::Authors Notes:: A fic about Pyro as a kid. I don't know a lot about Pyro, so he'll probably seem out of character, even though he's only eight in this anyway. And I realize that he's from Australia and he's supposed to have a sense of humor…but I don't know enough about Australian accents, or Australian people, to write them and humor wouldn't have worked with this story. So. Err the only thing that actually fits the actual Pyro is his powers…but not yet. This is only partially finished cuz I've been working on it for a really long time and I wanted to post what I had. So it sort of cuts off abruptly at the end, but the rest should be up…sometime. It depends when I get to write. So I wrote this based off of some things I'd seen while working w/ a group of underprivileged kids over the summer. The characters are entirely fictional but a lot of their situations, and some quotes, aren't. There's also some drug crap and implications of child abuse, but not a lot, so don't read if you don't want to hear it. Other than that, I hope u like.

"Now it's time to wrap our fears in the night, and on the first day we'll dress this city in flames."

--Thursday (Paris in Flames)

Paris in Flames

By asheniel

Johnny twisted a blade of grass between his fingers, then tossed it into the fire. Hot flames rose from the rusted metal grill, and, sighing, he tossed several frozen burger patties on it. Another roar of laughter from behind him sent a wave of anger coursing through his system. He should have known. He should have known that they would lie, as usual, as always. Why did it surprise him anymore?

"What the hell are you thundering down the stairs for?" His mother had demanded by way of greeting, rolling her bloodshot eyes and exhaling as he had come downstairs that morning. He had stared at her, disbelieving, unable to comprehend. She had to remember that today was his birthday. She was playing a joke. There were people waiting to surprise him in the living room. After all of his reminders…

"What're you staring at me like that for? You look like your father does when he sees a fourteen year old girl." She had rolled her eyes again and turned away, completely oblivious to all the hurt that was bubbling through her son's body. "Where's Kelly, anyway? You didn't leave her upstairs, did you?"

He had shaken his head silently and looked away, fighting the sting in his nose. They were supposed to remember. They were supposed to keep this one promise. It wasn't every day that he would turn eight…tears had welled up in his eyes and he fought to keep them down, knowing that his mother would yell at him for acting like a baby over something silly.

"What's wrong with you?" She had demanded, her eyes narrowing.

"Nothing."

"Bull. Why're you crying?"

"It's nothing."

"Johnny, get back here. I want to know why you're crying." She had grabbed him by the arm and forced him to face her, pulling his chin up with the end of her cat-like fingernail. "Now tell me, Johnny. There isn't nothing you can do about it if you don't tell your own mamma." Her last words were touched with the slightest bit of coaxing, and, encouraged, he had lifted his gaze, trying to blink away the unwanted tears that had pooled in his eyes.

"Today's my birthday, Ma." He had bitten his lip and averted his eyes, all too aware of how pitiful he looked. He hated to cry and he rarely ever did it anymore, but the way she had been looking at him with the concern of a real mother had evoked the sensitive little boy inside of him, a part that had been buried with the years of ridicule he had suffered for being such a wuss.

Her eyes, blurry and swimming with broken shards of reality, widened and flashed with guilt as she remembered all of the promises that she had made in order to get him to stop bothering her. Apparently they had meant something to him. Pursing her lips, she had smiled at her son and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, I haven't forgotten, Johnny. We got big plans for you tonight, okay?"

His expression brightened. "Oh…really? I thought you and Dad had forgotten…"

She frowned at him, irritated that he had hit on the truth. "How could you think that we had forgotten our own son's birthday?" She demanded, taking a long drag on her cigarette.

"Sorry," Johnny said quickly, "I wasn't thinking."

"That's right, you weren't. Now if you'll go and get Kelly for me, I won't call the party off."

He had rushed upstairs, newfound excitement and faith in his parents surging through his veins, and snatched Kelly, his two year old sister, who had been sitting in her room, jabbering quietly to herself. As he had deposited her in his mother's arms, he fought the urge to ask a million questions about his surprise party. She might cancel it because he was asking too many questions. But still, the desire to know was too much, and he couldn't help but blurt out just one thing.

"Is there gonna be a cotton candy machine?" His friend had once had a party with a cotton candy machine. There had been a clown, too, but Johnny considered himself too old for that. He glanced up at his mother hopefully and immediately regretted it, for his mother's eyes flickered with annoyance and she turned to her son, Kelly balanced precariously on her hip and a renewed scowl curling across her face.

"Johnny," she said, giving him a look, "why do you have to ask me all these questions? Don't you trust your own parents to give you what they promised?"

"Sorry," he had said quickly, not remembering how often his parents got angry at him for not trusting him over promises that they rarely ever kept. "Sorry," he repeated, biting his lip nervously. His mother merely continued to scowl at him, and in a sudden bolt of panic, he just knew that the party would be canceled now. "Sorry," he had said again, his tone rising to a pathetic squeak as he felt his nose start to sting up again. "I didn't mean to be rude, Ma…I'm sorry."

She had stared at him, her upper lip curling again as she took note of the glassiness in his eyes. "Jesus fucking Christ," she had said finally, turning away, "don't you ever stop crying?" When she was answered by a muffled sniffle, she had looked at him again. "Stop crying," she ordered, using her free hand to take his chin between her fingers and give it a small shake. "It's fuckin' pitiful, Johnny…aren't you turning eight today? Huh?"

He had nodded silently, her words merely evoking more tears to leak from the corners of his eyes.

"Then start acting your age," she commanded, "instead of wallowing around like a kicked puppy or something. You're a big guy now, okay? You're not supposed to cry over every little thing." She lifted the cigarette to her lips, not taking her gaze off of him. "Okay?"

"Okay," he had managed, trying to suppress his tears, at least until he could get somewhere private.

"Good," she had replied, "now go play outside or something. I've got to run some errands."

He nodded and started to move toward the door, but then paused, biting his lip nervously. "Um…Mom?"

She looked at him, chewing at the end of her cigarette. "Yeah, Johnny."

"Well, can I ask you one thing? So I know what time I should be home for—for tonight."

"Your party's at six, so just be back before then."

"Oh…okay, thanks." He had tried to smile at her to let him know that he really was grateful, that he did trust her—but she didn't seem to get the message. Instead, she had turned her back on him, a plume of smoke dangling gently at her lips, and didn't reply.

Johnny sighed again, louder this time. Happy birthday to me, he thought grimly, staring at the chunks of ice that had encrusted the meat slowly melt away and drip into the fire. He wondered if this was how all of his birthdays would end up. He would cook the food while his parents would have a good time. His mother was supposed to be helping him, but she had gone inside almost an hour ago and he could see her now through the kitchen window. Her and several of her friends, smoking cigarettes and drinking beers as they laughed and had a good time. And it was his birthday. Sometimes it all just seemed so unfair. They were supposed to have gotten all the neighborhood kids together…instead, they had rounded up their own friends and then blamed him for not taking responsibility for his own party. Catering to his father for the rest of the night was his punishment.

Johnny bit his lip, fighting down the angry tears. He wasn't going to cry this time. But it just wasn't fair that he was being punished on his own birthday. He hadn't even gotten one present or a 'happy birthday' from anyone…

"Hi Johnny."

He looked up, surprised, to see Abby, a girl that lived down the street and he also liked. "Hi," he replied, his cheeks flushing, then blurted out, "you're not supposed to be here."

She shrugged her small shoulders and glanced about with mild interest flickering in her eyes. "I thought today was your birthday," she said, frowning. "Aren't you gonna have a party?"

Johnny opened his mouth to tell her that what she was seeing right now was the party, but was suddenly overcome by shame. What would she think if she found out that this was all that his parents had provided for him? No, he wouldn't tell her. She had had a birthday party once, earlier in the summer when she had turned nine. He didn't want anyone to think that his family was poor, anyway.

"No," he said boldly, and then, after an awkward pause, he added, "my Dad says I'm too old to have them anymore."

She stared at him, clearly suspicious. "Why're you so mad then?"

"I'm not mad," he said defensively, "I was cooking."

"Okay," Abby shrugged, the fading sunlight illuminating the flood of freckles that splattered her thin shoulders and harshly jutting cheekbones. She paused and studied the burgers roasting on the grill. "Are you supposed to eat those?"

"They're for my dad and his friends," Johnny replied, rising to his feet.

She looked at him for a moment, standing almost a head taller than he was. "Oh," she said finally, wrinkling her nose. "I don't think burgers are supposed to look like that."

"Yeah they are," Johnny started to explain, but she cut him off.

"Want to come with me? I'm gonna show you somethin'."

"But I'm supposed to cook."

"Just for a second, Johnny. It's really cool."

"Well…" he hesitated, glancing back at the porch where his father sat. "I don't want to get into trouble."

Abby rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "You won't Johnny. We'll be back in five minutes, I promise!"

Johnny bit his lip, casting another glance back at the porch, and then through the kitchen window where his mother was visible. "Fine, but you better hurry up," he said finally, "otherwise my dad's gonna be really mad at both of us."

"Then c'mon!" Abby rushed off in the direction that she had come from, skirting through several backyards then sprinting down the road behind his house.

"Where're we going?" Johnny called as he ran behind her.

"You'll see!" She shouted back, and, approaching the local gas station, she cut through the side yard and continued to run through a huge field, mostly made up of dead grass, several dumpsters, and garbage. Almost a quarter mile out there was an abandoned gas station – probably the original one – half-built and crumbling into itself. A lot of the neighborhood kids went there often to play though it was clearly dangerous, and over the years it had been used as a clubhouse, a fort, personal territory for whoever claimed their grounds first, and several other variously exciting things that Johnny had often participated in.

He came to a stop behind her, gasping for breath. She turned to him, smiling proudly. "Well, here it is!" She exclaimed, sweeping her hand in an arrogant, exaggerated motion.

He frowned, slightly disappointed. "I've been here before, though," he said doubtfully.

"Well, of course you have, dummy," she said, shaking her head. "I'm talking about the secret part that I found and no one else knows about."

"Oh…okay…" Johnny trailed off, waiting for Abby to continue. When she merely continued to smile proudly, he said, "um…am I allowed to see?"

"Well…only if you swear on your grave that you won't tell anybody," Abby said, "not even your best friend. Or your mom."

"I swear," Johnny said quickly.

"Cross your heart and hope to die," Abby added, fixing an imperial glare upon him.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Johnny recited, solemnly putting a hand across his chest.

Abby stared at him as if unsure of whether to trust him or not. "You better not be crossin' your fingers," she said warningly.

He held up his hands to show her that he wasn't, and she nodded, satisfied. "Okay then. C'mon, we hafta be real quiet." They took off, tiptoeing toward the building although no one was there.

"C'mon!" Abby squealed as she rushed forward, pulling open the door and slamming it shut behind them. "That was close," she said, leaning against the door and sighing dramatically. "They almost had us, you know."

"Yeah," Johnny said, excitement rushing through his body.

"Now you have to be quiet," Abby said in a loud and conspiritual whisper, " 'cause we don't want anyone else findin' out about this place. Okay, Johnny?"

"Okay."

They moved down a series of steps into a tiny half-basement that lay under the base of the building. Dust choked their eyes and both blinked back the wateriness, determined. It was pitch black as they reached the foot of the stairs, and they groped along the wall until they came upon a lightbulb that dangled from the ceiling.

"Found it," Abby whispered triumphantly as it flickered and came on, illuminating the cramped space in a sickish yellow glow. There was a pile of cardboard boxes and old tires shoved into messy pile up against a corner of room which had temporarily been used as a secret clubhouse for several exclusive girls.

"Follow me," Abby said, stepping into a tiny nook in the room where the ceiling sloped downward so it just barely grazed Johnny's head. Here, it had often been used as a superb hiding place, but overexposure had led it to become boring. Since everybody that came to play there knew about it, it had soon become abandoned and dusty. Johnny crouched on his knees, fighting the urge to sneeze. He had no idea why they were both just squatting there, as if waiting for something. Then, Abby whispered, "I found it!" She scooted backward several steps, bumping into him as she did so, pulling open what appeared to be a trapdoor.

"Now we both gotta get in here…move back a little," Abby whispered.

Johnny complied silently, allowing Abby to wiggle into the empty space, then slide forward and out of sight.

"Abby?" Johnny said in a hushed tone, moving toward the trapdoor. "Abby?"

"Right here," she replied, sticking her head out. "C'mon in. I think there'll be room for both of us."

Johnny slid forward uncertainly, groping for a foothold as he lowered himself into a small space that couldn't have been wider than two or three feet. It was pitch black, and after struggling for several minutes, Abby lit a candle and stepped back, a proud grin forming across her lips.

"What d'ya think?" She asked.

Johnny took a glance around before answering. What he saw pleasantly surprised him. Although he had to crouch to avoid grazing his head against the ceiling and the air was thick and stuffy where they were, it couldn't have been better in an eight year old boy's mind. Dirty wooden boards, some rotting along the edges, enclosed the room into a makeshift box. It was about three feet by six feet, and the flickering candlelight sent black shadows dancing along the walls. An excited shiver went down his spine and a slow smile spread across his face, and he turned to Abby, grinning widely now. "How'd you find this?"

She shrugged, clearly pleased that he was impressed. "It's a secret," she said, giggling, and sat down on the floor. "Sit down."

Johnny did so, pulling his knees up to his chest for lack of space for his legs to go. They sat facing each other, the candle in between them casting dark shadows under their eyes and noses.

"Do you think we should shut the door?" Johnny asked, motioning toward the door above their heads.

"We can leave it open," Abby said carelessly, "and if we hear someone else coming, we can just hurry and close it."

"Okay," Johnny said agreeably. He paused, then added, "this is really neat."

"I know," Abby replied, flicking her hair behind her ear importantly and sitting up a little straighter. "When I first found it, it was really dirty and everything. I had to clean it up without help from my mom or anything, and I even had to steal this from my sister." She gestured to the plain white candle sitting between them, and nodded contentedly. "I like to come here when I'm mad."

"Oh…" Johnny thought for a moment, unsure of what that meant. "You're not mad right now, are you?"

Abby looked at him, surprised. "No, not really…" She shrugged and glanced at him again. "I just wanted to come here. And you were mad, I think. I didn't want you to be mad anymore and I knew you wouldn't tell no one."

Johnny rose up indignantly. "I wasn't mad—" he started to retort, but she cut him off impatiently.

"It doesn't matter Johnny, I don't care if you were mad or not."

"Well, still, I wasn't mad," he insisted, "so stop saying I was."

Abby stared at him, her eyes reflecting an amber color from the candle. "It's okay if you were," she said diplomatically, " 'cause I get mad a lot too."

Johnny looked moodily into the candle and didn't say anything.

"Wanna see something Johnny?" Abby asked suddenly.

He looked up, slightly interested, and shrugged. "Okay."

"But you can't tell anyone," Abby said warningly, " 'cause I'll get in a whole lot of trouble if you do. Promise?"

"Yeah," he replied.

Abby smiled proudly and lifted the bottom edge of her tee-shirt to reveal a long scar that began several inches under her navel. It was thick and black along the edges where the cut skin had been brought together, and weirdly wrinkled. "It goes all the way to my armpit," she said, grinning. "My dad was in a bad mood once and he hit me with my ma's cooking knife. It hurt really bad then," she continued, "but I can't even feel it anymore. I had to get a ton of stitches, too. I can't even remember the number 'cause it's so big." She paused to allow Johnny to stare at it for a second more, than dropped her shirt and fixed a solemn glare at him. "You better not tell anyone, Johnny. Otherwise you'll get in big trouble too."

"I won't," Johnny said, biting his lip. "Weren't you scared when your dad did that?"

Abby shrugged nonchalantly. "I was sort of scared, I guess. But he gets mad a lot so it wasn't weird or nothing."

"Why was he mad?"

"I don't know," Abby shrugged again. "He just gets like that sometimes. Mostly him and Mom just scream at each other but she wasn't home, I don't think."

"Oh…" Johnny was silent, still not sure what could make someone so angry. Whenever he got angry he usually cried…but then, he remembered, with an odd sensation in his mind, his mother telling him that when you're older, you're not supposed to cry. He briefly wondered if he was supposed to hit people instead.

Abby giggled suddenly. "I miss my boyfriend," she confided. "But I think he's gonna be real mad that I brought you here before I brought him."

Johnny's mind got no further than the former statement, first jealousy then disappointment flooding his mind. He didn't say anything and, his moodiness returning, he scowled at Abby. "I don't care. I'm gonna beat him up then."

Abby laughed, making Johnny feel a little better. "No you won't," she said a bit maliciously, "because he's fifteen and he's a lot bigger than you."

Johnny's brief satisfaction evaporated and he felt his ears and neck go red with embarrassment. "So?" He said finally, trying to think of something smart to say, "I don't care about your stupid boyfriend."

Abby laughed again, meanly. "He'd hit you if I told him you called him stupid."

Johnny had a brief vision of a huge man towering above him and stabbing him across the chest, leaving a big gash just like Abby's. "Oh…" He said finally, his anger fading away to be replaced by a twinge of fear.

"He hit me in the eye once 'cause I called him stupid," Abby added. "It was all black for a week after."

"Oh…" Johnny said again, and stared at the candle. "Why'd you call him that?"

" 'Cause he wanted to fight my dad when I told him about my scar," Abby replied smugly. "But I told him that he can't 'cause my dad's a lot bigger than he is but he still wanted to anyway. So I called him stupid and he hit me." She shrugged. "I think he was real brave though. He's not afraid to get in trouble or hurt or nothing like that."

Johnny wasn't sure what to say, so he remained silent, concentrating on the flickering candle.

"I won't tell him that you said he was stupid, I guess," Abby decided, "but you better not say it again. 'Cause I don't want to keep secrets from him or nothing."

Johnny looked at her, then back at the candle. "Okay."

They were silent for a minute.

"I brought something for us." Abby said finally, smiling mischievously. "I stole it offa my brother."

"What is it?" Johnny asked curiously.

Abby grinned in reply and reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out two slim white cigarettes.

"Why do you have those?" Johnny demanded.

Abby gave him a look. "Don't be stupid," she said matter-of-factly. "I've decided that today we're both gonna do it for the first time."

Johnny stared at her incredulously. "I don't want to smoke."

"Johnny, we're not gonna smoke," Abby replied, rolling her eyes. "Obviously this is totally different."

"What is it then?"

Abby stared at the twin sticks in her palm for a moment before answering. "I forget what it's called. But it's not a cigarette."

Johnny pondered this for a moment then reached forward and took one from her. "Yes it is," he said, studying it carefully. "I've seen these a lot. My ma smokes cigarettes."

"Johnny, why aren't you listening to me?" Abby demanded, snatching it back. "This isn't a cigarette. It's something else. I know, okay? My brother does it and he says it's a lot better than a cigarette."

"You'll die if you smoke that," Johnny snapped, ignoring her. "I don't wanna die. My teacher said smoking will kill you if you do it."

Abby glowered at him. "But it isn't smoking. My brother knows, Johnny. He said it isn't a cigarette."

Johnny shook his head. "No," he said firmly, "I'm not doin' it. I'm not gonna die."

"Johnny, you're so stupid," Abby replied, annoyed. "You're not gonna die. I just told you that my brother does it all the time. He isn't stupid, you know. He wouldn't do it if he knew he was gonna die."

"I don't care."

Abby sighed loudly, exasperated. "My brother said that when you do it, you can make one wish and if you think about it hard enough, it'll come true. Sort of like a birthday cake, except that that don't work."

Johnny ignored her.

"Fine," Abby said angrily, "I'll do it by myself. I was just trying to be nice, stupid. I wanted you to make a wish too." She leaned back against the wall, clutching them tightly in her fist. "I think I'll wish that you'll go away."

Johnny glared at her fiercely, and she giggled. "Or maybe I'll wish that you'll turn into a spider so I can smush you."

"Shut up," Johnny retorted, his ears getting hot.

"I'll give you one more chance," Abby said in a singsong voice, "and if you won't do it, than you have to leave and I hate you. But if you do you get to own this room with me and you can have a wish." She grinned toothily at Johnny, waiting for his reply.

He glared at her again, but he couldn't help but think of what he would like to wish about it. Was he really gonna die? Abby's brother had said it wasn't a cigarette, and he was a lot older. And maybe—maybe he could wish for a birthday party—

"Fine," he said haughtily, glowering at the floor. "But only because you're real annoying."

Abby smiled triumphantly and handed him one stick, and he studied it carefully. It looked like a cigarette, but since Abby's brother had said it wasn't one…

"Now, on the count of three, we both have to make our wishes and think real hard about them," Abby said imperiously. "Then we have to light them right here." She pointed to the end. "Then we have to suck on the other side and then our wishes will come true."

"Are you sure?" Johnny asked dubiously. "That sounds like smoking to me."

Abby rolled her eyes. "You're being stupid again. I already told you that it's not."

Johnny shrugged and leaned back. "Fine."

Abby smiled, satisfied. "Okay then, hurry up and think of your wish."

"Got it," he replied immediately. "I'm gonna wish for—"

"Don't tell me," Abby interrupted, horrified. "Then it won't come true."

"Oh," Johnny snapped his mouth shut. "Okay."