Extinguished (X-Men Movieverse, John/Bobby)
Title: Extinguished
Fandom: X-Men (Movieverse)
Characters: John Allerdyce/Bobby Drake
Prompt: 075 - Shattered
Word Count: 463
Rating: PG-13
The Cure had supposedly been abolished.
Publicly, at least.
It still existed, it just wasn’t talked about, wasn’t acknowledged, not in their new world where mutants had saved the lives of millions, where the X-Men were heroes and people were encouraged to be proud of their differences.
The Cure was still there for those who wanted it, it was simply a case of knowing who to ask. It was mutating too, ironically enough, and different versions were seeping into the underground market - temporary effects, selective effects, whatever there was demand for.
The Cure was still there for those who didn’t want it, and mutants whispered in fear about the weapons that still existed, and the men that wielded them.
The Cure had supposedly been abolished, and that was what the media would have the world believe, and Bobby wished he could live in that world, but the hollow anger in John’s eyes wouldn’t let him.
He knew he shouldn’t still visit John. Rogue knew that he did, accepted it, but he wasn’t sure if the others were aware.
Bobby felt sick every time he found himself pulling into the littered car park, dismal rundown motel anything but welcoming, despite the neon flashing sign wearily proclaiming ‘vacancy’.
John hated being visited, but he always opened the door.
The room was perpetually dim, as if without fire John had no need for light. No need for anything, and Bobby had convinced himself long ago that if he didn’t visit, John wouldn’t eat at all, would simply flicker out and be gone, and the miserable quiet shell of the man he’d once known was better than no John at all.
Sometimes they sat in silence. Sometimes Bobby could only hand John the groceries and turn away, and he could never get out of there fast enough. Sometimes Bobby would talk, about nothing and everything, and fret that every story was just another knife in John’s back.
Sometimes John would sling his leg over Bobby’s lap, and he always tasted like cigarettes, although Bobby never noticed an ashtray.
John never told him about the attack, and Bobby never asked. Elephant in the room, and John’s skin always seemed colder than Bobby remembered it being at the mansion, and Bobby wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not.
And sometimes Bobby would just watch John, let his hands frame his face, run fingers over John’s lips, and John would bite at his thumb, at Bobby’s palm, but the spark wasn’t there, there was no fire in his eyes.
Rogue was so happy since the Cure, but John had never been given the choice, and Bobby kept going back, and every time he expected John to be gone, to have vanished, a wisp of smoke, extinguished flame.
Fandom: X-Men (Movieverse)
Characters: John Allerdyce/Bobby Drake
Prompt: 075 - Shattered
Word Count: 463
Rating: PG-13
The Cure had supposedly been abolished.
Publicly, at least.
It still existed, it just wasn’t talked about, wasn’t acknowledged, not in their new world where mutants had saved the lives of millions, where the X-Men were heroes and people were encouraged to be proud of their differences.
The Cure was still there for those who wanted it, it was simply a case of knowing who to ask. It was mutating too, ironically enough, and different versions were seeping into the underground market - temporary effects, selective effects, whatever there was demand for.
The Cure was still there for those who didn’t want it, and mutants whispered in fear about the weapons that still existed, and the men that wielded them.
The Cure had supposedly been abolished, and that was what the media would have the world believe, and Bobby wished he could live in that world, but the hollow anger in John’s eyes wouldn’t let him.
He knew he shouldn’t still visit John. Rogue knew that he did, accepted it, but he wasn’t sure if the others were aware.
Bobby felt sick every time he found himself pulling into the littered car park, dismal rundown motel anything but welcoming, despite the neon flashing sign wearily proclaiming ‘vacancy’.
John hated being visited, but he always opened the door.
The room was perpetually dim, as if without fire John had no need for light. No need for anything, and Bobby had convinced himself long ago that if he didn’t visit, John wouldn’t eat at all, would simply flicker out and be gone, and the miserable quiet shell of the man he’d once known was better than no John at all.
Sometimes they sat in silence. Sometimes Bobby could only hand John the groceries and turn away, and he could never get out of there fast enough. Sometimes Bobby would talk, about nothing and everything, and fret that every story was just another knife in John’s back.
Sometimes John would sling his leg over Bobby’s lap, and he always tasted like cigarettes, although Bobby never noticed an ashtray.
John never told him about the attack, and Bobby never asked. Elephant in the room, and John’s skin always seemed colder than Bobby remembered it being at the mansion, and Bobby wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not.
And sometimes Bobby would just watch John, let his hands frame his face, run fingers over John’s lips, and John would bite at his thumb, at Bobby’s palm, but the spark wasn’t there, there was no fire in his eyes.
Rogue was so happy since the Cure, but John had never been given the choice, and Bobby kept going back, and every time he expected John to be gone, to have vanished, a wisp of smoke, extinguished flame.