Pyrokinetic Manipulator - Chapter Eight (Last Chapter)
Author: Sj-snugglebug
Title: Pyrokinetic Manipulator
Genre: General/Romance
Rating: PG-13 (R at the most…but that’s pushing it)
Pairings: Distinct John/Bobby in this chapter.
Warnings: I’m not sure ‘slash’ would be a warning here. =)
Disclaimer: Not mine; never was, never will be. =(
Summary: Before he was Pyro, he was John; and before he was John, he was St. John. John was strong, but Pyro was stronger. John would fight, but Pyro would die trying; but John had Bobby, and Pyro didn’t.
~
Chapter: Eight
Chapter title: Burning Ice
Chapter Summary: ...Then there was Rogue.
~
Previous Chapters: Chapter one (Yesteryear), Chapter two (Learning games), Chapter three (Ice Burn), Chapter four (Changes), Chapter five (Reflections), Chapter six (Aphrodisiac), Chapter seven (Intolerable)
Author’s notes: THE LAST CHAPTER! Yep! This is the last chapter ever! Although there is a sequal that I may write later on, I want to abandon this story for a while to work on the AU I've started writing. (And when I say started, I mean that only the prologue/chapter one is done.)
BURNING ICE - CHAPTER EIGHT
Days went by like they were being read out of a book. The monotony of life doubled as he watched by the sidelines, and John’s fingers began to itch for action. If living on the street’s had taught him anything, it was never to stay in one place too long - to avoid what needed to be avoided, and to fight when necessary; and as he watched the news everyday and saw the drabble of anti-mutant forums, debates, and protests, a bubble of anger started to grow in Pyro’s stomach causing the hate that he had been harbouring for so long to grow and grow…
Time trickled by like a motionless flow, and life seemed ever the same; John woke up, played with fire, ate, played with fire, went to school, played with fire, ate, smoked, and slept. But he knew, in a strange sense, he knew that things were changing ever so slowly.
When a new student arrived at school, Bobby didn’t burst into their dorm and sing in that annoying way that he was so used to “A new student arrived today!” and John didn’t get to reply “There’s always a new student.”
So John waited; he waited until Bobby came into the room and whispered, in the quietness and frail tranquillity of the night, “There’s a new student at school.”
Bobby rolled over on his bed at the other side of the room and faced John.
“Yeah, I know.” He whispered back. “Her name’s Rogue.”
John huffed quietly in the quiet cold of the room, “What kind of a name is Rogue?” and Bobby smiled back at him, said ‘Says the guy whose name is St. John.’ And for the first time in a while, Pyro gave him a harmless smirk.
“I kinda like her.” Bobby said, and John rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling.
“You kinda like everybody.” he snorted. Bobby frowned carefully, and John continued with “You kinda liked Kitty, and where did that get you?”
Bobby sat up and glared at John.
“What do you mean, ‘where did that get me’?” He snapped. “You’re not going to try and give me dating advice, are you?”
“Why not?” John snorted. “You seem to have the flirting thing down well.”
“What is that, an insult or a compliment?”
John snickered, and rolled onto his stomach so he could play with his lighter easier. “Take it which ever way you wish, but I was aiming more at insult than the latter.” Bobby crossed the room to sit on the edge of John’s bed.
“Stay out of it this time, John.” He said softly, “I mean it.
~~
John watched that Southern girl from across the room, and noted her long brown hair…Bobby seemed to like brunettes. She seemed quiet, but as John watched another day, and another day - he noted her laugh; her accent; the way Bobby flirted.
He grinned as Bobby spoke to her and laughed and flirted and…he frowned in thought…
John lay on the bed next to Bobby; both of them shirtless in the cold chill of the room, and as Bobby’s core temperature was lower than normal, John depended on a small fire flickering in the palm of his hand to provide the heat he deemed necessary.
“You can’t touch her, you know.” John whispered whilst ignoring the irritated looks he was receiving.
“I know.”
“Then how do you plan on touching her?”
“Maybe I won’t.”
Bobby shrugged, looked up at John with unspoken words of ‘I know’ reflecting in his clear translucent blue eyes.
John rested the backs of his fingers against Bobby’s cold bare shoulder, watching the youth shiver at the warmth the fingers carried. He turned away when Bobby’s eyes narrowed slightly as the reflection from his flame flickered against the light blue, reading quite clearly ‘don’t’ and ‘no’, and maybe, just maybe a slight echo of ‘too late’.
John climbed off Bobby’s bed, crossing the room to slip into his own; he rolled to face the wall, trying to ignore the silence ringing in his ears.
~~
Jean-Paul lay on the couch half a sleep, eyes half open/half closed, lingering between dream and reality. When John entered the room and sat on the couch opposite him, he quickly sat up and moved to the other end, watching Pyro with narrowed eyes. Jubilee dropped down beside John, looked between the two youths and rolled her eyes.
“Play nice, Pyro.” She whispered as John opened his book and settled back into reading.
John looked above the top of his book to see Jean-Paul fiddling with the corner of his sleeve, once in a while throwing a look over his shoulder to see Bobby and Rogue talking and giggling, then looking back towards John with an annoying smile on his face.
John dropped his book onto his lap in annoyance and pulled out his lighter, flipping it open as Jubilee grabbed his arm.
“What the hell do you want, Pixie-boy?” He snarled, and Jean-Paul laughed.
“Just try it, Pyro.” He smirked, and looked over his shoulder towards Bobby and Rogue again.
“JP, quit it.” Jubilee said, tugging on Pyro’s arm again and turning to give him a hard stare.
“Tell him to put away the lighter then.”
“You heard him, John.”
John slipped his lighter back into his pocket and picked up his book again, damning the fact that he didn’t have a bookmark and damning his mutation for him needing a lighter in the first place.
“Aren’t you supposed to see Xavier for a meeting?” Jubilee continued, and John quickly checked his watch, cursed under his breath, and hurried off.
John arrived in his session ten minutes late. The Professor checked his watch and motioned for him to sit.
“How have you been, St. John?” He asked, and John grunted a ‘fine’.
“How have you been sleeping?” The Professor asked.
“Fine”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t have our usual session last week. Things have been pretty hectic around here, as you probably have noticed.” Xavier said. Pyro tapped his fingers against the armrest of the seat impatiently, counting the minutes to the end of the hour-long session. “As you know, it’s your last year in school. Since you’re almost eighteen, it’s time to discuss what you would like to do after you finish school. I believe you have mentioned an interest in journalism.”
“Yeah…” John watched him carefully, ignoring the unlit candle in the middle of the desk.
“There’s a College not to far from the institute, if you wish, I could write a letter of recommendation for you.”
John didn’t reply, and turned his attention to the unlit candle, fingering his lighter in his pocket.
“If you wish, you could study at the College and continue to live at the institute, but I sense you would have no desire to return. Am I right?” Xavier asked
John smirked. “No, I would have no desire to return.”
“Just remember that the institute would be open if you ever did feel the need to return; for help, for shelter. Whatever it may be, it would do you well to remember that our desire is to aid mutants.”
The fire-mutant turned away and began to palm his lighter nervously.
“Now, St. John, let’s talk about your future education.”
John groaned; hands dug into a full head of dark hair as his head tipped back against the cool wooden wall, tongue slipping out to moisten his parted dry lips. He leaned back and let out a strangled gasp, tensed as his hands dug into the scalp of the boy on his knees. Pyro ran his fingers through the silky hair, gripping and tugging until the boy let out a choke. He closed his eyes and jerked, shivered, then looked down at the boy who stood up and wiped his mouth.
“So…” The boy said, and eyed Pyro cautiously. John stared at him, and the boy shifted on his feet nervously. “It’s, uh - Julian, remember?” Pyro snickered, and the boy quickly took off.
John reached down and began to fix his pants.
“Well, this is very interesting.” A familiar voice said, and John noticed Jean-Paul out of the corner of his eye. He zipped up.
“What the hell are you doing up this late?” John snarled. Jean-Paul snickered and slipped into the hall way, closer to John.
“I don’t exactly have to as you what you’re doing. It’s pretty obvious.” Jean-Paul snorted, letting his gaze slip from Pyro’s face to his lower regions. “Does Bobby know about this?” He snickered, and John glared at him.
“Does Bobby know you’re a voyeur?” John retorted. Jean-Paul smiled carelessly.
“Let me guess, you’re turning to others to drown out your miseries over Bobby’s interest in Rogue.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” John snarled, grabbing the teen by his shirt and pushing him up against the wall. “Don’t make me set you on fire again.”
Jean-Paul smiled, undisturbed by the turn of events. “It’s obvious you’re in love with Bobby.” He said. “There’s no other explanation for your sudden hostility towards your former best-friend and his girl.”
John let go of his shirt and snorted, leaning against the wall.
“Whatever.” He turned to Jean-Paul and smirked. “I don’t believe in love, for you information; even if I did, Bobby’s to immature, innocent and naïve for my liking.”
Jean-Paul laughed and began to walk off.
“Sure.” He said, “You like the ones who give blow-jobs in the school hallways at twelve O’clock at night.”
~~
John had that foreboding sense of change. Like the night he stood outside and watched the whirls of smoke his charred wood house-frame emitted.
He watched Bobby flirting ever so meticulously with that new life-sucking chick and knew, like he knew that night his life burned down around him, that things would not be the same; ever again.
Pyro woke Bobby up at exactly 23:50 and dragged him out of bed. Still half asleep, and to groggy to protest, Bobby obediently followed him out of the dorm, and outside onto the lawn. It took Bobby the rest of the six minutes to fully apprehend his situation of lying on the still damp grass in only his boxer shorts.
John was lying under the stars smoking when Bobby looked at him and asked “What am I doing out here, John?”
He didn’t reply and merely handed the ice-mutant the cigarette. Bobby looked at the cigarette without a clue of what to do with it.
“John?”
Pyro placed a finger on his lips and whispered ever-so-quietly “shhh…” he turned his head towards Bobby and propped himself up on one elbow. Leaning over, he gently pressed his lips against the ice-mutants. Bobby was taken completely by surprise. It had been over six months since John had done anything like this. Bobby closed his eyes and turned away.
“What are you doing?” He whispered, and only got in reply another ‘shh…’
John ran a thumb across the ice-mutant’s jaw line, letting his other hand slip down his chest and towards the waist-band of his shorts. He sighed and stopped, brushing a hand across Bobby’s hair.
Bobby was sleepy and felt paralysed by his sheer exhaustion both physically and mentally.
The mansion was quiet, and Pyro and Bobby lay on the grass in the secluded place they used to go too late at night when they were younger. John lay beside the ice-mutant and kissed him, one hand gently caressing the soft skin of his waist and saw Bobby turn away and try not to cry; then he knew with out a doubt, that Bobby felt it too; that unbridgeable gap created over time, the inability to feel, the inability to care; the deep pool of unquenchable desire, unfathomable differences, and irreparable emotions.
When he left the Blackbird that day on Alkali Lake, Pyro turned his back on the life he had known without a moment’s hesitation because he knew that some things were for certain. He knew that he was following the one thing he now believed in. He knew that for the first time in his life he did have something to believe in. He knew that there had not been anything left for him in the Academy for almost a year; and he knew that there was no chance in the world that Bobby would follow him as they had passed that point in life some time ago. They weren’t fourteen any more.
~~
St. John crouched in the corner of the room; clad only in a too large t-shirt and chequered boxer-shorts. The room was dark with no window to speak of, and held a dank damp smell of clothes that had dried without sunlight.
He shivered, pulled his knees up to his chest and regretted leaving Australia where everything was simpler and he understood better; but his ‘Daddy is an army man and Mummy thinks that everything will be better when they go to live with Daddy in the US.’
St. John scratched at the cold hard concrete and tried to forget the stinging pain that coursed through his skin. His mother was wrong; she was naive, and she was weak. Everything had been better in Australia; things were clearer and easier - the only positive he could think of for the US was telling those Americans that they rode to school everyday on the backs of Kangaroos.
St. John flinched when the material made contact with his back, and then pulled off his t-shirt. He could hear his father’s yells ringing in his ears. He was weak, he was weak, he was weak. The door opened with a creak and his father told him to go to bed. There would be a dinner party tomorrow with some very important military personnel and he wanted his son cleaned up.
He left the basement muttering ‘portraits’ and ‘fake’ and ‘façade’ because he marred the picture perfect family. They weren’t rich, but they were comfortable - his mother would say - and that’s all that mattered.
He sat on his bed, reached under his pillow to feel his shark-lighter nestled comfortably between his mattress and pillow-case, and then pulled on a t-shirt and pants. His father came to the door, peering between the crack of the door and door-frame
“Only the strong live, St. John. The strong live; but how would you know that you’re really alive? Remember that” his father said, and St. John knew that it was a challenge - it was a game where only the strongest lived. His father closed the door with a soft thud, and St. John quickly reached for his lighter.
There had been a time when he knew everything that went on in the house just like his father had told him to know; but the basement didn’t provide for much perspective. He bit back tears because boys shouldn’t cry, and men definitely didn’t. St. John glanced from his lit lighter to the backpack he packed the last time he had been allowed up in his room. He grabbed his backpack and re-lit his lighter. He looked to the dogtags sitting on his bedside table and hung them around his neck. He grinned wickedly - he was a military man too. His father was one and had taught him well. He could play this game just as well as his father did, and he would win.
John noticed the suit hanging on the doorknob of his wardrobe. Living in the basement gave him a whole new perspective on life. Things began to seem more twisted and disturbing than before, and John stared at the suit with anger and hostility burning deep in his stomach. He stared at it in the hope it would burn, and the more it didn’t, the angrier he became. He flicked his lighter in his small hand, focusing on the smooth black material of the clothes, and lit a small flame in his palm. John glared and threw it at the suit, watching the sleeve catch on fire and spread across the surface of the jacket like a plague.
He smirked; he could play this game too - he held out his hand and let the fire grow and grow.
He watched.
Burn, burn, burn…
When John burned his house down that night, people died. His mother, his sister, and maybe even his father; but he wasn’t sure.
When John burned his house down that night, he had a point to prove. He was strong, he was powerful, and he was worth something.
When John burned his house down that night, he wanted to hurt people; hurt those that had hurt him - made him suffer. People hurt, his father had taught him that. His father had also taught him that fire burns; that people bleed; that people die…
When John grew older and moved on from his home, to the streets, to the Academy, and to the Brotherhood - one thing his father failed to teach him became clearer and clearer.
When people die, they stay dead.
Fin.
Title: Pyrokinetic Manipulator
Genre: General/Romance
Rating: PG-13 (R at the most…but that’s pushing it)
Pairings: Distinct John/Bobby in this chapter.
Warnings: I’m not sure ‘slash’ would be a warning here. =)
Disclaimer: Not mine; never was, never will be. =(
Summary: Before he was Pyro, he was John; and before he was John, he was St. John. John was strong, but Pyro was stronger. John would fight, but Pyro would die trying; but John had Bobby, and Pyro didn’t.
~
Chapter: Eight
Chapter title: Burning Ice
Chapter Summary: ...Then there was Rogue.
~
Previous Chapters: Chapter one (Yesteryear), Chapter two (Learning games), Chapter three (Ice Burn), Chapter four (Changes), Chapter five (Reflections), Chapter six (Aphrodisiac), Chapter seven (Intolerable)
Author’s notes: THE LAST CHAPTER! Yep! This is the last chapter ever! Although there is a sequal that I may write later on, I want to abandon this story for a while to work on the AU I've started writing. (And when I say started, I mean that only the prologue/chapter one is done.)
BURNING ICE - CHAPTER EIGHT
Days went by like they were being read out of a book. The monotony of life doubled as he watched by the sidelines, and John’s fingers began to itch for action. If living on the street’s had taught him anything, it was never to stay in one place too long - to avoid what needed to be avoided, and to fight when necessary; and as he watched the news everyday and saw the drabble of anti-mutant forums, debates, and protests, a bubble of anger started to grow in Pyro’s stomach causing the hate that he had been harbouring for so long to grow and grow…
Time trickled by like a motionless flow, and life seemed ever the same; John woke up, played with fire, ate, played with fire, went to school, played with fire, ate, smoked, and slept. But he knew, in a strange sense, he knew that things were changing ever so slowly.
When a new student arrived at school, Bobby didn’t burst into their dorm and sing in that annoying way that he was so used to “A new student arrived today!” and John didn’t get to reply “There’s always a new student.”
So John waited; he waited until Bobby came into the room and whispered, in the quietness and frail tranquillity of the night, “There’s a new student at school.”
Bobby rolled over on his bed at the other side of the room and faced John.
“Yeah, I know.” He whispered back. “Her name’s Rogue.”
John huffed quietly in the quiet cold of the room, “What kind of a name is Rogue?” and Bobby smiled back at him, said ‘Says the guy whose name is St. John.’ And for the first time in a while, Pyro gave him a harmless smirk.
“I kinda like her.” Bobby said, and John rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling.
“You kinda like everybody.” he snorted. Bobby frowned carefully, and John continued with “You kinda liked Kitty, and where did that get you?”
Bobby sat up and glared at John.
“What do you mean, ‘where did that get me’?” He snapped. “You’re not going to try and give me dating advice, are you?”
“Why not?” John snorted. “You seem to have the flirting thing down well.”
“What is that, an insult or a compliment?”
John snickered, and rolled onto his stomach so he could play with his lighter easier. “Take it which ever way you wish, but I was aiming more at insult than the latter.” Bobby crossed the room to sit on the edge of John’s bed.
“Stay out of it this time, John.” He said softly, “I mean it.
~~
John watched that Southern girl from across the room, and noted her long brown hair…Bobby seemed to like brunettes. She seemed quiet, but as John watched another day, and another day - he noted her laugh; her accent; the way Bobby flirted.
He grinned as Bobby spoke to her and laughed and flirted and…he frowned in thought…
John lay on the bed next to Bobby; both of them shirtless in the cold chill of the room, and as Bobby’s core temperature was lower than normal, John depended on a small fire flickering in the palm of his hand to provide the heat he deemed necessary.
“You can’t touch her, you know.” John whispered whilst ignoring the irritated looks he was receiving.
“I know.”
“Then how do you plan on touching her?”
“Maybe I won’t.”
Bobby shrugged, looked up at John with unspoken words of ‘I know’ reflecting in his clear translucent blue eyes.
John rested the backs of his fingers against Bobby’s cold bare shoulder, watching the youth shiver at the warmth the fingers carried. He turned away when Bobby’s eyes narrowed slightly as the reflection from his flame flickered against the light blue, reading quite clearly ‘don’t’ and ‘no’, and maybe, just maybe a slight echo of ‘too late’.
John climbed off Bobby’s bed, crossing the room to slip into his own; he rolled to face the wall, trying to ignore the silence ringing in his ears.
~~
Jean-Paul lay on the couch half a sleep, eyes half open/half closed, lingering between dream and reality. When John entered the room and sat on the couch opposite him, he quickly sat up and moved to the other end, watching Pyro with narrowed eyes. Jubilee dropped down beside John, looked between the two youths and rolled her eyes.
“Play nice, Pyro.” She whispered as John opened his book and settled back into reading.
John looked above the top of his book to see Jean-Paul fiddling with the corner of his sleeve, once in a while throwing a look over his shoulder to see Bobby and Rogue talking and giggling, then looking back towards John with an annoying smile on his face.
John dropped his book onto his lap in annoyance and pulled out his lighter, flipping it open as Jubilee grabbed his arm.
“What the hell do you want, Pixie-boy?” He snarled, and Jean-Paul laughed.
“Just try it, Pyro.” He smirked, and looked over his shoulder towards Bobby and Rogue again.
“JP, quit it.” Jubilee said, tugging on Pyro’s arm again and turning to give him a hard stare.
“Tell him to put away the lighter then.”
“You heard him, John.”
John slipped his lighter back into his pocket and picked up his book again, damning the fact that he didn’t have a bookmark and damning his mutation for him needing a lighter in the first place.
“Aren’t you supposed to see Xavier for a meeting?” Jubilee continued, and John quickly checked his watch, cursed under his breath, and hurried off.
John arrived in his session ten minutes late. The Professor checked his watch and motioned for him to sit.
“How have you been, St. John?” He asked, and John grunted a ‘fine’.
“How have you been sleeping?” The Professor asked.
“Fine”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t have our usual session last week. Things have been pretty hectic around here, as you probably have noticed.” Xavier said. Pyro tapped his fingers against the armrest of the seat impatiently, counting the minutes to the end of the hour-long session. “As you know, it’s your last year in school. Since you’re almost eighteen, it’s time to discuss what you would like to do after you finish school. I believe you have mentioned an interest in journalism.”
“Yeah…” John watched him carefully, ignoring the unlit candle in the middle of the desk.
“There’s a College not to far from the institute, if you wish, I could write a letter of recommendation for you.”
John didn’t reply, and turned his attention to the unlit candle, fingering his lighter in his pocket.
“If you wish, you could study at the College and continue to live at the institute, but I sense you would have no desire to return. Am I right?” Xavier asked
John smirked. “No, I would have no desire to return.”
“Just remember that the institute would be open if you ever did feel the need to return; for help, for shelter. Whatever it may be, it would do you well to remember that our desire is to aid mutants.”
The fire-mutant turned away and began to palm his lighter nervously.
“Now, St. John, let’s talk about your future education.”
John groaned; hands dug into a full head of dark hair as his head tipped back against the cool wooden wall, tongue slipping out to moisten his parted dry lips. He leaned back and let out a strangled gasp, tensed as his hands dug into the scalp of the boy on his knees. Pyro ran his fingers through the silky hair, gripping and tugging until the boy let out a choke. He closed his eyes and jerked, shivered, then looked down at the boy who stood up and wiped his mouth.
“So…” The boy said, and eyed Pyro cautiously. John stared at him, and the boy shifted on his feet nervously. “It’s, uh - Julian, remember?” Pyro snickered, and the boy quickly took off.
John reached down and began to fix his pants.
“Well, this is very interesting.” A familiar voice said, and John noticed Jean-Paul out of the corner of his eye. He zipped up.
“What the hell are you doing up this late?” John snarled. Jean-Paul snickered and slipped into the hall way, closer to John.
“I don’t exactly have to as you what you’re doing. It’s pretty obvious.” Jean-Paul snorted, letting his gaze slip from Pyro’s face to his lower regions. “Does Bobby know about this?” He snickered, and John glared at him.
“Does Bobby know you’re a voyeur?” John retorted. Jean-Paul smiled carelessly.
“Let me guess, you’re turning to others to drown out your miseries over Bobby’s interest in Rogue.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” John snarled, grabbing the teen by his shirt and pushing him up against the wall. “Don’t make me set you on fire again.”
Jean-Paul smiled, undisturbed by the turn of events. “It’s obvious you’re in love with Bobby.” He said. “There’s no other explanation for your sudden hostility towards your former best-friend and his girl.”
John let go of his shirt and snorted, leaning against the wall.
“Whatever.” He turned to Jean-Paul and smirked. “I don’t believe in love, for you information; even if I did, Bobby’s to immature, innocent and naïve for my liking.”
Jean-Paul laughed and began to walk off.
“Sure.” He said, “You like the ones who give blow-jobs in the school hallways at twelve O’clock at night.”
~~
John had that foreboding sense of change. Like the night he stood outside and watched the whirls of smoke his charred wood house-frame emitted.
He watched Bobby flirting ever so meticulously with that new life-sucking chick and knew, like he knew that night his life burned down around him, that things would not be the same; ever again.
Pyro woke Bobby up at exactly 23:50 and dragged him out of bed. Still half asleep, and to groggy to protest, Bobby obediently followed him out of the dorm, and outside onto the lawn. It took Bobby the rest of the six minutes to fully apprehend his situation of lying on the still damp grass in only his boxer shorts.
John was lying under the stars smoking when Bobby looked at him and asked “What am I doing out here, John?”
He didn’t reply and merely handed the ice-mutant the cigarette. Bobby looked at the cigarette without a clue of what to do with it.
“John?”
Pyro placed a finger on his lips and whispered ever-so-quietly “shhh…” he turned his head towards Bobby and propped himself up on one elbow. Leaning over, he gently pressed his lips against the ice-mutants. Bobby was taken completely by surprise. It had been over six months since John had done anything like this. Bobby closed his eyes and turned away.
“What are you doing?” He whispered, and only got in reply another ‘shh…’
John ran a thumb across the ice-mutant’s jaw line, letting his other hand slip down his chest and towards the waist-band of his shorts. He sighed and stopped, brushing a hand across Bobby’s hair.
Bobby was sleepy and felt paralysed by his sheer exhaustion both physically and mentally.
The mansion was quiet, and Pyro and Bobby lay on the grass in the secluded place they used to go too late at night when they were younger. John lay beside the ice-mutant and kissed him, one hand gently caressing the soft skin of his waist and saw Bobby turn away and try not to cry; then he knew with out a doubt, that Bobby felt it too; that unbridgeable gap created over time, the inability to feel, the inability to care; the deep pool of unquenchable desire, unfathomable differences, and irreparable emotions.
When he left the Blackbird that day on Alkali Lake, Pyro turned his back on the life he had known without a moment’s hesitation because he knew that some things were for certain. He knew that he was following the one thing he now believed in. He knew that for the first time in his life he did have something to believe in. He knew that there had not been anything left for him in the Academy for almost a year; and he knew that there was no chance in the world that Bobby would follow him as they had passed that point in life some time ago. They weren’t fourteen any more.
~~
St. John crouched in the corner of the room; clad only in a too large t-shirt and chequered boxer-shorts. The room was dark with no window to speak of, and held a dank damp smell of clothes that had dried without sunlight.
He shivered, pulled his knees up to his chest and regretted leaving Australia where everything was simpler and he understood better; but his ‘Daddy is an army man and Mummy thinks that everything will be better when they go to live with Daddy in the US.’
St. John scratched at the cold hard concrete and tried to forget the stinging pain that coursed through his skin. His mother was wrong; she was naive, and she was weak. Everything had been better in Australia; things were clearer and easier - the only positive he could think of for the US was telling those Americans that they rode to school everyday on the backs of Kangaroos.
St. John flinched when the material made contact with his back, and then pulled off his t-shirt. He could hear his father’s yells ringing in his ears. He was weak, he was weak, he was weak. The door opened with a creak and his father told him to go to bed. There would be a dinner party tomorrow with some very important military personnel and he wanted his son cleaned up.
He left the basement muttering ‘portraits’ and ‘fake’ and ‘façade’ because he marred the picture perfect family. They weren’t rich, but they were comfortable - his mother would say - and that’s all that mattered.
He sat on his bed, reached under his pillow to feel his shark-lighter nestled comfortably between his mattress and pillow-case, and then pulled on a t-shirt and pants. His father came to the door, peering between the crack of the door and door-frame
“Only the strong live, St. John. The strong live; but how would you know that you’re really alive? Remember that” his father said, and St. John knew that it was a challenge - it was a game where only the strongest lived. His father closed the door with a soft thud, and St. John quickly reached for his lighter.
There had been a time when he knew everything that went on in the house just like his father had told him to know; but the basement didn’t provide for much perspective. He bit back tears because boys shouldn’t cry, and men definitely didn’t. St. John glanced from his lit lighter to the backpack he packed the last time he had been allowed up in his room. He grabbed his backpack and re-lit his lighter. He looked to the dogtags sitting on his bedside table and hung them around his neck. He grinned wickedly - he was a military man too. His father was one and had taught him well. He could play this game just as well as his father did, and he would win.
John noticed the suit hanging on the doorknob of his wardrobe. Living in the basement gave him a whole new perspective on life. Things began to seem more twisted and disturbing than before, and John stared at the suit with anger and hostility burning deep in his stomach. He stared at it in the hope it would burn, and the more it didn’t, the angrier he became. He flicked his lighter in his small hand, focusing on the smooth black material of the clothes, and lit a small flame in his palm. John glared and threw it at the suit, watching the sleeve catch on fire and spread across the surface of the jacket like a plague.
He smirked; he could play this game too - he held out his hand and let the fire grow and grow.
He watched.
Burn, burn, burn…
When John burned his house down that night, people died. His mother, his sister, and maybe even his father; but he wasn’t sure.
When John burned his house down that night, he had a point to prove. He was strong, he was powerful, and he was worth something.
When John burned his house down that night, he wanted to hurt people; hurt those that had hurt him - made him suffer. People hurt, his father had taught him that. His father had also taught him that fire burns; that people bleed; that people die…
When John grew older and moved on from his home, to the streets, to the Academy, and to the Brotherhood - one thing his father failed to teach him became clearer and clearer.
When people die, they stay dead.
Fin.