A/N: Wow. After the many requests for another chapter, how could I refuse? But seriously, there will be only two chapters. The first one, and this one. This is to just give the story a little bit better ending.
Pain. Did being dead hurt?
Why shouldn't it? If life hurt, why shouldn't death? But no… The pain that ripped through St. John was far too… well, painful, for him to be dead. He was hurting in places he hadn't even known existed.
But the thing that convinced him most he was alive? The numb feeling in the pit of his stomach. The laughing voice in the back of his head.
He wasn't sure why he hurt. Or even where he was. He struggled for a moment to remember what he'd been doing last…
Jean and Magneto…
The laboratory on Alcatraz Island…
The cars…
Oh God, Bobby.
What had happened? He had planned everything. He should be dead by now. He had made no mistakes. He had left Bobby with no choice. Kill or be killed. The last thing he remembered was Bobby grabbing his wrists. After that, everything was blank.
What happened? He silently begged. Where did I go wrong? What did I do? What happened to Bobby?
But there was no answer. There had never been any simple answers in St. John's life. Part of the reason he had planned his own death. But apparently, even that wasn't simple.
He slowly opened his eyes, and glanced around at his surroundings. This wasn't Magneto's base. Nor was it Xavier's mansion. He became even more confused at the sounds from outside. Where the hell was he?
He slowly stood up, his head pounding, and his ribs creaking. He was in a dark bedroom, one that was all together unfamiliar. He slowly dragged himself to the door of the bedroom, and pulled it open with one hand…
And it lead to a house. A kitchen, to be exact. But whose?
Bobby was driving back in his 'new' grand prix. It was an older car, a 1996, but the man had sold it to him for a few thousand dollars, and hadn't asked any questions.
Which was the main reason Bobby bought the car. He didn't know what exactly had happened that night at in San Francisco, but Magneto wasn't known for his forgiveness of those who abandoned him. Never mind that Bobby had dragged John away unconscious.
Bobby sighed at the thought of his best friend. He'd been out of it the two days it'd taken Bobby to drive to Michigan. And he hadn't woken in the two days they'd been there. Bobby had rented a small apartment with the last of his money he'd been saving for three years, and that's where the two boys had been staying.
He slowly pulled up to the apartment, and, grabbing the bag of groceries, headed towards the house.
He tiredly unlocked the front door, sighing to himself. He went into the kitchen, and was staring to put groceries in the fridge, when he heard a voice behind him.
"Bobby?"
Bobby spun around, and seen John half-standing, half-leaning on the table. He simply stared for a minute, before pulling his best friend into a hug.
"Oh my god, Johnny," He whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I thought you were dead. I thought I'd killed you."
"So did I, Bobby boy. So did I."