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 8: Dawn

"Do not call him by name yet. Not Northstar, not Jean-Paul. If you must call him anything, call him Beaubier."

Bobby Drake was bleary eyed, in need of caffeine, more sleep and sugar. He did not need Scott to wake him at 3.45am, did not need Hank to drag him out of bed at 3.57am, and he definitely did not need Cable to be up in his face at 4.13am. "Wha…?" he broke off to yawn before continuing, "What? Why?"

"Listen, Drake." Cable spoke slowly. "Look, it's early. I know. But it's really fucking important, so do you need me to imprint this all in your brain?"

"Probably." Drake muttered as he sipped on his sweet coffee. "Yeah, go on then."

Cable dragged a hand down his face, the long night with Sabertooth wearing on him. "Right. Just for the frontal lobe, do not call him by either Northstar or Jean-Paul. Do not promise to take him anywhere. Especially, do not promise to take him 'somewhere nice'. Do not promise him that he'll get better. He is better; he just doesn't accept it yet." Cable paused to take a long gulp of hot coffee with a grimace, "Do not utter the following phrases: 'You dumb fuck.', 'You'll love it, we'll go together.' And finally, 'when you are better, I'll take you somewhere nice.' I can't stress how important all this is. Do not suggest topics about his life for conversation, let him lead the conversation. Do not give him commands that lead to definite action."

"I must confess to being perplexed." Hank said quietly, "What is this all about? Why do you have to outline all of this?"

Cable stared at Beast for a long moment, his expression turning sour. "You want to know why?" He snorted and held up his hands to count off his fingers, "They dumped a beta-level telepathic/ borderline psychic into a machine that messes with the mind, compressed time in an effort to keep up with a speedster and left him alone with only clinical human contact and pumped dangerous, experimental amounts of paralysing, hallucinatory drug cocktails into his blood stream – without really knowing how it would effect his emotional and cognitive systems - for seven straight months. I could go on, you know, about the fucking sensory deprivation and randomised therapy sessions when he was completely incapable of responding or indeed recognising he was in such a situation…" Cable's mouth twisted unpleasantly as he spat, "And they expected him to come out, just peachy fucking fine."

Scott scratched his unshaved chin, "I don't get why Nick lied to us all…"

"What I gather from Jean-Paul's memories," Cable sank into a seat, "Your agent was worried that he might have to blow Northstar's head off after all. He didn't want to raise your hopes up."

"Surely that should have been our decision;" Hank argued, his brows drawing together angrily, "Young Katherine and Logan have been so guilty about his death…"

Cable waved his hand wearily, "Look, we can argue about what should have been done until the fucking cows come home, but I need to make sure Drake understands this completely." He levelled a serious look at the sleepy Iceman, "You are vital to breaking the lock in his mind. So, wake up, we're running out of time."

Bobby stifled another yawn, "Why do we have to do this so early again?"

"Beaubier believes that the Dawn that his various personalities have been talking about is the Dawn of the White Light cult…" Cable shook his head, "It's not. He believes that he won't be better until somebody finds him. We have found him, so now we need to nudge him in the right direction to accept that the time to hide is over. He's the lynch pin. Aurora will follow him. He's the dominant personality right now. When he's fixed, she'll follow."

"And I'm important because…?"

"Because two of his personalities fixated on you, and in doing so created a third personality based on you. This third personality is the main controlling one. The shadow king of their mind, if you will. It was telling the others what to do." Cable sighed and sat back, gazing thoughtfully out the window. The grey of the sky seemed to spread to everything. The sunrise was only an hour away. "When he arrived here with Aurora, he was confronted with something real. Something he could touch base on. Briefly, it shocked him out of the dream that the Children wove tighter around his mind. The dream his mind had created to cope with the stress of being in the machine that he'd been tortured in for the last seven months."

Cable returned his heavy gaze to Bobby.

"He attacked you because the Other Bobby Drake conflicted with you. The Other-Bobby personality must have ordered him to destroy you."

Bobby frowned, "What's to stop him from attacking me again?"

Smirking, Cable raised a hand to rest his chin. "Here's the thing, there isn't. But, you're made of ice, he's blown you up once before and you survived. Besides, I think that the other Bobby-personality collapsed when I smacked him upside the head."

"Oh, thanks." Bobby grimaced as he sucked down the dregs of his coffee. "So, I go in there and tell him I'm the real Bobby Drake and tell him to ignore the voices in his head. Got it."

"This isn't funny, Drake." Cable's amusement dropped instantly, "He's broken. He's fragile. If you want him to keep on living, you want to try being less annoying than usual. Fury was right about one thing. We still may have to put a cap in his head." He paused to let this sink in, "He's better physically, but mentally he's a bit like a china cup, glued together too many times. One good knock and he'll be broken beyond repair."

"And you dump this on my shoulders at twenty five past four in the morning." Bobby glared at them sullenly, but under this all, he looked a little guilty. In a very small voice, he admitted; "I threatened to kill him once, the last words I ever said to him were in anger…"

Hank laid a big, warm hand on his shoulder. "We've all made mistakes…"

"Yeah, well… what if he doesn't want to speak to me?" Bobby looked to Scott, "What if he's still mad at me?"

Scott reached over to smack Bobby gently on the side of his head. "Listen, I wouldn't ask you, if I didn't know that you'd be able to do something helpful."

"Bobby," Hank looked meaningfully at the other two. Scott tapped Cable's shoulder and they both left without another word. Hank looked to Bobby, tiredly pulling off his glasses. "Bobby, my dear brother. We have been friends for a long time, yes?"

"Of course, Blue."

"And maybe lately, I've not been a great friend—"

"Hank!"

"Let me finish. But now, I'm going to tell you. Neither have you. Or Scott. Or indeed our playful angel, Warren." Hank sighed ruefully, "In fact lately, we've been assholes. To each other and to everyone else who hasn't been part of the original five. In this time of great change, perhaps it's time we too learnt to change." He stared into Bobby's eyes, and saw his friend's deep guilt. "Go to him, Bobby, please. It's time to stop this pain. Bring Jean-Paul Beaubier, the Northstar, his damned dawn."

Bobby drew a very deep breath. Cable, Scott and Hank stood just down the corridor from him. Jean-Paul had been placed in his old room. In all the craziness that had happened recently, nobody had come to clean it out. Beaubier's former students, led by Anole had moved to clean the place up. Anole was recovering, nursing his broken nose. Yet, he still believed that Northstar could be saved. It had been too early to wake the poor boy, so here were three X-men and some jerk from the future.

Bobby yawned, and breathed out very slowly.

He knocked on the door and waited.

"Come in." Beaubier's voice was faint.

Squaring his shoulders, Bobby opened the door and stepped in.

Beaubier was standing by the wide windows, naked but for a pair of old, loose drawstring joggers. His sleek black hair was sleep-tousled-stylish; his back displayed a number of bruises. Bobby winced as he noticed the pale, scrapped skin around his wrists, neck and waist. It was obvious that Beaubier had been restrained harshly for a long time. His back and sides was defined still, his natural metabolism not allowing his body to waste away.

Bobby stepped forward hesitantly. "Beaubier?"

"Oui." Beaubier's voice was still faint and flat, as if he were answering purely out of habit. "What do you want from me?"

"I'm here to visit you." Bobby replied, "I thought you might like some company."

He could see Beaubier's eyes in the reflection of the glass. The cool blue eyes - that had been so sharp the last time he saw them - were now bland, blank. Beaubier blinked slowly, before he turned to look at Bobby. The former Northstar drew his arms up and wrapped them around his torso, absently. Beaubier stared at him for a long moment. Bobby found his eyes drawn to the three small, parallel scars above his heart. The wound that killed him.

"Who are you?"

Bobby blinked; didn't Cable say that Beaubier had fixated on him?

"Uh…" Bobby was at a loss. He frowned slightly as he noticed that Beaubier was trembling. Moving forward, Bobby picked up a sheet from the bed, and approached Beaubier. The other man made no other movement, except for tracking him with bland, empty, blue eyes. "Aren't you cold?" Bobby said, holding the sheet up. "You're trembling, you know?"

"I… don't know… I was. In the room."

"This room?"

Beaubier's head tilted slowly. "No. The room that Northstar left. I was in the room. The cage was never so cold."

"Really?" Bobby moved forward again hesitantly. He lifted the sheet slowly, and wrapped it around Beaubier's shoulders. Beaubier seem to take this the wrong way, and moved closer to Bobby. The taller man bent forward to lean his head against Bobby's shoulder.

Bobby flushed, wishing that Cable had given him a chance to wash up properly. Or at least to slap on some deodorant. And a chance to change his t-shirt.

"You…" Beaubier lifted his head, and for a brief moment, his nose scrunched up and Bobby swore that there was a flash of the old razor sharp Northstar in there. Beaubier's eyes briefly narrowed in amusement, "You smell terrible. Late night?"

"Early morning." Bobby replied, still blushing.

"Morning?" Beaubier's eyes fell flat again. His head moved toward the window, "The angel lied to me."

"Did it?"

"She."

"Sorry. Did she?"

"Yes." Beaubier put his head on Bobby's shoulder again. Bobby raised his hands, and placed them lightly on Beaubier's shoulder blades, feeling the slight shift in the muscles as the other breathed. "She told me that she was the Dawn… she wasn't though. Otherwise why would Northstar tell me to wait for it?"

"Do…" Bobby swallowed, and found himself holding Beaubier slightly closer. "Don't you recognise me?"

Beaubier raised his head, and stared at Bobby. A long fingered hand came up to hover over Bobby's cheek, and for a moment, the iceman fought the urge to ice up. "The light is so poor. I'm sorry… should I?"

"Yes." Bobby chewed on the inside of his cheek, "We used to… uh, work together. We weren't really good friends, but… um… well, you know."

Beaubier smiled patiently. "I'm sorry." He focused on something over Bobby's shoulder.

Bobby looked over his shoulder to follow his gaze. On the horizon, the sky was turning a delicate shade of pink. It was almost time for the sunrise.

"I always wanted to go somewhere nice. Will you take me?"

Bobby returned his attention to Beaubier; the other was looking at him in a vaguely curious way. He realised that Beaubier's arms were snaked around his waist, a hand sliding up and down absently on the small of his back. Bobby swallowed, and shook his head. "No."

Beaubier blinked, and once again, Bobby saw some real life spark in the otherwise bland eyes.

"No." he repeated firmly, wanting to chase that spark. "We're going to stay right here." Bobby pulled away from Beaubier and opened the windows, drawing back the curtains and pulled Beaubier to stand in front of him. He put his hands firmly on the speedster's shoulders and placed himself close behind. Beaubier pulled Bobby's hands down, and around his waist. Bobby flushed again as he dared to place his chin on Beaubier's shoulder.

"I've found you." Bobby said, impulsively. "So, we're going to stay here, ok? I know that what I said before was really out of order, but I want to make it up to you… Hank said, I need to be a better friend, and before… when… when you were away, I made a promise to myself that I would try harder."

Bobby closed his eyes, and breathed in. He was suddenly nervous, aware that he was probably breaking every one of Cable's rules. He wasn't elegant, like Beaubier had once been.

"And, I know that you're better. I know you're in there, Beaubier. So, it's time for you to… I don't know, come out, or resurface? I just don't know what's going to trigger your brain, or your soul, or whatever, yeah… But you know what, here's the dawn. Here's the Dawn, Beaubier, so you need to start waking up. Start being yourself again. The long night is over! The dawn is here!"

"Bobby."

The iceman paused; surprised that he'd gotten so emotionally caught up. He felt his heart jump, as the man in his arms, whispered his name. Jean-Paul Beaubier turned in his arms and looked down at him with aware eyes, they didn't display the cool sharpness he was used to, but they weren't completely blank either. Bobby blinked as a small smile pulled at Beaubier's lips.

"Bobby Drake. That's your name, isn't it?" He looked over his shoulder, toward the horizon. The sun was just peeking over the curve of the earth. The speedster's cool blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully for a long moment before he moved again. "I knew someone, once upon a time, his name was Bobby too. I think… maybe I loved him so. I don't remember…" Jean-Paul Beaubier wrapped an arm around Bobby's waist and half turned to greet the morning. He spread his free arm, as if introducing Bobby to the brightening sky. His blue eyes glowed dimly with some internal light, and a beautiful smile graced his pale lips as he tipped his head toward Bobby.

"Good morning, Bobby."

His voice was so warm, as he spoke.

"I've been waiting so long for the dawn to come."

+ Dawn +