I won't write anything interesting here, since I don't think anyone will read it...

Time passed by in the room, no one there to count the minutes. After some time one of them started to move, opening eyes, sitting up again.

Warren looked around; the room was empty and dark, except for the candlelight, which still was burning on the table. The melted drops had formed a red pool at the foot, and it was just about seven centimetres left of it. The little flame put a bright spot in each eye of the boy when he looked at his friend in the other bed. Carefully he got up, now slowly putting weight on his legs and finally standing. The beds were so close to each other that it was all he needed to be able to climb up in the other bed. He sat on John's knees, slightly wondering if he would have the same problem as Warren had when he'd try to stand for the first time. But then a lump appeared in his throat when he remembered that John maybe, or rather probably, never would stand up again.

He leaned forward, his face hovering right above his friends now. It was the first time in days he actually looked at the face and now is wasn't just a profile. He just stood there on all four, wings slightly out to keep his balance, taking in the details of the first friend he'd had in years, the first one of his own age that had spoken to him for decades.

"John. Stop that."

The face he'd seen wearing so many expressions was now empty, for the first time showing peace…

"Open your eyes. They'll kill you if you don't!"

A drop fell down on the mutant's cheek, but he didn't flinch at all. Warren knew he was crying, but he couldn't help it.

"Why do you do this? Everyone is here, they are fine!"

He suddenly took a grip on the shoulders of his friend and shook him violently while almost screaming;

"You're so stupid, you know that?! You stay like this because it fits you, but you don't give a second thought about how it feels for us! What sort of friend are you?! Don't you know that you have to let people care sometimes, that you can't just give all the time?! Wake up, you bastard!"

Giving a final push down the Angel tried to breathe while his tears kept falling down on the face that still was like the pale, dead colour of the deepest sleep. Realising he couldn't stop himself from crying, it all just came, he pulled the limp form on the bed up in a tight hug, crying into his collarbone. Pyro's arm hung out on both sides and his head limply fell backwards, there wasn't a move, not a working muscle in his whole body.

Letting go a bit Warren once again looked at his friend. Did he even realise how much this hurt those around him? How much he hurt the Angel? This aching pain in his heart was worse than anything he ever thought he would experience. It hadn't felt like this when his dad put him out of school and he realised he'd never see his playmates again, this was a hundred times worse! Was this how real friendship felt like when it ended? He could never have imagined…

Well, maybe it was a bit more than that, but it wasn't like it mattered, Warren decided as he used one hand to lift up John's head so that he could see the face. Even if it could be more to his feelings no one would ever find out. Who would when the one they were pointed to never would be there?

Bringing up the head a bit more the Angel places a soft kiss on the forehead of his friend, or whatever he now was. Then he put Pyro back against the pillows and, with a hint of a smile he didn't even know he had on his face, lay down himself next to him. Using his own arm as a pillow for himself, his other hand started to carefully push John's long hair out of his face. He always wore it combed back, but now it fell out of place and down into his face. It was really cute, yes; this was also a good way to remember him…

As Angels eyes slowly closed his arm fell down over the chest of the limp body next to him.

If it didn't matter what he felt, he might as well stay here, because it felt good. John would never know…

When Jean showed up in the room a half hour later she was crying, and seeing the two boys sharing bed didn't help either. To make the pain short for herself she stopped in the doorway, using her powers to press some buttons and making the machines stop their humming and the screens to flicker and go black one after one. She then stepped away, turning the light in the room of with a swift movement when she almost ran out.

. . . . . . . . .

Angel woke up with his mind full of shapes made of fire, and the first thing his saw was the candle, shorter than ever, almost dripping down on the floor. Damn it, he'd forgotten it!

He decided he wanted to stay here, sleep here, but he didn't want to die yet. He could just imagine what John would say if he showed up on the other side now, after all the sacrifices his friend had made for him to make him live…

Pushing himself up on one elbow he reached out a hand and put it around the candle and blew, watching how shadows that once was moving like dark monsters over the walls were swallowed by one huge mass of shade.

But then they were back. Dancing shadows, moving shapes, playing chase with the light…

Frowning, Warren once again blew at the candle, but it only flicker and then kept on burning as always. Was he so tired he couldn't even blow out a candle?

Trying one last time the Angel put his thumb and forefinger around the wick, suffocating the flame. The room when dark for a second but when he let go the little fire still was there, small but still alive.

Staring in tired amazement at the little light Warren suddenly noticed another hand that slowly moved into his field of vision. The hand slowly came up to his own, that still was hanging in the air, and took a grasp of it. When the fingers entwined the little flame of the candle rose higher and flickered as if to jump up to the roof. The tip of it formed a small tread that slowly moved in a spiral around the hands, tying them together. The thread was close enough to warm up, but not enough to burn.

Trying to breath properly Warrens gaze slowly wandered to the face of Pyro; the eyes weren't open but his lips had curved into a tiny smile, he was sure of that. And as he kept staring he felt how the chest under his arm rose to take in a deep breath that slowly came out again. The eyelids twitched a bit before cracking open, revealing the brown colour down there. They seemed to have problems focusing, but slowly they settled on Warren's face.

As it slowly dawned to Pyro what exactly he had above him the smile he already wore grew wider and the grasp he had on Warren's hand tightened a bit.

He made a sort of frown and tried to sit up. It didn't really work, so he got help from the other mutant, who now managed to sit next to him, having one arm around his back. It got a bit tricky since John silently refused to let go of Warrens hand, and the fire around it stopped the Angel from really try to get free. Pyro's head leaned forward when he tried to breathe for a second, then he slowly looked up again, turning to his friend.

The Angel was still crying, almost as if he was a girl. He couldn't help but to almost laugh at himself. Pyro tilted his head a bit, seeing the tears, and raising a hand to brush them away. When he did Warren could feel how warm he was, even out in his fingertips, and how the tear-streaks dried away at his touch.

Being satisfied John nodded and then turned his gaze to the rest of the room. He noticed that it was nicely decorated, but also that it was a hospital. He did not remember how he got there, which meant he didn't know the way out. This scared him more than anyone could have imagined, and with an even more frightening look he stared at all the things he was connected to, going in inside his body. With small sounds, as if he was whimpering over having them there and almost was going to cry over it, he started to pull them out, violently and as quick as he could, not noticing that he'd let go of the Angels hand. Warren noticed his scared face and slowly took his arm. Pyro froze in his frenetic ripping of the tools and stared at him, but Warren just slowly pulled out a nail from his arm; John for sure would hurt himself if he continued like that. The fire-mutant sat still and watched as Warren slowly and carefully took away one needle, one sensor, one thing at the time. Then he began to pull away the tape that had held them in place as well, until both arms, the chest and the back of the Pyro was freed from any trail that would tell that he'd ever needed help to stay alive.

Then they both just sat there for a second, until John suddenly decided to pull his friend into a tight hug. Warren was a bit surprised, but soon hugged back. John could tell that this one was different from the one he had shared with Bobby a while back, which told both if them that this was the last. This hug promised about a beginning of something new, that more was about to come, just that you never could guess what.

The Angels wings had been slightly unfolded, they always did that when he relaxed too much, and Pyro's arms had snuck under them. Now he could feel the light, soft touch of feathers on the back of his hands. It almost tickled a little bit. He slowly moved one of his hands to stroke one of them. It was just as soft as he could remember. People often compare nice, smooth things with silk, but this was different. It sure was soft, but not near as cold as silk could be. This was a comforting down which could move over your fingers like warm snow, or they could carry you up into the air, keeping you soaring in the free nothingness that fills up all the space between the earth and the clouds.

Warren of course noticed that John's fingers once again was drawn to his wings, but found that he didn't mind. It surprised him a bit; he had hated it when some other kids had done it before. Sure he had given them permission to, but still… Warren knew that he sometimes was to nice for his own good, but if you were raised to be polite you didn't say no to some things, you just didn't…

But this was good, to both of them. As night passed on for the rest of the house they could stay there. For once they had a moment alone; a moment to repair some of the damage the latest time had given to them.

I'm too sentimental for my own good, I couldn't kill him!