In Sickness and In Health
Title: In Sickness and In Health
(Chapter One)
Author: Makodreamafar
Rating: Eventual R (Pg-13 for this chapter)
Pairing: Bobby/John/Bobby
Summary: In Sickness and In Health Till Death Do You Part. John has never needed anyone in his life until Bobby showed him love. How far will he go for Bobby and Bobby for him? How much will they give up, will they gain? This is their story. Slash Bobby/John
Authors Note:
This story will be a long one covering from pre X-1 to post X-3. It will eventually deal with slash and character death. I am looking for beta(s) for this story, so if you are interested please message me. The rating for this chapter is Pg-13, this story will achieve a rating of R. Please review after you read.
Prologue
My name is St. John Allerdyce.
Now that I’m writing this that’s a stupid what to start a story, isn’t it? But names are supposed to be the basis of our personalities, the truest form of who we are; an identity. If that’s the case though maybe I should have introduced myself as Pyro. Because have you ever read the definition of that word? Pyro-a noun; plural, informal-a pyromaniac; Pyromaniac-a noun; a compulsion to set things on fire. So my name in essence means that I have a desire to watch the world burn. To watch the flames lick their teeth and devour-everything.
I’m nothing but destruction, an uncontrolled force. Is it really any surprise that I feel things so deeply; that I allow my emotions to run free?
Not like him. The most stereotypical thing happened when I went to the school; I fell in love. Yeah, go ahead and laugh it up. It’s hilarious I know. You wanna know what’s even more hilarious though? He makes ice. Oh yes people, shake your heads. Say could you possibly be any more of a stereotype; of a metaphor gone bad? Yes I can; because if you use enough fire you melt the ice and burn the source then destroy it. This is the story of how I destroyed Robert Drake’s life.
A candle burned
Its wick gone low
Its golden life
Losing steady glow
Flickering ever
In the wind
Over and over
Never to win
Chapter One
I guess I should start my story at the beginning. But what is a beginning? What was the beginning of this story? Was it the first time I realized I was gay, the first time I kissed Bobby, or maybe the first time I thought to myself that this man, this stupid, happy, ridiculously optimistic man named Bobby Drake was the one that I would love forever. No I should probably go back further, back to my beginning. But enough of this rambling that’s not what you want to know. You want to know how I destroyed him right? You want to know how I managed to decimate the man of ice? This is the beginning then, the beginning of the fire.
It was a surprisingly clear day, surprising because five minutes ago it had looked as if a storm from the bowls of hell was about to descended upon the car. John curled his knees tighter into his chest, his dirty converse digging into the white leather seats of the neon blue sports car. He could only imagine that the owner or what he had assumed to be the owner of the car, was displeased.
The older man’s face was set into what seemed to be a mask of indifference, yet it still held a hint frustration. There was a slight furrow in the driver’s brow and his hands held the steering wheel tightly. He seemed so large in John’s eyes, it was as if he blocked out everything else. His existence speaking of a silent sort of danger, one that would strike without warning. In short, the man terrified the street urchin.
The man, or Scott Summers as he had introduced himself, reminded John of the various cops that had picked him up over the years. Their entire bodies screaming of disdain for him even being alive. Telling him in no uncertain terms that they believed him to be a waste of valuable air and that he was completely worthless; that he was nothing. That’s what he was to the man sitting next to him, nothing. Summers had not spoke a word to him after the car had started. He had not even acknowledged the boy’s presence, not with a glance or even a slight mummer.
John if possible forced himself even closer into his knees. His chin pushing into the narrow space between the exposed knobby joints, littered with scrapes and bruises easily seen through the rips in his jeans. The bottom of his jeans were caked with mud and various other substances that were unidentifiable. Even if they were identifiable though, it would not be recommended to do so; the answers would not be pleasant.
His shirt hung largely off of his tiny frame, if exposed he would merely be skin stretched over long bones. Like a child that had grown too much and was still filling out. Except John wasn’t tall. He was small, about 5" 2’ if he pushed it. He blamed his height on the lack of nutrition in his diet, but really he had never hit his growth spurt. His body apparently rebelling from the natural processes of growing up until it was satisfied its needs would be met.
He knew he wasn’t much to look at . He was just a skinny homeless kid covered with mud and dirt, with greasy hair that hung loosely around his grubby face. The boy’s white teeth worried his bottom lip, his nails digging into his biceps as he wrapped his arms tighter around his knees squeezing his eyes closed and pushing them into his knees. He didn’t even know where they were going. This guy had just picked him up from the 9th Precinct in New York. He had just showed up, exchanged words with the police then taken John by the arm and had steered him out of the station to his car.
At first John had thought that he was being taken back to social services. That’s what they did with kids like him right? However the more they traveled, the further they got from the city, the more John realized this wasn’t social services. Anyways, what kind of Social Worker drove a sports car with leather interior?
Oh god they were going to kill him! He could feel his heart start to race in his chest as he lifted his eyes looking at the barren landscape around him. This guy was going to kill him and bury him. He didn’t want to die! He hadn’t meant to hurt the cop! He hadn’t meant to! It was an accident! Blood slipped down his biceps and he bit through his bottom lip, iron filled liquid slipping onto his tongue and chin. The coopery taste made his panic increase and he dug his nails in further past his skin.
"I’m sorry!" John heard the words leave his throat in a desperate sort of cry. Blood spattering on the dash, bright red against cool white as Scott looked at him surprised. John couldn’t stop though, his hands were shaking as tears started to flow from his eyes. Spit and blood spilling down his chin while words spewed from his mouth. "I didn’t mean-I-," his breath became choked, his chest heaving as the world narrowed.
More blood. Oh God. He hadn’t meant to hurt that man!
"Calm down," John hadn’t noticed the car had stopped, that Scott was trying to grab his hands and pull his fingers from where they were ripping the flesh from John’s arms. He couldn’t see anything clearly, the world was fuzzy. Was he dying? Blood was filling his senses and his stomach churned harshly as bile raced through his system.
Hot and thick, the fluid filtered up his throat, filling his mouth as Scott moved his arm away. The vile substance released itself, landing on knees and the interior of the car. He couldn’t stop. Over and over he heaved and cried. Blood, vomit and spit kept coming up and he was screaming. Vaguely he realized he was screaming that he was sorry.
Scott was trying to calm him down was telling him to breathe. Was demanding he calm down. But he couldn’t. "Breathe," Scott was holding his face in his hands as more vomit spilled down John’s chin, mixing with his blood as it dripped into the wound on his lips. Some of it was getting onto Scott’s blue sweater and hands, staining the fabric permanently. "Breathe. I know it wasn’t your fault! Now calm down!" John couldn’t though, so his body shut down, the world went black.
John felt as if his mind was hidden beneath layers of thick gauze. Like a white cocoon had been wrapped around his mind. He was unable to focus on anything besides the slight buzz. Every time he tried to think, to process, the world would slip away it was like trying to catch wave receding from the shore. The young mutants limbs felt heavy and he had to struggle to move them. Even while struggling though he could only managed a slight twitch of his fingers. What was wrong with him?
Finally John’s fingers made a firm move and he breathed in deeply as they brushed across cool leather seeming to be worn with age. The gentle whirl of an air conditioner somewhere to the left reached his ears.
Suddenly a cool cloth was placed on his brow and his worries began to float away as cold water slipped from the edges to dance along the spaces between the strands of his hair. It feel so good, so comforting, he didn’t realize it until now but he felt hot. It wasn’t unpleasant, just hot.
A small sound of pleasure left his lips and the presence next to him moved closer the warmth the being radiated seeming to seep into his skin. Like the heat was being drawn into him, was begging to be drawn into him.
His forehead drew together as a voice entered his mind. No not a voice, singing, ethereal so beautiful. John’s forehead relaxed as the haunting call entrapped him.
It was beautiful, seductive, like hot chocolate on a freezing day. It was begging to be set free. Begging him to let it run loose, to consume him in its warmth. He wanted it to. He opened himself, the song getting louder as he laughed joyfully, it was dancing with him.
Vaguely he noticed the warm presence from before moving further from him. He didn’t care though, this was so much better.
‘John,’ a different voice entered his mind and he shied away from it, it wasn’t warm but cool and caressing. Not like the song that licked at the edges of his mind; like a playful dog that wanted to be let outside. He leaned mentally toward the song when the voice spoke again, ‘John.’
Why was that voice there, he was happy with the song. ‘Go away!’ John pouted leaning more into the song moving with it.
‘John,’ the song started to fade and John screamed in rage, chasing after it even as the voice wrapped around him. ‘John control it, don’t let it control you.’
He didn’t want to control it, it was so beautiful, he wanted to let it be free. It deserved to be free, to paint the world with its being. He struggled against the voice trying to get to the song. Tears streamed down his face as the song was pushed further away from him.
‘No please it’s…please don’t take it from me. It’s mine!’ Cold fingertips pushed to his cheeks and he struggled, reaching desperately toward the song only to feel it be extinguished. ‘No!’ John struggled toward the embers of the song but there was no singing only the dying whimpers of the creature’s life . Cold hands pushed more firmly to his flesh and the world faded again.
John came to once more, the world pounding in his ears as the sun’s rays splashed across his face. Groaning he turned away from them, the sound of blinds closing resonating in the room. His head…God what happened? A hand was lifted and pushed to his eyes, bright red spots forming behind his eyelids as he tried to push the throbbing back. John’s knees were drawn up and the leather made a squelching sound as he gritted his teeth against the pain. Did Nathan’s gang beat him up for his bread or something? It wasn’t that unusual but still his head had never hurt like this before. It was so much worse than what a couple of hits of his head to the pavement could do.
Slowly the headache receded and a voice washed over him. "I see you’re awake John," the sound of a wheelchair coming toward him invoked John to open his eyes. He quickly snapped his eyes closed once more and whimpered the light still in the room seeming to be a cosmic burst. More blinds closed and he braved opening his eyes once more. There was just enough light so that John could see without causing damage his eyes so he examined the male in front of him. Kind blue eyes, filled with age and wisdom started into his own, disregarding any barriers he may have had up and dragging him into the man’s power.
Wrinkles crinkled at the edges of the elder male’s eyes, not old and sagging but distinguished, as if instead of a testament to his age they were a testament to his life. John could see so many things in those eyes, a deep desire to accomplish a goal, a knowing of the cruelness of the world yet the proclamation of hope. Tearing his gaze away from the man across from him John took a deep breath, cool air filtering into his 13 year old lungs.
He could barely stand to met the man’s gaze so instead he looked over his shoulder. John’s eyes widened at the dark smoldered wall surrounding the fireplace and the charred wooden floor. What in the world had happened here? It looked as of the fireplace had exploded into the room, some of the bricks actually coal colored. "What-" John stopped speaking as his eyes met with the old man’s again his breath catching in his throat. He knew, he knew what had happened. IT had happened again.
"What happened John, is that what you were going to ask young man? Why don’t you tell me?" The voice wasn’t harsh and accusing, just calm, as if it was stating a fact, calming a wild animal. John couldn’t help but allow his heart beat to slow, to permit his breaths to come more evenly as he moved his gaze back to the ruined wall.
"It was me. I did it." John was amazed at how realxed his voice was, how easy it was to admit that he was responsible for the destruction before him. He was entranced by it and the old man before him smiled sadly.
"Your powers can be used for more than destruction John." Brown eyes darted to blue and the young boy shook his head, picking at the new clothes he was wearing.
When did they change him? He hated the clothes, white, pure, not like him. John was just a street kid. He didn’t like clean things, they got dirty when he touched them. Like the time he had dropped that beautiful glass elephant his mother had kept on a high shelf when he was six. He broke anything that was beautiful-destroyed it utterly.
John turned his gaze back to the other inhabitant of the room, "who are you, where am I?" Brown eyes watched as archaic hands folded a smile spreading on the older male’s face. "My name is Professor Charles Xavier and this is my school for gifted youngsters.’’
Please review.