Apartment Above the Boards, Wednesday Evening
It had been... it had been a matter of months, now, since Jonothon had come back to Fandom Island. A matter of months full of regret, mostly. Guilt. A scream deep inside of him that always started as an itch a, doubt, a shadow disguised as a memory that sometimes he could ignore, but more often than not he found himself dwelling on until it pulled him down with it. And he usually knew when it would strike, the sorts of things that would trigger that scream without fail. But there were some things that a person could only go without for so long. Just because he was good at running on next to no sleep didn't change the fact that he still needed to close his eyes now and then. And he couldn't hide from every mirror, every perfect reflection of what he'd become that stared back at him with tired, emptied-out eyes that he barely recognized as his own.
When he woke up in the mornings, it was always with a gasp and a frantic struggle against a tangle of sheets.
The bathroom mirror was worse. He couldn't wake up from a reminder of what had been forced into him even after he'd thought he'd been freed. Not when he was already wide awake.
Water from his shower was still dripping from his fingers as he reached a shaking hand toward the mirror, toward the reflection of the tattoo on his chest. Something caught in his throat along with a stir of power in his gut, pushed back so fiercely that, from time to time, he could almost ignore that it was there at all. It wasn't him. It wasn't his. It had come from the blood of Apocalypse, and giving in to it would only make him every bit the monster that he'd always been afraid he'd become.
But he was safe here. Grey fingers he still barely recognized traced up along the glass, leaving watery streaks behind them as he drew over the glassy surface where his lips were reflected back at him. Safe. Safe from Weapon X, from Clan Akkaba, from Apocalypse himself. Safe from every mutant-hating bigot that had ever tried to kill him. Safe from Xavier's flawed notions about how to bring peace between humanity and the endangered species that Mutantkind had become. Safe from everything but himself. And his nightmares.
He deserved them, in waking and in sleep. After the things he'd done, nightmares were barely a penance.
"It's over now,
I know inside.
No one will ever know,
The sorry tale of what I tried,
And those who died."
A host of faces drifted through his mind's eye. Not one of them could still be counted among the living.
"... No one must ever know.
They'd only see the tragedy.
They'd not see my intent.
The shadow of that evil,
Would forever kill the good that I had meant."
Had he known then what he knew now, that there was no way to bring down Weapon X, that there was no escape from them so long as you were useful, and they wouldn't hesitate to destroy everything that made a person who they were if it meant that they remained useful...
"Am I a good man?
Am I a mad man?
It's such a fine line,
Between a good man and a..."
He tapered off and reached for a towel, shaking his head. Between a good man and a monster? He'd crossed that line. Crossed it both by choice and without any choice at all. He'd live with that blood on his head, with memories of Neverland, of the face of every person he'd killed while he was Weapon X's puppet.
He'd live with that crawling feeling that bubbled up now and again, made his blood run so cold it burned and his eyes flash red.
He had no power at all. Whatever lived inside of him, it wasn't his, damn it.
His had stopped just shy of the towel that he'd been reaching for, his gaze never straying from the sight of his own face in the mirror.
"Do you really think
That I would ever let you go?
Do you think I'd ever set you free?"
The words started as a whisper as he stared at the reflection of his own crimson eyes, his voice rough and vicious and taunting in a way that he'd never had it in him to be.
"If you do, I'm sad to say,
It simply isn't so.
You will never get away from me!"
He wrenched himself away from the glass as though it had bit him, his back pressing against the cold wall as he fought that choking feeling down, battled for his own voice again, for a gasp of clean breath in his lungs.
"All that you are
Is a face in the mirror!
I close my eyes and you'll disappear!"
He tried to close his eyes. All that he managed was a brief flicker from red to normal and then back again. His gaze remained fixed. Bile crept up his throat, and for a moment he thought he was about to be sick, but only more words passed his lips.
"I'm what you face
When you face in the mirror!
Long as you live, I will still be here!"
"All that you are
Is the end of a nightmare!
All that you are is a dying scream!
Just give me time,
And I'll end this demon dream!"
He wouldn't wake up from this. He'd always be what he'd become. But he could atone, could move past it, could fight this power back and maybe when he got a grasp on himself again, when his mind stopped bleeding and the world stopped burning and everything seemed less like a bloody haze, he could do some good somewhere.
No. Idiot.
All his efforts to do good had gotten him nowhere. Had only managed to prove that he was a weapon, was a monster, that he'd always be at the mercy of one nightmare or another, devouring him from inside and out.
He would never be his own.
"This is not a dream, my friend -
And it will never end!
This one is the nightmare that goes on!
I am here to stay,
No matter what you may pretend -
And I'll flourish, long after you're gone!"
No!
"Soon you will die,
And my memory will hide you!
You cannot choose but to lose control."
Red eyes. Brown. A deep breath, and then another spark of power left the room smelling faintly of brimstone and his eyes staring back at him, bloody and accusing. How dare he try to push this down. This was his birthright. What the Scarlet Witch had stolen away had been restored to him, and he was refusing this gift like a coward.
He couldn't continue refusing for long.
"You can't control me!
I live deep inside you!
Each day you'll feel me devour your soul!"
"I don't need you to survive,
As you need me!
I'll become whole
As you dance with death!
And I'll rejoice
As you breathe your final breath!"
"I'll live inside you forever!"
"No!"
"With En Sabah Nur at your core!"
"No!"
"And I know that, now and forever,
They'll never be able to recognize
Chamber once more!"
"Can't you see
It's over now?
It's time to fade!"
"No, not I! Only you!"
Jonothon reached shaking hands up as the words tore themselves from his throat, fingers closing almost delicately around his own neck in some sort of unspoken threat. And even he didn't know which of the two battling aspects of himself was the one making that threat. The next words were choked out as his grip tightened, fiercely and suddenly.
"If I die, You die, too!"
"You'll die in me! I'll be you!"
His hands let go of his neck. Tears burned at his eyes more fiercely than the crackling sparks that flickered behind them.
"Damn this blood! Set me free!"
"Can't you see," he pointed an accusing finger at the mirror, "You are me?"
"No! Deep inside-!"
He pulled away again, fingers scrabbling against the wall in a desperate attempt to escape while at the same time a cruel laugh pushed past his throat, dark, mocking. Everything he'd been while he was trapped inside his own head, watching his body go through the motions, through every murder, every assignment that he'd never questioned because, nothing personal, he was just doing his job.
"I am you! You are mine!"
He was his! He was his own and nobody else's! Not Xavier's or Jackson's or one of Apocalypse's dogs, no matter what the mark on his chest and the power screaming back at him said, damn them all!
"No - Never!"
"Yes, forever!"
"God damn you!" His hands balled into fists, and now he was screaming at the top of his lungs, as much at himself as at the nightmare that was screaming back. "Take all your evil deeds, and rot in hell!"
"I'll see you there, Jonothon!"
"Never!"
And he could only laugh, wild and broken and something wavering unsteadily between the two, as he threw his fist forward and shattered his own reflection into a thousand laughing, sobbing pieces.
He was a madman. Anything good that was inside him had died or was dying, and he wasn't strong enough to stop it, even if he was damn good at pretending that he wasn't slowly suffocating.
The laughter faded, eventually giving way to the sound of soft patters of droplets of blood falling around his feet.
Tired and empty, Jonothon sank to the floor, bare knees in the scattered shards, and cried.
[My boy has issues, and I couldn't resist the urge to have him scream at himself in the mirror to Anthony Warlow music from Jeckyll & Hyde. Open if anyone has any reason to be there?]
When he woke up in the mornings, it was always with a gasp and a frantic struggle against a tangle of sheets.
The bathroom mirror was worse. He couldn't wake up from a reminder of what had been forced into him even after he'd thought he'd been freed. Not when he was already wide awake.
Water from his shower was still dripping from his fingers as he reached a shaking hand toward the mirror, toward the reflection of the tattoo on his chest. Something caught in his throat along with a stir of power in his gut, pushed back so fiercely that, from time to time, he could almost ignore that it was there at all. It wasn't him. It wasn't his. It had come from the blood of Apocalypse, and giving in to it would only make him every bit the monster that he'd always been afraid he'd become.
But he was safe here. Grey fingers he still barely recognized traced up along the glass, leaving watery streaks behind them as he drew over the glassy surface where his lips were reflected back at him. Safe. Safe from Weapon X, from Clan Akkaba, from Apocalypse himself. Safe from every mutant-hating bigot that had ever tried to kill him. Safe from Xavier's flawed notions about how to bring peace between humanity and the endangered species that Mutantkind had become. Safe from everything but himself. And his nightmares.
He deserved them, in waking and in sleep. After the things he'd done, nightmares were barely a penance.
"It's over now,
I know inside.
No one will ever know,
The sorry tale of what I tried,
And those who died."
A host of faces drifted through his mind's eye. Not one of them could still be counted among the living.
"... No one must ever know.
They'd only see the tragedy.
They'd not see my intent.
The shadow of that evil,
Would forever kill the good that I had meant."
Had he known then what he knew now, that there was no way to bring down Weapon X, that there was no escape from them so long as you were useful, and they wouldn't hesitate to destroy everything that made a person who they were if it meant that they remained useful...
"Am I a good man?
Am I a mad man?
It's such a fine line,
Between a good man and a..."
He tapered off and reached for a towel, shaking his head. Between a good man and a monster? He'd crossed that line. Crossed it both by choice and without any choice at all. He'd live with that blood on his head, with memories of Neverland, of the face of every person he'd killed while he was Weapon X's puppet.
He'd live with that crawling feeling that bubbled up now and again, made his blood run so cold it burned and his eyes flash red.
He had no power at all. Whatever lived inside of him, it wasn't his, damn it.
His had stopped just shy of the towel that he'd been reaching for, his gaze never straying from the sight of his own face in the mirror.
"Do you really think
That I would ever let you go?
Do you think I'd ever set you free?"
The words started as a whisper as he stared at the reflection of his own crimson eyes, his voice rough and vicious and taunting in a way that he'd never had it in him to be.
"If you do, I'm sad to say,
It simply isn't so.
You will never get away from me!"
He wrenched himself away from the glass as though it had bit him, his back pressing against the cold wall as he fought that choking feeling down, battled for his own voice again, for a gasp of clean breath in his lungs.
"All that you are
Is a face in the mirror!
I close my eyes and you'll disappear!"
He tried to close his eyes. All that he managed was a brief flicker from red to normal and then back again. His gaze remained fixed. Bile crept up his throat, and for a moment he thought he was about to be sick, but only more words passed his lips.
"I'm what you face
When you face in the mirror!
Long as you live, I will still be here!"
"All that you are
Is the end of a nightmare!
All that you are is a dying scream!
Just give me time,
And I'll end this demon dream!"
He wouldn't wake up from this. He'd always be what he'd become. But he could atone, could move past it, could fight this power back and maybe when he got a grasp on himself again, when his mind stopped bleeding and the world stopped burning and everything seemed less like a bloody haze, he could do some good somewhere.
No. Idiot.
All his efforts to do good had gotten him nowhere. Had only managed to prove that he was a weapon, was a monster, that he'd always be at the mercy of one nightmare or another, devouring him from inside and out.
He would never be his own.
"This is not a dream, my friend -
And it will never end!
This one is the nightmare that goes on!
I am here to stay,
No matter what you may pretend -
And I'll flourish, long after you're gone!"
No!
"Soon you will die,
And my memory will hide you!
You cannot choose but to lose control."
Red eyes. Brown. A deep breath, and then another spark of power left the room smelling faintly of brimstone and his eyes staring back at him, bloody and accusing. How dare he try to push this down. This was his birthright. What the Scarlet Witch had stolen away had been restored to him, and he was refusing this gift like a coward.
He couldn't continue refusing for long.
"You can't control me!
I live deep inside you!
Each day you'll feel me devour your soul!"
"I don't need you to survive,
As you need me!
I'll become whole
As you dance with death!
And I'll rejoice
As you breathe your final breath!"
"I'll live inside you forever!"
"No!"
"With En Sabah Nur at your core!"
"No!"
"And I know that, now and forever,
They'll never be able to recognize
Chamber once more!"
"Can't you see
It's over now?
It's time to fade!"
"No, not I! Only you!"
Jonothon reached shaking hands up as the words tore themselves from his throat, fingers closing almost delicately around his own neck in some sort of unspoken threat. And even he didn't know which of the two battling aspects of himself was the one making that threat. The next words were choked out as his grip tightened, fiercely and suddenly.
"If I die, You die, too!"
"You'll die in me! I'll be you!"
His hands let go of his neck. Tears burned at his eyes more fiercely than the crackling sparks that flickered behind them.
"Damn this blood! Set me free!"
"Can't you see," he pointed an accusing finger at the mirror, "You are me?"
"No! Deep inside-!"
He pulled away again, fingers scrabbling against the wall in a desperate attempt to escape while at the same time a cruel laugh pushed past his throat, dark, mocking. Everything he'd been while he was trapped inside his own head, watching his body go through the motions, through every murder, every assignment that he'd never questioned because, nothing personal, he was just doing his job.
"I am you! You are mine!"
He was his! He was his own and nobody else's! Not Xavier's or Jackson's or one of Apocalypse's dogs, no matter what the mark on his chest and the power screaming back at him said, damn them all!
"No - Never!"
"Yes, forever!"
"God damn you!" His hands balled into fists, and now he was screaming at the top of his lungs, as much at himself as at the nightmare that was screaming back. "Take all your evil deeds, and rot in hell!"
"I'll see you there, Jonothon!"
"Never!"
And he could only laugh, wild and broken and something wavering unsteadily between the two, as he threw his fist forward and shattered his own reflection into a thousand laughing, sobbing pieces.
He was a madman. Anything good that was inside him had died or was dying, and he wasn't strong enough to stop it, even if he was damn good at pretending that he wasn't slowly suffocating.
The laughter faded, eventually giving way to the sound of soft patters of droplets of blood falling around his feet.
Tired and empty, Jonothon sank to the floor, bare knees in the scattered shards, and cried.
[My boy has issues, and I couldn't resist the urge to have him scream at himself in the mirror to Anthony Warlow music from Jeckyll & Hyde. Open if anyone has any reason to be there?]