Remy LeBeau was dreaming.
Alone, trapped in some otherworldly house that seemed to pulsate with a life of its own. He felt like he was walking in circles through a maze of narrow hallways, the walls weirdly off-kilter, leaning to and fro, expanding and contracting, breathing. Uneven floors seemed to rise and fall, undulating, making him feel nauseated and dizzy. It was like being in one of those old carnival fun-house attractions, the ones that had always unnerved him in a way he couldn't explain. Things, shapes, undefined and fluid, moved among the shadows, just on the edge of his peripheral vision, gone when he tried to focus on them.
*Ayúdame! Por favor, Remy, se lo imploro, ayúdame!*
Remy startled. A voice, a whisper, rich with fear and pain, a child's voice. He knew it was Spanish, oddly accented, but had no idea what what the words meant.
"Désolé...Remy don't know what you sayin'!"
*Aidez-moi! S'il te plaît Remy, je t'en supplie, aidez-moi!*
Once more, that voice, crying out to him, rapid French this time, pleading with him for help. Remy winced; there was no mistaking the urgency, the sense of immediacy that infused those words. An empath, the X-Man known as Gambit was struggling. It was an almost overwhelming assault on his psyche, and he couldn't help but feel his own mirrored emotions well up, unwanted, unbidden, to the surface. There was something just so familiar about the presence that had invaded his dreams.
"Où es-tu, petit? Je ne puis te retrouver!" Where are you, little one? I cannot find you! Remy cried. He began running, not knowing where he was or where he was going. He could sense the panic, the sheer terror of the boy who was calling out to him.
*Pitié, Remy, sauvez moi de les monstres!*
Before Remy could get his bearings, a high-pitched keening wail split the air; it was like nothing Remy had ever heard before. He felt himself spinning down into darkness, falling, fear lancing his heart like a thousand little needles of ice.
Remy sat up in bed, soaked with sweat, heart hammering wildly in his chest. Pain flashed behind his eyes, then settled to a low throb. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand: 3:15 a.m. He wondered if he'd screamed. A sudden pounding on his door told him he had. He knew who was on the other side of the door right away: Chamber, late of Generation-X, Jonothon Starsmore. No surprise, that; his room was right next to Remy's.
*Remy!* Jono's husky, telepathic voice pierced Remy's mind. *Remy! Yer okay, Rem? Answer me or I'm gonna kick the soddin' door in!*
Remy groaned. "Remy hear ya, homme. " He rubbed his face and took a deep, calming breath. He was conflicted; he didn't want to burden Jono with his fear that these were more than just nightmares, but at the same time he desperately needed to talk about it.
More banging on his door shocked Remy out of his reverie.
*Yer gonna open the fuckin' door or not?* Again that insistent, Cockney voice sounded off inside Remy's head, refusing to be brushed aside.
"D'accord, homme, be right wit' ya. Gimme a moment. Arrête la, Jono, you gonna wake de ot'ers." Remy grimaced; hadn't meant to sound so angry. He sensed Jono's surprise, and felt his flash of irritation, quickly damped down.
*Orright.*
Slowly, painfully, Remy got to his feet, fought back a wave of nausea, then stumbled over to the door. His hands shook as he unlocked it, opening it enough to let the young Brit in. Jono wasn't a big man, slender and wiry, standing just 5 foot 9 and weighing maybe 140lbs, tops. But what he lacked in physical stature, he more than made up for in his presence. Inside his body raged a powerful psionic furnace, capable of wreaking destruction on people and property. When his power had first manifested, it left Jono physically damaged - blowing away his lower jaw and part of his chest. Those ruined parts of his body were hidden beneath a layer of thick, rubbery black bandages, providing him an illusion of wholeness. Unable to speak, Jono communicated telepathically.
*Bugger me, Rems, I figgered yer were being murdered in 'ere. Oi, yer scared the shite outta me, mate.* Jono looked closely at Remy, could see how unnerved the Cajun was by the ashen cast to his skin, the way his entire body shook. Gently, Jono took him by the elbow and helped him back to the bed. Remy sat down and hugged himself with his arms. After a moment's hesitation, Jono dropped down beside him and laid a gentle hand on Remy's slumped shoulder.
*Yer need ter calm down now. Wot 'appened?*
"Had one o' dose dreams again, but dis one...dis one was…" Remy's voice trailed off, and he shuddered hard. Jono knew he was struggling to get his emotions under control.
As always, Jono's thick, chestnut hair was a fright, and he quickly ran his hands through the sleep-tangled locks. When he'd heard Remy scream, jolting him out of a deep sleep, he was on his feet and running for Remy's room before he was even fully awake. He knew this wasn't the first time Remy had had this nightmare; they'd been plaguing the Cajun for the past week, robbing him of sleep.
Jono hadn't pressed him for details, knowing how Remy was about exposing his vulnerability. And Jono hadn't wanted to reveal his own secret - that he'd been having nightmares, too, though it was obvious that Remy, being an empath, was more profoundly affected by them. But he also knew it was time they talked about it before they both lost their minds.
*Yer wanna talk about it, pet?*
Remy startled, surprised by the term of endearment. He looked closely at Jono, at those earnest yet sad brown eyes. His gaze moved to the rubbery black bandages that covered Jono from just below his long, narrow nose to the middle of his slender chest. It always made Remy's heart ache for the taciturn young mutant. Perhaps one day, when he felt brave, he would tell Jono that he thought he was beautiful.
"Oui, homme, I do...mais, you gonna t'ink ole Remy losin' his mind." He turned to look at Jono with those haunting eyes of his, crimson on black, unreadable most of the time. Not tonight. He looked embarrassed, ashamed almost, as if he was afraid the younger man might laugh at him.
*Go on now, just tell me. Yer can't keep somefing like this bottled up in yer, mate. S'orright, pet, I'm right 'ere wif yer.* Jono's warm hand slid from Remy's shoulder, fingers trailing lightly down the length of his arm, before coming to rest atop his clenched fist. Almost absentmindedly, Jono brushed his calloused thumb across the ridge of knuckles, soothing.
Remy sighed at the light touch, glad for it. "Dey gettin' worse, Jono. Mais, dey ain't dreams, I know dat for certain now." Remy stopped, seemed to be trying to sort out his thoughts. "I know him, Jono. I know dis boy. Don't know how, but I do."
Jono said nothing, just kept his hand folded over Remy's. Slowly, haltingly, Remy described the dream to him, what the disembodied voice had said, the emotions he'd felt, that he knew the boy was reaching out to him for a reason, for his help. When Jono remained silent, Remy was sure he didn't believe him, figuring him for a real head case.
"I know you t'inking maybe Remy tres fou, dat dis just a bunch o' nonsense mais, it ain't, Jono, dat jeune homme, he need help, need our help, we gotta find him or…" Remy shook his head and made a strange choking sound. "You don't believe me." Then, without warning, he burst into tears, sobbing openly.
Jono was stunned at the onslaught of Remy's raw emotions, and struggled to stay calm.
*Wot are yer on about, then? I believe yer, pet, I do.* Jono paused, searching for the right words. *Yer ain't mad. I know; I been dreamin' of 'im too.*
"Merde," Remy whispered. "Jono...I don't know what dis all about, what to do…"
*Iffin yer ask me, we need ter find this poor lad.* Jono ducked his head close, searching Remy's pale, pinched face. *Orright?*
Remy swiped at his eyes and nose with the back of his hand, angry now that he'd let Jono see him cry. It passed quickly, and left Remy feeling exhausted but relieved. He brushed his auburn hair out of his eyes and forced a smile.
"D'accord, Jono. Mais, I sure am grateful to you, cher. Ever since I come back, you de only one 'sides Jean-Paul showed me any kindness, dat don't judge me. You and him? Seems like you two de only real friends I got, Jono."
It was then that Jono realized that Remy was as lonely, felt as isolated, as he did. It made him angry that Remy had been treated like a pariah by the people who were supposed to be his family.
*Fuck them wankers, the whole bloody lot of 'em. Well, 'cept for Northstar. Good man, Jean-Paul, even if 'e is a bit of a toff. The way them uptight gits act around 'im sometimes, it's no wonder 'e keeps his distance, innit? Outsiders is wot we are, mate, and we gorra stick close, like family is supposed ter.*
Remy looked at Jono with unconcealed gratitude. He wasn't used to people taking his side, and he felt fresh tears sting his eyes. "So what we gonna do, cher?"
*We find 'im,* Jono replied. *You, me and the flyin' frog are gonna find the lad. Sod the rest o' them plonkers.*
Remy raised an eyebrow at that; he had no idea what a plonker was, but he assumed it wasn't a compliment. After a moment, the enormity of what Jono was suggesting hit Remy hard.
"Non, ami, I don' know if dat would be a bonne idee. I don't t'ink dey would want us goin' off de reservation like dat." Remy bit his lower lip, unable to shield Jono from the sickening fear that threatened to overwhelm him.
Jono understood what Remy was afraid of. He'd heard about the so-called trial that Remy had endured. He couldn't imagine what it had been like for Remy, to have his teammates - his family - turn on him, to be left to die in a frozen wasteland. It made him angry.
*Bullocks! We don't need them tossers' fuckin' permission, pet.* Jono held firm to Remy's hand, made him look at him. *I won't let 'em do that ter yer ever again, not the bloody X-Men or anyone else. Never, yer 'ear me, Remy? Yer me best mate, and noffing's ever gonna change that.* And then, quick, before things got too sappy, Jono clapped Remy on the back and gave him what he knew Remy recognized as his way of smiling - crinkled eyes beneath raised brows. *Now let's go get Frenchie. We got business.*
They found Northstar in the kitchen, slumped in a chair, nursing a tumbler of whiskey. He looked like shit. The French-Canadian was usually so impeccable in his dress and appearance, but now, in the small hours of the morning, he seemed drawn, exhausted, wearing a rumpled pair of sleep pants, shirtless. His thick, blue-black hair was a mess. Despite this, Jono couldn't help thinking just how attractive Jean-Paul was. His face was lean and angular with high, sharp cheekbones and a long, aristocratic nose. And his body was incredible; years of being a professional athlete had honed his muscles to perfection. Jono had had some pretty interesting - and frustrating - dreams about Jean-Paul.
"You don't look so good, homme," Remy said softly as he joined him at the table. After a moment, Jono sat down, too. He tried hard not to stare at Jean-Paul. Even after nearly a year of being an X-Man, he still found it difficult not to make a complete fool of himself around Beaubier. Jono met the other man's eyes briefly, and wondered if he'd noticed him looking. A little smile tugged at the corner of Jean-Paul's perfect mouth. Jono felt a flush of embarrassment; no doubt he'd been caught. Not that it mattered. He was sure Jean-Paul was used to it.
Jean-Paul looked at Remy and smiled wanly. "I can't imagine I look any worse than you do, ami." He ran his hands through his hair and shrugged. "Sleep eludes me."
For a moment, Remy could sense Jean-Paul's confusion, his fear, and knew why. "You dreamin' o' de boy, ain't you?"
"Quoi?" Jean-Paul's head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. "I have no idea what you're talking about, LeBeau." He tugged at one of his pointed, leaf-shaped ears. It was a nervous habit, one he hated but could not stop.
*Oi, yer bloody well do, Frenchie.* Jono pinned Jean-Paul with his eyes. Before the speedster could lash out at him with that wicked tongue of his, Jono pressed on. *It's orright, mate. Yer ain't the only one wot's been dreaming of 'im.* For a moment, Jono stared down at his hands. He gave the telepathic equivalent of a sigh. *So 'ave I*
For a tense moment, no one spoke. It was Jean-Paul, surprisingly, who broke the silence.
"Crisse...I hear carosel music when I dream of him. And he speaks to me...pleads to me...in French. Is he even here in Westchester?"
*I know the lad's close. Speaks ter me in English. Real odd accent, sounds kinda French, but I dunno fer sure.* Jono said, shrugging.
Remy shook his head as if to clear it. "I dream of him at une carnivale...in de funhouse, I t'ink." He cocked his head to one side. "Don't know why he's reachin' out to us, mais it's clear as day he needs us. And we gotta find him, before it's too late, neh?"
"I can't find him, when he calls to me in my sleep," Jean-Paul whispered. "I look and I look and I cannot find him."
*We will. Lad's sendin' us clues.* Jono said, firm. *I saw one of them 'orrible freak show signs.* He gave an involuntary shudder; he hated the sideshows. Even before his face had been blown in half, Jono had felt an affinity with the strange souls on display. *Gorra be someplace nearby, a fair, or travelin' show. No chance the lad is real far away.*
Jean-Paul flew to his room and back in a matter of seconds. He was carrying his laptop. Without a word, he sat back down at the table, his fingers flying over the keyboard. An internet search revealed the location of a decrepit circus that had closed down the week before.
"Ici! Here, it must be here," Jean-Paul said, pointing to the screen. "Not far, either. I can be there in minutes."
"You ain't goin' alone, Jean-Paul," Remy said, firm. "No way you can carry de two of us, and I don't t'ink we gonna get away wit' takin' de Blackbird."
*Jesus, we can soddin' drive, can't we?* Jono said, exasperated. *Yer gorra fast car, dontcha, Jean-Paul?*
Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows at that. He did, indeed, have a brand-new BMW in the mansion's garage.
"Oui, but I am driving. There is no way I am letting either of you maniacs drive my new car. She is...special."
Remy gave a surprised bark of laughter. "She is, eh? You maybe afraid ole Gambit might steal her 'way from you?"
Despite himself, Jean-Paul smiled. "Ah, you are delusional as always, mon cher Remy. Come, mes amis, let us go get the boy."