A/N: Short, but the following chapters will be longer. Hope you like. Ideas in my head are currently scrambled, and I'm still finding my way through this story. I'll do my best.

Help

He entered the bar. Empty. This meant a private meeting. He looked around, from booth to booth, seeking out the owner. The door to the storage room squeaked open, and out he came. He rested his eyes on Pyro, then indicated the chair behind the bar stall. Pyro followed, and took a seat. The owner took his place behind the stall, and took a rag, starting to wipe the beer glasses.

"You got a lotta enemies, kid," he said in a husky voice, taking a cold beer out of the fridge and slamming it on the table.

"I know," Pyro replied, taking the bottle in his hand. He drank.

"Well," started the owner, watching him, "the thing is, I can't keep lying for you. It's bad for business, y'see."

He got the signal. He lowered the bottle onto the table. A moment too long, and he was smacked against the ground. It wasn't as though he knew who they were. To him, they were just another group of people Magneto had promised something to. A promise that, ofcourse, had not been kept. It wasn't as though he'd seen old Mags in a while, anyway. The guy had disappeared after the battle. Everybody had disappeared after the battle.

Either way, he was now pinned to the ground, with some big guy over him, swearing and threatening him. It was over quick. They hit him a couple of times, which was something he was used to. It was practically something installed into his training. It trained him to be immune to jolts of small pain, like getting kicked in the ribs or against the head. Heck yeah, he still felt the pain, but it didn't matter so much. So, when the thugs left, and he stood up, he followed the bar owner's tired eyes to his waist. On the right side, there was a small pool of blood starting to form. Groaning, he took one look at the bar owner, a look of hate, and took of, limping from the small beating he'd just gotten.

It took a while as he walked around; jacket zipped up to hide his wound. It stung, yeah. It did hurt. But he knew it wasn't anything really important. They wouldn't have wanted him dead. They wanted him to feel pain. They wouldn't have hit anything that would've killed him. Or wouldn't have in the measure of a hairsbreadth.

Ofcourse, the silence didn't last long. He was all alone in the quiet of the night, at least as quiet as it could be in New York. Then came another shout. Ready to get hurt again, it was only when the person's voice registered into his head that he gave out a more pained groan. He didn't need this. He was too tired. Turning around to face his opponent, he got a punch against the face, and landed on the floor. Not ready to take this person's shit, he stood up, and dusting himself off for a moment, got into a punch as well. But the guy didn't fall. It did make him wonder why, but in the next moment, he was tackled onto the ground, and being kicked. He only grunted in pain when he got kicked where his stab wound was. He grabbed the guy's leg on his next kick, and threw him aside. He jumped up, and in a flick of the wrist and a flick of the lighter cap, fire bursted out. Flames grew into a long thick flowing snake, which targeted the enemy. The enemy that, in that moment, had shot out his own flowing thick snake. A snake of ice.

Then came a girl's voice. Protest. She screamed out to Bobby Drake.

"Bobby!" Obviously, she didn't like the idea of the fight. But it was the voice that caught him off-guard. He knew it, but it wasn't who he thought it'd be.

Turning around for a moment, he saw Kitty Pride, a reproachful look on her face. When he turned back, he grabbed Drake's fist as it launched for his face, and twisted his arm behind his back, pushing him to the ground. They fought like fourth-graders, and it made him laugh inside. And outside.

He chuckled slightly. "Aw, come on, Drake, put a little more effort into it, will ya?"

Kitty spoke again. "John, let him go. No trouble."

He turned his attention to her, and cocked his head slightly to the side. "Really? And I thought you were the one who liked adventure."

"We don't have time to waste on people like you," she replied brutally.

"Nice to see you again too, Kitty," he replied sarcastically.

"Let him go, now, Pyro."

"Or what?"

He turned back, and, amazingly enough, was pushed aside. He stood up, checking his wound, and looked back up. He sent out a bomb of fire, just as a bomb of ice was heading at him. It hit him square in the chest, and he was thrown back a bit. He saw the result of his shot. Drake's jacket had caught fire, which he was now extinguishing. But him, his wound. His stab wound. It had gotten worse. It was bleeding through the jacket as well now. Cupping a hand over it, on which blood traced, he left the two and walked away into the shadows. He was closing in on his apartment, when he stopped and couldn't believe his eyes.

It was her. Marie D'Ancanto. Brown hair, white stripes, porcelain face. He looked at her. She must have felt him staring at her, because she looked at him.

"John?" she barely breathed.

He turned away, and walked back. How? How in the world could he get himself in this deep a trouble? And in one night? How? He walked faster, and turned around a lot of corners. Still, he heard her footsteps as she half-ran to catch up with him. He only stopped when he ran into the thugs that had stabbed him a moment ago. He cringed at the sight of them. This much trouble?!

They grabbed him by the shirt. "Haven't had enough, have ya, buddy?" one asked.

Then other laughed. Then as one held him against the wall, the other had turned in the direction he had just come from. "What's this now? Brought a friend?"

Pyro could see as he turned his head, that Rogue had started to take a couple of steps back. But in a flash, the guy that had spoke had ended up behind her. A moment later, and he had her by the hair infront of him.

"Girlfriend?" asked the guy who was holding him up against the wall. Without waiting for an answer, he dropped Pyro. "Poor girlie."

Pyro jumped and was about to deck the guy when he turned back, and grabbed him by the neck, swung him around, and threw him across the road. Meanwhile, Rogue had elbowed the guy who had her by the hair, and had dashed to the side, when he reappeared infront of her. Now, he was mad. He smacked her across the face, and she tripped to the side, landing on the floor.

"Show. Some. Respect." He said, kicking her per word.

He saw this. Pyro saw this. Like heck if he was gonna let this happen. He stood up instantly, and with a swift move, flicked his lighter open. They wouldn't hurt her. He wouldn't let them. But before the flames shot out, the guy who had kicked Rogue had burst in flames that just appeared. Pyro couldn't believe it. But he didn't even have time to. In a second, the flames that had begun, swung out a whiplash so hard, it hit him. It hurt. Hurt hard. But he didn't go flying backwards. Neither did the other guy. But the guy who hurt Rogue had burst into a huge flame ball. There was screaming. And it must've been what called the other two from earlier. He caught sight of Bobby and Kitty reappearing. The other guy, the one not on flames, ran at Pyro, swinging for his head. He ducked, and pushed him forward. Once again, in a swift moment, out came the lighter. Then, before the flames struck out, the flames engulfed him as well. This guy screamed along. And once more, whiplash. This one hurt Pyro bad. He grunted in pain, and collapsed, hitting the ground in one quick move.

One flamed guy had grabbed the other, and both disappeared. Rogue had crawled over to Pyro just then. She kneeled over him, and placed her hand gently on the side of his head.

"Johnny?"

A/N: Enjoyed? COMMENT. =]