Title: Burn
Rating: R for themes?
Pairing: None
Summary: Inspired by 'Suicide Note'. My version of John's cure.
Disclaimer: The Usual.
--
It was his fault. He had driven John into madness. Storm had told him that his friend was unstable, but he never thought that he would have reacted to the cure like this. Bobby leaned against the cold metal and slid down next to the solid door, it's only adornment a 6x6 glass window with bars on it. There was no handle, no lock, no label, just that window. He had only looked in it for a few guilty moments, but couldn't bring himself to look longer that that, even though he had been down here every day for months, just sitting outside the door. He yelled at himself in ways that John would have if he hadn't turned out this way. It drove him to tears, and so he just sat there sometimes, sobbing helplessly.
But today is different. Today he wants to tell John that he's sorry. He wants to gently tap on the thick glass and hope for the other's attention. He wanted to admit that it was his fault that John had turned out this way. He wanted to help John.
But there was no helping him. He was too far gone.
--
He was shivering. His whole body shook violently as he stared at the metal lighter on the floor in front of him. He was curled up in a corner, his knees pulled to his chest, his chin gently sitting on his kneecap. But still he shook. As tightly as he held himself, grabbing at his hands and arms trying to stop it, he was still so cold. The shaking was so violent it was nearly convulsive, and it scared him, because on the rare occasion that Dr. McCoy had come to see him and ask about his mental health, he had begged him to turn up the heat that poured from a small vent in the ceiling, only to be returned with a concerned look and a shake of the head. The heat was already on the room full blast, and the Doctor was sweating every time he came in.
So maybe the cold was coming from inside his body. He sat up and looked around in realization of this, then leaned forward and picked up the lighter
--
Bobby watched in horror as his once best friend tore the bandages from his arms and from around his torso hastily. Hank had explained to him that john had been having episodes like this, where he would intentionally take the lighter to his skin. "John." It was only a whisper, but Bobby wanted to stop him so desperately. But hew couldn't do anything but watch as John brought the lighter down on the inside of his lower arm. His eyes were darkly blank, and he was panting, like he was on withdrawal from a drug.
Then Bobby understood. John was addicted, and Bobby had taken away his only drug.
--
John screamed in agony as the flame licked his skin. But he had to burn out the cold. He just had to.
But some part of the old John was left in there, somewhere deep inside, and it told him that he had really gone mad.
--
Bobby covered his ears, terrified to hear the other's screams as he looked away. He had hurt John enough, and it was agonizing to know that he was still hurting him. No matter how indirect it was.
--
The smell of burning, melting flesh was sickening. The thought that it was his own body was even worse, but he still didn't pull the lighter away. He wanted this so badly. He wanted to feel the fire inside of him again. He needed to burn.
He needed to bring the fir back into him. Relight the passion that he once had, that he poured into everything he did. H wanted to be himself again. He needed to bring back the heat that his body was now refusing to create. He needed to be Pyro again.
--
When the screaming stopped, Bobby returned to the window. John had passed out, a welt visible where the flame once mangled his skin. The lighter had fallen out of a relaxed hand, onto the concrete floor below.
What's worse, John looked so peaceful because of it.
--
He wasn't shivering anymore. He stood, and didn't shake in the slightest. He looked at his newly bandaged arms and abdomen and couldn't remember how long he had been out for. He walked around the room slowly, something he was unaccustomed to. He had always just simply sat in that corner, quiet and alone.
But as he walked slowly, concentrating on one foot in front of the other, he felt it again.
--
Bobby had returned for the fourth day since John's last episode. He slowly sat down outside the door, thumping against the wall and sliding down against it as he sat.
--
John spun to the door. He heard something. It wasn't the doctor. It was an unfamiliar noise, so he made his way to the door, and pressed against it, standing on his toes to look out the small window.
--
Bobby sighed and stood up. He looked through the small window again, hoping that this would be the day that John was awake.
--
Dr. McCoy approached down the Hall, "Oh, hello, Bobby." His said as he covered the door's keypad with one hand and punched in the code with the other, then entered the room, standing by the door until it closed behind him.
--
Bobby peeked in the window again to see Hank approach John, who had been pacing the room, lighter in hand. John flinched away when the Doctor went to touch him, so Hank dropped his hand and said something, to which John shook his head, smiling a little, to which Hank nodded.
--
"No more shivers?"
"No. I'm feeling better."
"Good. Is there anything you'd like? I'll need to do some psychoanalysis later, but it'll go better if you're in a good mood."
There was a long pause, and John looked up curiously, "Can Bobby come in?"
Hank thought this over and then nodded, "I suppose that would be alright for a little while." John smiled. A small smile, so small it almost wasn't there, but a smile nonetheless.
--
Bobby moved away from the door as Dr. McCoy approached and exited, letting the door close behind him.
"Is he okay?"
The doctor Nodded. "Is something wrong?" Bobby asked him.
"He'd like for you to come in." came the solemn reply with a shrug as the keypad procedure was performed again and Hank motioned for him to go in. "I'll be waiting out here if you need anything." Hank said, taking Bobby's place by the door.
--
John looked up quickly from his mattress on the floor when he heard the door slide open.
--
Bobby slowly entered the room as the door slid shut behind him. In a second John was hugging him, clinging to him almost desperately. It felt odd to Bobby, even though he knew it was most likely due to the depravation of any intimate contact whatsoever.
And then John whispered.
"You should've killed me when you had the chance."
The click of the Zippo opening, the snap of the igniting wheel, a flicker of flame, and an explosion of heat.