained cargos.
"Burn them," Mystique replied, staring up her fireplace and tossing them in. "Can't have any incriminating evidence." She looked up at John. "Would you rather stay the night or get going now?"
John thought about it. Though he'd rather get a decent night's sleep before having to heading to the emotional basket case that was his old school, he didn't want to impose on Mystique any longer, especially not after they abandoned her, yet she still helped him so much. Besides, the longer he stayed in her home, the more danger he was putting her in.
"I think I'd better get going now," he said.
"I'll give you a ride," she replied, and refused to deter from her decision, despite John's protests.
So they found themselves sitting in Mystique's car on the way to the bus station, which John would take on a one-way trip to Manchester. As boring as he knew the ride was inevitably going to be, he couldn't help but shake that deep fear that was resonating in his chest. He'd already left Magneto, and when Mystique pulled out of that parking lot back to her new life, it meant that everything he knew was going to be gone, just like that.
They'd moved on, or have resigned themselves to being broken old men, and John was now caught in a crossroads. He understood now what Magneto was saying about his lost prospects.
John had to smile at the irony of it all. Once, his life had been at a crossroads, and he had been torn between the X-Men and the Brotherhood. He made his choice, and had been fairly happy with it, but now that road was closed up to him, and there was no more choice, not anymore. Now, his only option was to retrace his steps, back to the crossroads, and take the other fork.
He just really hoped that other road wasn't closed to him either. If it was, he'll probably end up homeless, wandering the streets, and die a useless, unfulfilled death. And that was as worse a fate than anything John could ever imagine for himself, or anybody, for that matter.
"We're here," Mystique's voice broke his train of thought.
"Are they watching you?" John asked, realizing that it was a bit late for this question, "Will you be questioned about bringing me here?"
Mystique shrugged. "I'll just say that I picked up a hitchhiker who needed a ride." Reaching into her coat pocket, she handed him several bills of money. "Some of it's for your bus ride, the rest of it food or whatever else you need." Then Mystique did something extremely uncharacteristic. She reached over and gave the stunned boy a hug.
John looked at her strangely when she released him from her grasp.
"Goodbye, Pyro, John, fire-boy, whatever you're calling yourself these days," Mystique said, smiling. "I hope they accept you again, but if not, kick their asses for me."
Grinning, John winked cockily. "Will do. Thanks for all the help; stay well."
Climbing out of the car, John was going to watch Mystique leave, but found that she was waiting for him, making sure that he got on the bus first. He smiled. It was such a maternal thing to do, and it was incredibly ironic that this sarcastic, condescending ex-blue mutant was more of a mother to him than anyone ever had.
Actually, it was sort of disturbing, if he really thought about it.
Shaking his head at his ridiculous thoughts, John promptly bought his tickets and started to board the bus, briefly holding up the line by standing still on the step, watching Mystique's bright blue car driving off into the distance, his last connection with his Brotherhood family gone.
Sighing wistfully, John continued up the steps and found himself an isolated seat, placing a sulky expression on his face before succumbing to sleep, dreaming of flying old men and bridges, in a world where everything was tinted blue.
John felt like the ride to Manchester was all too short. But maybe that was just the procrastinator in him talking, the one who had left all his homework assignments to the last minute, usually in the dead of night before it was due, or in the bare hours of the morning, which he did the most often, just to piss Bobby off.
He really was not looking forward to this reunion.
The gates of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters looked far more intimidating than it had when John had first arrived on its doorsteps, alone and rejected in the world. He was still alone now, but it held an even emptier echo because his loneliness now was of loss. H knew what it was like to lose people now; knew what it was like to care.
Surprisingly, he found the gates unlocked. They really need to up their security, John mused. Deciding that just walking in would probably cause widespread panic, John decided to ring that same doorbell from years ago.
The door opened, and John found himself face to face with Rogue.
"J –John?" Rogue asked, eyes wide in shock.
"Hi," he said lamely. Suddenly feeling awkward and stupid, having nothing to do with his hands, he got out his old lighter strictly out of habit and began to click it on and off, something he hadn't done a long time.
But seeing this motion did not reassure Rogue as it did John. Quite the contrary, it made her eyes widen even more, this time in fear, and she screamed for help, making a move to close the door on John, her old friend, forever.
"No, Rogue, wait! I wasn't –" he tried to explain, but couldn't finish as he had to narrowly duck a spray of ice aimed directly at his head.
Bobby, eyes hard as ice, stepped out and, in one swift motion, pinned John against the wall.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't bash your head on this wall, Pyro," he sneered, but beneath that sneer John could sense confusion and possible relief that John hadn't been disintegrated. John probably would have been too thick to notice it before, but that was exactly how he felt seeing his ex-best friend, the guy who head-butted him with his icicle face and knocked him out. The guy John simply could not bring himself to kill.
"Bobby, wait, he was trying to say something before," Rogue protested, placing a placating arm on Bobby's shoulder, "I overreacted."
Giving his girlfriend an incredulous look, Bobby gestured at John, who was looking around for a way out of Bobby's grip. "Look at him, Rogue! He's not the same John we knew. He tried –hell, he was eager –to kill me at Alcatraz and he's turned into a terrorist. Magneto's lackey."
"I resent being called a lackey," John said irritably, remembering Magneto's words about never having considered him a pawn.
"Lackey!" Bobby spat nastily.
Someone has a lot of pent up anger, John thought. "That's pretty malicious, Bob."
"So is blowing up a building when you know Marie might have been in it."
John winced, remorse washing over him. "I know." He met Rogue's eyes, "I made sure you weren't anywhere in that line, I swear."
"And she should take the word of a lunatic, fanatic terrorist?" Bobby shot back.
Finding his opening, John was able to slip out of Bobby's grasp and regain the advantage, shoving Bobby back against the wall and pinning him there.
"You'll never understand," John said, shaking his head, "We believed we were doing the right thing." I still do.
"What are you doing here, John?" Rogue asked softly, but made no move to try and disarm him.
John opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly sensed a presence behind him. Swerving out of the way of Wolverine's fist, he had to let go of Bobby and jump down to the bottom of the steps.
"You're alive," Wolverine said dubiously.
"I guess."
"But Jea –Phoenix incinerated everyone."
"She must have missed one."
For a moment, they were at a standstill, the three X-Men and the former Brotherhood member. Then, in a blink of an eye, Wolverine had run behind John and trapped him, brandishing his claws threateningly towards John's throat.
"Coming to finish what you started, eh, bub? Going to burn your old home down?"
Instead of a defiant sneer, instead of seeing fire blazing in Pyro's eyes, they saw quiet sadness in John's. "No," he said softly, "I'm here to ask your help."
"Help? Why would we help you?"
John shrugged. "I dunno. But I'm wanted by the government, and . . . and I didn't have anywhere else to go." He figured that mentioning that Magneto practically had to coax him into coming back to them wouldn't do much on the niceties front.
Though he'd been avoiding their faces throughout his pitch, John managed to summon enough courage to meet Bobby and Rogue's eyes. They looked conflicted.
Wolverine's, however, was not. There was an intense pain in his eyes that told John he obviously wasn't over Jean, and the sacrifice he had to make that day. Hardness took over his eyes as he released John and pushed him in front of him.
"We won't be betrayed, John . . . not again."
John felt his whole body stiffen at those words, inexplicable fear gripping him tightly, making his hands feel as cold as they did when Bobby had grabbed him, freezing his tools of fire manipulation. And judging by the expressions on Bobby and Rogue's faces, his fear must have shown on his face.
They were not going to kill him; he wouldn't let them. Nor would they capture him, and give him up, all chained up. No, he did not escape Alcatraz just to be thrown back in custody. Knowing he had no right to, but feeling completely betrayed nonetheless, John just shook his head in denial, avoiding his former friends' eyes.
"This was a mistake," he muttered to himself, "I knew I shouldn't have listened to him, I knew it."
"Just keep moving, John," Wolverine ordered from behind him. So that was it, wasn't it? They were going to detain him, question him before turning him over, or killing him. Which would be worse, he wondered. But honestly, he'd prefer neither.
John pivoted suddenly, ducked Wolverine's claws, and made a run for it, back to the outside world of Xavier's gates, away from what was once his safety and home. Unfortunately, Wolverine had different plans for him. His fist came crashing down on the back of John's head, sending him crumbling to the ground
Somewhere, in between the pain in his head, the renewed agony in his inflamed leg, and the descending emptiness, John could have sworn he had heard a furious female voice demanding for Wolverine to stop. How nice, was John's last delirious thought before darkness filled his vision.
"-don't know what Logan was thinking. John wasn't hurting anyone!"
"He was trying to run away. He made his own mistakes, Rogue, and he needs to own up to them."
"But Logan was . . . he doesn't have a right to use John as a scapegoat for Jean's death; he was knocked out when she died anyway, right? Although I wonder why he wasn't . . . you know."
"Does it matter? Now we can hand him over and get all the reward money," Bobby replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Bobby! We are not going to give him up to the authorities!"
"Why not?"
"He was our friend Bobby, we'd be betraying him."
"Yeah, he was our friend. And he betrayed us first."
"Bobby," there was a dangerous clip to Rouge's voice now, "Stop being stupid and just admit that you missed him."
"Did not."
"What are you, ten?"
"Five, actually."
Rogue ignored that comment. "There's still a chance; what if he genuinely wants to come back? It's what we wanted, right?"
"No. Not since that bastard came charging at me, eager to fight. He's come back to us, right, but how do we know it's not a threat? There aren't any more psychics here to check if his intentions are true, what if he was here to burn the mansion down? Face it, Rogue; everything they stood for is ruined. John always liked big explosions. What if he figured, why not end it with a bang?"
"You called him John."
"What?"
"You called him John, not Pyro."
"Why the hell does that matter?" Bobby said irritably.
"Shouldn't swear . . . doesn't suit you," John mumbled, not really thinking about whether it was very smart to speak or not. His whole body ached; why did he listen to the old man? Obviously he was going senile, sending him here, with an irate Wolverine who apparently still has issues to work out. His leg was probably infected now. Figures.
Who was he kidding? He couldn't even beat Bobby, even though that was apparently due to a subconscious hesitation. Damn instincts.
"Aren't you supposed to be still down after being beat to a pulp?" Bobby asked. John wasn't sure whether to interpret this as sarcastic or a sincere display of Iceball's severe dislike of him.
"I'm like a cockroach," John said cheerfully, just to piss him off, "I always come back."
"Sure look like one," Bobby commented, gesturing with his hands the bruises on John's face.
"That's not very nice," John retorted, finding himself falling back easily into their old banter routine, "I thought your Mommy would have taught you better."
John was sure this comment would have made Bobby's eyes narrow, clench his fists and make his eyes cold at the low blow. However, he didn't seem to think much of this comment, merely continuing with the exchange of insults.
"At least I have a Mommy," Bobby replied slyly.
John frowned. Now that was uncalled for.
Rogue looked between the two of them, a knowing smile on her face. No matter how eager they were to try and best each other, to see who could kick whose ass, or their differences in beliefs, it seemed that their ability to remain friends was still rooted in insults and fights. And rooted it remains, like Magneto and Xavier's friendship. Complete opposites, fire and ice, never expected to have been friends in normal circumstances. But these were not normal circumstances, not by any means, and therefore, it happened.
Sometimes normality isn't needed in order for something to flourish and remain.
And they didn't even realize it.
"Where'd you learn to head-butt like that?" John asked, rubbing his head unconsciously. "That really hurt, though I guess it helped that you were a freaking glacier."
Rogue noted the other typical boy characteristic; forgive and forget. Or, she supposed in this instance –injure and forgive.
"Logan."
John grimaced. "No wonder,"
But despite their progress, Bobby seemed to be holding something back. It was as if there was something he was itching to do, something he had to in order to move on beyond the rift that had formed between them.
"Get up," Bobby said suddenly.
"What?"
"You wanted to fight, let's fight; but no powers." Bobby challenged, the tone in his voice daring John to back out.
Rogue frowned. They were talking just now; how'd this get violent? "Bobby, maybe you should think about this for a second –"
"Let's go," John responded quickly, fire in his eyes. There's no way he'd back down from a challenge. "Pretty cowardly, though; fighting someone injured."
"I'd say you were the coward, for leaving us. 'Kid's table shit' was what you said. Did Alcatraz look like shit to you? Were Xavier, Scott, and Jean's deaths worth shit? Did you care?" Bobby asked, his voice growing angrier. The hostile atmosphere that charged between them when John first showed up on the front steps came back.
His accusations were making John angry now. "You don't get to judge me, Bobby."
"Says who? I'm probably the only one who knows you well enough to be able to judge you!"
"D'you really think you know me? If you really knew me, then why couldn't you figure out why I left, why I stayed with them? Why I came back? Why I couldn't kill you at Alcatraz? Why you beat me?"
"Why don't you share it with the class, John?" Bobby said, mimicking their teachers' most common comment to him.
But John, wanting severely to chisel that smirk out of Bobby's face, made the first swing, connecting cleanly with Bobby's cheek. Pretty soon, both boys were viciously fighting, and Bobby was surprised to see John putting up a very good fight despite his injuries. Maybe he really was holding back in Alcatraz after all.
"Why, John?" Bobby grunted, trapping John in a headlock. "Why couldn't you kill me? You seemed a little crazy to me." And it was true; Bobby saw an uncontrollable fire in John's eyes –a desire for destruction.
John slipped out of the headlock, regaining the advantage. "I just . . . couldn't!" he nearly shouted, "Not everything is in neat little boxes, Iceballs –so no, I don't know exactly why. Same reason why you only knocked me out, I guess."
But as he reached this conclusion, he left himself at an opening, which Bobby used to land a firm, hard punch in the exact spot John had began the fight in. The force of the blow knocked John off of his feet and onto the floor, making his ass sore in addition to everything else.
"You okay?" Rogue asked, who'd been watching from her safe corner.
"Does it look like I'm okay?" John griped grumpily, now sulking that he had lost –again.
Bobby walked over to him and extended his hand. "Friends?" he asked, smirking triumphantly. John accepted the help up, but then pulled Bobby down on the floor with him with all his might, laughing as Bobby glared resentfully at him.
"If I get to pull Bobby Drake off his high horse once in a while, I guess I can stand us being friends again," John said, laughing his first, genuine laugh in a long time.
Bobby grinned. "I think he's trustworthy," he called to the ceiling.
John narrowed his eyes, not liking the implications. Either Bobby has gone insane and now has imaginary friends in the walls, or the room, their fight, their argument, was bugged.
Sure enough, Storm and Wolverine walked in through the infirmary doors, Storm smiling somewhat warmly, Wolverine looking skeptical.
"You're right, Logan," Bobby commented, "Using John as a punching bag feels really good."
"Glad to know I'm useful for something," John muttered.
"This'll be your second and last chance, bub," Wolverine growled, "Mess it up, and I stick you myself."
"Okay," John said. A very painful death would be good to avoid. "So you're not going to hand me over?"
Storm shook her head. "No, John, we're not, but I, for one, am not entirely sure if we can completely trust you. You broke our trust when you ran away; it'll be hard to gain back."
John nodded. He could accept that. "Do I still have to go to school?" he asked, almost pleadingly.
Rogue rolled her eyes. "Seeing as you never finished, yes."
"Damn," John sighed. "Listen . . . thanks, for deciding against, you know, killing me. And I'd much rather not live in a cell, either. So . . . thanks."
"Isn't that cute, Bobby? John's actually blushing," Rogue teased.
"Shut up." John said, forcing himself to smile. Despite everything, he knew that this familiar ease was only a shadow of what it once was. Too much has happened, too much has come between them for everything to be like it was.
Bobby and John could salvage their deeply rooted friendship, as Magneto and Xavier had maintained all these years, but like with them, it will never be the same. They will respect each other, care about each other, but there will always be a rift, an underlying tension between two different beliefs. But they will be friends all the same.
John could see the rift now, in Bobby's eyes. Underneath the warm eyes that had greeted John on his first day at the mansion was wariness, distrust. Bobby would never completely trust him again, not after his "betrayal". Perhaps they could build that trust again, with effort from both sides, but that trust will never be as carelessly given as it had been. But that combined effort could actually forge an even stronger trust if they let it, if they can get past their conflicts. And John believed they could.
Rogue seemed to be the most eager to believe John was "good" again. But maybe, since she'd finally gotten her cure, her solution, she would prefer to believe that they could have a typical fairy tale ending. The one who'd betrayed them comes back, they're all one big happy family again. John would be willing to repair his relationship with her again as well, and he knew, even understood, her reasons for getting the cure. However, some part of him will always resent her for giving in, for giving the mutant haters what they want –a world where mutants don't exist.
Storm smiled cautiously, and it was obvious to John that she was only accepting him back in Xavier's memory, and because Bobby approved. It only seemed appropriate for it to be Bobby and Rogue's decision –they were the ones who were hurt the most by his betrayal. Wolverine wasn't even bothering to hide his animosity; he was openly glaring at John, and the look in his eyes told him that if he ever hurt Rogue again, Wolverine would personally hunt him down and murder him. John expected no less.
John would have thought that he'd respect Wolverine for his ability to kill; something that John cannot do. But strangely enough, the thing he respected Wolverine for the most was his protectiveness of Rogue, and his almost reluctant loyalty to the X-Men and the students. Loyalty was an attribute that John admired in a person, because his seemed to sway a lot, and he was still trying to figure out if he should be loyal to a group, or an idea.
So he will stay with the X-Men, because it's the only place he can go, other than wandering in the streets or being locked up in a cell, and because it was Magneto's last wish for him. Here, he would learn, perhaps teach if he could build up some trust, and continue their cause.
Nobody wants to be worthless. Nobody wants to be nothing in the world, to feel as if they have contributed to nothing, to have never affected anyone, to be nothing. That old, broken, tired Magneto seemed to feel this way. But John knew that Magneto was not nothing; he had suffered so much in the Holocaust, in life as a mutant, a minority. Yet he fought, and made a name for himself fighting. And John knew that Magneto had definitely had an effect on him from the very first word he'd spoken to him about gods and insects.
He would continue that legacy –Mystique and Magneto's mission. This is why they helped him hide, get him to safety –he was their last hope to mean something to the world, to carry on something for the next generations. They cared enough for him to trust him with this task, to help mutants everywhere. He was bishop to their monarchy.
Not a pawn. Never a pawn.
Magneto considered him worthy, never a grunt; why should he allow others to think of him that way as well? So he would learn, he would get educated, he would fight their battle, for their cause; just in a different way. John wasn't sure if he'd become an X-Man at this point, if they ever asked him. But all he did know was that he was going to keep their cause alive, that he was going to help mutants. That was all Magneto and Mystique ever wanted –to help everyone survive.
It'll be a hard road, trying to find his way back. He felt like the new kid again, except this time wounds have already become deep, and he'll have to pick up the pieces he'd left behind. But John had no doubt about whether or not he'd succeed. It was just another difficulty, another bump in the road. He wasn't worried.
John always liked challenges.