Notes: An exercise in a little surrealism. I like writing for crazy people. It's lots of fun to work with. I'm taking a little from cannon and a little from a slightly different track. All I can ask of you is please, please stick with it. I'm experimenting a little.
Synopsis: Jean-Paul Beaubier was killed and resurrected by the HAND and Hydra. He was brainwashed. His mind is in pieces. Someone must be able to put him back together.
Warnings: Mental Issues, AU-ish Cannon hybrid. Foul language. Mental/Physical Torture. SPOILERS.
Category: Slash overtones (obviously – Northstar's gay!), Mental problems, surrealism, romance/obsession. Hurt/Comfort.
Disclaimer: I won't insult your intelligence, you know the score.
State of Mind
By Doctor Megalomania
Chapter Seven: Eclipse
The gun went off with a flash that almost blinded him with fear.
Jean-Paul had nebulous memories of the angel who'd found him. She spoke to him of his rebirth, of his sister. The angel had brought light and warmth to his cold, stone room. She had been the Light that he'd been waiting for, the Dawn that Northstar had spoken of. She had to be! Nobody else had come to him in the room. Nobody else had come to wipe away the blood on his hands, as she had done. In all the time, nobody – not even his darling, silly Bobby – had come.
Jean-Paul had been afraid, he'd been cold.
"Who-who are you?" He'd whispered, crouching against the wall. Afraid of his nudity in the bright light. And in a voice so sweet and kind, she'd answered, speaking of his salvation, of his rescue. Of his revenge against those who had wronged him.
He had struggled to name them at first, but with her guidance he had slowly realised what he had to do. Now, as he clutched the white hot bullet that his sister had almost placed in her beautiful head, Jean-Paul found balance in a way that he had missed.
She looked so confused at him, sitting there behind her desk.
He smiled as kindly as the angel had done for him in his time of confusion.
"This is not your time to die, Jeanne-Marie." He gently admonished her, "Far, far from it." Jean-Paul stepped closer to her and tossed the warm bullet from his hand. "This is the day of your Rebirth."
Jeanne-Marie blinked, "But… I… The X-Men… they've been looking for me, I never…" She began to frown, "You were dead. They've been looking for me, but I didn't want to face them… then I read in the newspapers…"
Jean-Paul shook his head silently, "Oh, Jeanne-Marie, dearest sister. Death is just a state of mind." He tugged the makeshift glove from his hand, to run a warm finger down her cheek. The small amount of telepathy they once had engaged immediately. It was balance! Just as the angel had promised!
Jeanne-Marie grabbed his hand and pressed it against her cheek, gasping. "Of course!" She cried out, as she too finally understood. "Of course! Jean-Paul! You and I…" She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. "You and I. All these other personalities… they were there just compensate. They were just there because you were not!"
"I am here now, sister."
"Yes! And now, I am here for you…" Jeanne-Marie closed her eyes, the tears tracking down her cheeks, "I'm sorry… That room was so cold…"
"I was waiting… I forgot that you were all I needed to be balanced."
Jeanne-Marie shook her head, "Oh… I forgot as well." She kissed the skin between his thumb and his index finger. "Let's never forget it again."
"Never." Jean-Paul promised, swiping his thumb fondly over her full lips. "We'll never be alone again as long as you and I are together."
"Forever."
Jean-Paul broke into a brilliant smile as he moved to stand behind her. He wrapped himself around her shoulders, resting his chin on her bared shoulder. "My beautiful sister," he dipped his head and kissed her shoulder. "My dear sister, I missed you."
She clasped her hands over his arms and tipped her head to bump it gently against his. "I won't ever leave you again." She turned her head to brush her nose against his high cheek bone. "Promise."
"Good…" He moved to brush his nose lovingly against his sister's. "Now, dear sister… We are going to go somewhere nice…"
He raised his bared hand and twined it into her black silken hair, pulling her head closer so he could kiss her temple.
"You'll love it…" he whispered, his icy blue eyes open. The Angel stood nearby, nodding sagely. "We'll go together."
They travelled with the Children as the Angel told them.
The twins sat huddled in the back of the truck, wrapped around each other. They dressed once more in the uniforms that were balanced, and the makeshift boots and gloves that the Children had brought with them. They sat; legs twisted together, arms around shoulders, hands linked. They tilted their heads together and stared into each other's eyes lovingly. Their sleek black hair, washed and dried and brushed until it shone, mingled as they pressed their foreheads together.
It was so hard to tell where one twin began and the other ended.
They spoke in a mix of Québécois French and telepathy. Their conversations shifted subject so fast that anyone listening and trying to translate would be hopelessly lost. They had so much to catch up on, her time with Weapon X, his teaching at the X-institute. Her madness, his death, her lost life, his reincarnation, her hell without him, his hell without her.
By the time they had left Canada, they were almost one in their movements. Closer than ever before, she learnt to do that thing with her right eyebrow that he did with his left eyebrow. He learnt how to stand with his left hip cocked just so, like she did with her right hip. By the time they were dropped off in New York, Northstar and Aurora were reborn. Beautiful, graceful, lethal, dangerous.
When they burst through the teachers' lounge windows at the X-mansion, the only real difference between them was some petty matter of gender. They were balanced and one and glorious together.
"N-northstar!"
Jean-Paul looked away from his sister, and stared into the darkened room. Bobby stood there before him. Jean-Paul felt a stab of fury at the man. He had been so handsome before, and now? Bobby stood there in a grotty old t-shirt; his hair – once a beautifully balance between brown and blonde – was now a stiff, ugly, bland honey. His hazel eyes had dulled into an uninspired light brown.
This Iceman wasn't his dear, silly Bobby.
This Iceman was… a bastardisation of the 'Bobby' Jean-Paul had once known. An insult to the beautiful, kind, young man who'd helped him so much.
Northstar had disappeared and taken Bobby with him. This Iceman… this… Drake, was not even close to the rebellious, the roguish Robert that Northstar had loved. Beside him, his sister whispered in his mind. She was confused as well. She had wanted to meet his dear Bobby.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Drake continued, crassly ignorant. Jean-Paul was repulsed. "You're supposed to be—I mean I was there when you--"
Jean-Paul cut him off.
"Death is a state of mind, Drake. A test of will."
Jeanne-Marie tugged at his mind, and Jean-Paul paused for a nano-second. Bobby – HIS Bobby – stood just beyond Drake. In the shadows almost. He stood as Jean-Paul remembered him: handsome, matured. His hazel eyes glittered brightly. His floppish blonde-brown hair danced in the draft coming from the destroyed window. His expression was a curious mix of wicked and gently amused. Jeanne-Marie could see him, just like she had seen the Angel. They were connected in their minds. Jean-Paul continued, speaking to his dear, silly Bobby.
"You come out of it like a slingshot stone, with a new trajectory." Behind Drake, Bobby nodded sagely because he understood. Jean-Paul felt a slight smile tug at his lips, and knew a blissful smile had appeared on Jeanne-Marie's. Jean-Paul continued, "A new momentum."
While Drake stared at him gormless, Bobby nodded again and mouthed, "Tell me about the Dawn… Show me the Dawn! Please!"
Northstar and Aurora were glorious as they linked hands. Jean-Paul focused on Drake. Bobby already understood, but Drake needed more. Jean-Paul breathed in slowly, his voice awed.
"Let me show you."
Their light – their Dawn – was glorious as they unleashed it upon the X-men.
When Cable hit him in his mind, Jean-Paul lost his connection with his sister. For a long moment, Jean-Paul was detached from everything. He found himself in a dark place without emotion. He turned and saw shards. Shards of himself. Of his mind. Of his dreams and of his memory.
What was fake…
"These thoughts aren't your own…" Bobby spoke faintly, his attention caught on the bloodied fingers. "Your head's just been screwed up by all that Hydra brain washing."
What was real…
"These thoughts aren't your own, bub." Logan sighed heavily as he sat in the barstool. He stank of cigars and rain. Northstar sneered at him as he continued, "Your head's just been screwed up by all that Hydra brain washing."
What he dreamt…
"No, I don't hate you; I was just… angry before, I was angry at myself and just took it out on you."
There was a very long silence, so long that Bobby swallowed and spoke again.
"I don't hate you, Jean-Paul. I… I think I love you."
What he remembered…
The look in Bobby's eyes was so cold, Jean-Paul wondered if the other man hadn't inadvertently dropped the temperature. "If anything happens to Warren…I will kill you."
"What…" Jean-Paul cursed himself for choking on the words, "What did you say to me?"
Who he was…
Jean-Paul Beaubier, Northstar … Skier, father, fighter, chairman, teacher… X-men, Alpha Flight… He was a gentleman and a rogue. Born normal and so very proud now to be different.
When he'd died…
'You dumb fuck.'
Northstar couldn't believe he'd let himself be nailed through the heart by Logan! Even as his heart muscles contracted and expanded in a vain effort to keep beating, as he sank down the rough bark and got splinters in his scalp, Jean-Paul's last conscious thought was berating, a hot, angry spike as he yelled at himself in his mind.
'You dumb fuck!'
And finally, when he'd woken up, that first terrible night when Logan had stopped him and the first cracks appeared in the brain washing. There was nothing to stop the crushing guilt that he'd murdered people. Yes, they had been bigots and red necks and racists and wife beaters, but they had been people. He'd become everything he'd ever hated. It turned his stomach when he'd seen himself, covered in all the blood and gore and knowing it was none of it was his own.
Jean-Paul had been trapped in his body, barely aware of himself. The doctors moved around him, ignoring him as he tried to move, tried to explain. They stared at him as if he didn't matter, as if they'd already given up on him and were waiting for him to die.
He had been furious… and thus, Northstar had been born. Determined that, while yes, he had to pay for his crimes, but no, he would not just lie here and die. He would not go quietly into the night! They would pay for doing this to him!
Then he had been frightened. Terrified. Desperate. Here, Jean-Paul had been born. He tried to put the anger away, but Northstar would not be silenced. Jean-Paul didn't want to be alone… but at the same time, he could not allow Northstar to roam free.
So, Jean-Paul created a box. In his mind. A place to put all his fury, all his hate.
And he shut himself in there with Northstar because he could not bear to be alone.
Nobody – not S.H.I.E.L.D, The Children or the Hydra's brain washing – could find this box, this cage. They could take his body, but here they could never touch his mind. Jean-Paul hid in here, and Northstar was contained in here. It was a perpetual night in the cage, darkness that would hide them safely from anyone who would be looking for them. Those who wanted to hurt him wouldn't dare venture into the night for them.
He could pretend, safe in this cage, that someone who was really looking for him… someone who loved him … would find him here, and bring some light. They would bring a new dawn for him. They would find him and take him away, take him somewhere nice.
They just had to wait for the dawn.
"You'll love it." Jean-Paul promised Northstar, "We'll go together."
+ Eclipse +