Like a Bad Star The Storm is letting up, but it won't die. If you weren't wrong, was I?

Bobby Drake stood close to the window, staring down at the grounds to where he could half-see the main entrance to the school. He'd stood there for hours after they had returned from Alkali Lake. He'd stood there until two o'clock in the morning, the time John had always gone to bed. When everyone – or almost everyone – was asleep, the other boy would be either sitting in the second den playing computer games or watching movies that should have been filtered to prevent the younger kids watching them (and had been until John had 'fixed' the box); or sometimes outside throwing a basketball against the wall because he was too much of a bad shot to get it in the hoop and hated to admit it. The persistent bangs would keep Bobby awake for so long that he had to get up and go and play with him to wear him out enough to go back inside and sleep.
And Bobby stood there again, every night afterward, waiting for John to saunter down the drive or walk into the room, slamming the door open the way he always did. There was a dent in the paintwork where the handle had chipped away at it for so long. But it had been a week and he hadn't come. There was a small, nagging part of him that kept saying, "I ain't coming back, man. I'm gone. Get over it." It was John's voice. It's funny the things you miss.
Sometimes he sat on the end of his bed, craning awkwardly to still be able to see out of the window. He didn't dare touch the other boy's bed because John had always been so touchy about his possessions. If Bobby or Piotr so much as picked up his shirt to get it off the floor he'd get really pissed with them and act as if they'd borrowed the damn thing then stained it. Not that Piotr would've fitted into one of John's shirts. And neither would Bobby, really. He had longer arms than John.
Piotr wasn't in their dorm, now. He had it all to himself while the older boy camped out in the younger kids' dorm to reassure them that they were safe. Not that Bobby felt all that safe himself, but he could at least control his fear. And while the room felt lonely without the other two it gave him the chance to be alone. He really needed that, now.
In the day, Rogue was always there. She had this notion that because his best friend was gone she had to be there all the time to make up for it. She meant well, but it wasn't what he needed. If she could go out and find him – bring him back to where he belonged – then he might be happy, but right now all he needed was time to get used to it. Everywhere felt different. The place was too calm and classes weren't so disrupted. But it felt wrong, and he wasn't the only one who couldn't concentrate. It was too quiet and he was sure John would have loved to see their faces. He knew he was kidding himself if he thought for one minute that John wouldn't enjoy causing a disturbance without even being there.
But where was he, now? Where the hell had Magneto taken him? Was he even safe? He had posed the same question to Professor Xavier the day after they had returned from the lake, and he had said that Magneto was not planning to kill him. He was just trying to win support from the people who were the future. The ones he could train to fight and see things his way.
And John was one of those people. He never really cared for humans anyway – they'd screwed up his life and made things so difficult for him Bobby could almost understand what attracted him about Magneto's plans to rule over them and make them suffer the way humans had made him suffer. But it wasn't right. Doing that was just as bad as what the humans had done to them. You didn't fight fire with fire, you fought fire with ice, as Xavier had told him when John had been brought in as a delinquent runaway. He almost felt that John had been his responsibility. That was the point of making Bobby buddy him, wasn't it? And now he'd failed him.
Bobby sighed and crawled up his bed to curl up on his pillow, resting his head against the wall in the corner, able to see nothing but the white- speckled night sky from this angle. He wished that he had done something to stop him leaving the jet; he usually stopped John from doing stupid stuff, so why hadn't he made him stay? There was a moment that seemed to have gone on forever, when John turned back and stared over his shoulder, asking if he always did what he was told – he already knew the answer categorically – and Bobby realised that this was the last time he was going to see him. It was a sick feeling in his stomach that made him want to throw up right there. But he couldn't follow. He'd sunk down into his seat and put his head in his hands for a few minutes until Rogue had come over and touched his hair with her gloved hand, saying she understood and that she was worried about Wolverine and Jean and everyone, too, but they'd be okay. There was nothing they could do to help anyway – except for maybe one thing.
Bobby had wanted to tell her that she was wrong, she didn't understand and she didn't realise what was going on. Rogue had asked once if he thought John was jealous of them; he'd said no, but he had meant 'Yes, but not in the way you think'. John needed him more than he needed John, they both knew that. For someone who had been alone and alienated for so long John could be pretty co-dependant. Bobby kinda liked that. He liked being responsible for someone and being needed. Rogue didn't need him, she just liked him for some reason. But John... John used to get mad when Bobby didn't spend enough time with him. He'd never admit that that was the reason, but he'd get moody and wouldn't talk to him properly; he'd make snappy, facetious comments and scorch the wooden ends of Bobby's bed because he knew the smell of burning freaked him out and gave him nightmares. He was such a bastard, sometimes.
The problem was, most people only saw the moody bastard side of him. John wasn't friendly to people and didn't do himself any favours by acting like an arrogant dick most of the time. But he could be kind in his own way. He'd shove small, obscure gifts into Bobby's hand some times. Probably stolen, admittedly, but people always said that it was the thought that counted, right? One time Bobby'd gotten into bed and curled up with his hands under the pillow, only to have them brush something cold. It was a silver ring with snowflake patterns pressed into it all the way around. John had vehemently denied having anything to do with it, but Piotr had said that he'd caught the dark-haired guy hovering suspiciously near his bed in the afternoon. Piotr thought it was "kinda gay". Bobby never found out whether he meant the ring or the fact John was giving him stuff.
Bobby studied the ring now, twisting it around his thumb to study each flake in turn. He swallowed and realised that he had a lump in his throat. Damn you, you stupid asshole. He took a deep breath and lolled his head back against the wall again. This was crazy. Why the hell did that crazy old bastard have to take him? Didn't he know that John wasn't meant to be with them? They'd been making such progress with him – when he'd first got there he would throw insane temper tantrums and intimidate the other kids or burn things – but he had calmed down, lately. He was getting in control of himself. John always thought that he didn't fit in, but he was really starting to. He was so nearly there...
Bobby sat up suddenly. In that small patch of sky he had seen something that looked like a bright orange shooting star. But it had travelled vertically into the air. Shooting up from the ground. He scrambled down his bed and fell off the end in his rush to get to the window. It was him, it had to be! He scoured the grounds in the hope of seeing something – of seeing John standing there with that smirk on his face, waiting to be let in. But he saw nothing. Maybe he was closer to the school? Maybe he'd sent that up to let him know that he was there and to come down and open the doors?
Bobby raced out into the corridor and skidded around the corner at the end of the hall, took the stairs three at a time and crashed into the door in the kitchen because it was locked and didn't open when he tried to run through it. He scrabbled with the lock and flung it open, racing into the chilly night air. He stared around him, panting, ran a few paces to the edge of the building to see if he was around the corner, raced to the far side to see if he was by the lounge doors. By the time he gave up and padded back towards the kitchen his feet were sore, his chest hurt and he felt like he wanted to cry. He had been so sure that John had been there, waiting to be let in... it felt like all his insides had been ripped out and put back upside down. It wasn't fair. Why did he have to do this?
He swallowed and rubbed his face as he turned to step up into the kitchen. "Just get used to it, Bobby, I ain't coming back here." He sighed and stumbled to the cupboard to get a drink. He liked them warm, sometimes. It reminded him of... things. He perched on one of the stools next to the counter. This was familiar, he thought with a vague smile. All he needed now was for Logan to come in demanding beer and then for two hundred guys with stun guns to come jumping through windows... He found himself thinking about that night, about running, about having to find Rogue and John above anything else – Rogue because she was a girl and even in a place where most of the girls could (and would) kick the guys' asses he still felt it was his duty to protect her; John because with all those explosions it was reasonable to think that he'd get himself in trouble. He was the sort of guy that liked to pretend he could handle himself, but in the heat of the moment he'd just end up doing something stupid. It was amazing that he hadn't already burnt himself out, really.
Bobby snorted at the pun and stared down the neck of the cola bottle. Stealing the car with Logan that night hadn't been the first time he'd been in a stolen vehicle. John had a lot of what he liked to call 'Life Experience'. It included having learned how to hotwire a car at the age of twelve. There was one time that he had decided he was bored at one o'clock one morning and somehow Bobby had found himself speeding down deserted roads in the passenger seat of one of the cars the staff used for trips into town (it was kinda hard to find room to park a jet at the local grocery store). That was John all over; inane thrill-seeking and to hell with the consequences. The consequences, when they had inevitably been caught, were a whole month of no privileges. No TV, no video games, no leaving the grounds, but a hell of a lot of chores. John thought it was worth it. Bobby thought they deserved it. The staff thought it was some kind of psychological problem (Intermittent Explosive Disorder, or Sociopathy, or something) on John's part and that Bobby had got pulled in without meaning to be. It wasn't the last time, though. The next time John had made sure that it wasn't a school vehicle and Bobby didn't have a whole lot of choice; but he'd been 'kind' enough to show him how to do it. He'd said it was a 'useful thing to know'. Bobby was yet to find a reason.
It felt weird to know that John wasn't there. He couldn't go and hang out in the den with him or shoot... well... not hoops, but wall, maybe. There was no one else there that he got along with as well as he did John. Sure, there were moments when John made him want slap him upside the head, but basically, they got on okay. They were even kinda close. He knew John had told him things he'd never tell anyone else, because he trusted him, which was a serious compliment. He'd told John stuff, too. One time by accident; he'd somehow let slip that he'd had a crush on his science teacher when he was still at high school. Later he'd mentioned the same teacher was a guy; John hadn't forgotten and immediately made the connection. But he hadn't freaked out, either. He'd muttered something about Bobby bringing a whole new meaning to Homo Superior and bounced a rubber ball off his head.
Bobby knew even he underestimated John sometimes. The whole rebel act was so convincing when he wanted it to be, that you almost got fooled by it. John wasn't stupid, though. He kind of absorbed information like breathing. That's why he could act like a jerk in class and still do well enough in exams to get a decent pass or reel off scientific information in the way most people discussed the latest episode of Friends. And creative! There was one time that Bobby picked up a note book and started to flick through it, only to have John snatch it back and tell him to mind his own damn business. He'd been too curious, though, and later he'd dug out the note book again and found it full of sketches and chunks of writing; he hadn't had time to look properly because he knew John would be really pissed if he found out Bobby had snooped, but the creatures he made with fire were testimony enough.
It made him angry to think about it. John deserved better than this, he was too good to be one of Magneto's puppets. What would they even do to him? He'd heard stuff about Magneto – the kind of convoluted rumours that kids at school told, embellished with improbable and fantastical additions – but it still worried him so much his stomach tied in knots. He had to do something; he couldn't just let John go like that. He needed to be sure that he had other options.
Bobby took a sharp breath as a thought occurred to him. There was a place – it was an old house on the road out of the east side of the city – John used to go there when he was in a real bad mood. He'd disappear for a couple of days and have the whole place worried sick, then turn up acting as if nothing had happened. He'd shown it to Bobby that time they stole the car from outside the bowling alley...
Bobby had never dressed so quickly in his life. Within five minutes of having the thought he had changed, stuffed a couple of days' clothes into a bag (and as an after-thought, some of John's) and was throwing up the garage door. He had to try three cars before he found one that had been left unlocked; the staff were wise to it, now, but with John gone... He tugged out the wires from the underside of the steering column and touched the two that John had shown him together. Nothing happened. Starting to panic, he scrambled with two others and his heart leapt into his throat as the engine made a hearty roar. He put the car into gear and raced out of the garage as quickly as possible, terrified that someone would stop him. The school gates and perimeter wall loomed ahead and he took a deep breath as if preparing to plunge into water.
To his shock, a figure appeared silhouetted in the headlights, standing in the middle of the road. He slammed on the brakes, thinking that there was no way he could stop in time, and the figure seemed to be playing chicken; it didn't run. As the vehicle skidded to a stand-still, the figure leapt back a few feet and ran around to the passenger door. Bobby swallowed hard; he was going to be grounded for the rest of his life if this was Summers. He turned to stare out of the window, only able to see a torso in a sweater he didn't recognise. Then, his heart skipped a beat as a hand came into view and flicked open a shining silver lighter.
"John?" he gasped, scrambling over to throw open the door.
Without hesitation, the other boy leapt into the seat and sat grinning at him.
"Jesus, John, what're you doing here?"
"I was just about to ask you the same question, man."
Bobby felt himself blushing and concentrated on his hands, which gripped the steering wheel so tightly he could see them whitening in the moonlight. "I was just... Looking for you."
"Right. And you have a plan for that?"
"Uh... well, I was just going to check that place... the one outside of town...?"
John nodded, looking vaguely impressed. "Put your foot down, man," he said, patting the dashboard and looking back out of the rear windshield.
Glancing at him, Bobby put the car in gear and they sped off into the darkness. "Why d'you come back?" he asked, shrugging into his seat and trying to get more comfortable. "Where are we even going?"
John knelt up slightly and, leaning over, pulled him close and gave him a fierce kiss on the cheek, causing the car to swerve dangerously close to edge of the road, before sitting back down and rubbing his palms firmly over the thighs of jeans that weren't his own. "Every Thelma needs a Louise, man," he said kinda awkwardly, resting an elbow on the back of Bobby's seat and casting him a side-long glance.
"Thelma and Louise?" Bobby echoed, almost laughing. He took one hand off the steering wheel and hovered it for a moment, staring at the side of the other boy's face, before allowing it to drop onto his knee. He figured the kiss was enough of a license to do so.
"You never heard of them, Iceman?" John taunted, shifting a little nearer.
"Yeah, I heard of them," Bobby replied, giving him a sly grin, "You ever heard of Bonnie and Clyde?"