"Hello Pyro," came that sickeningly familiar tone. It was calm, as the faint sound of wheels glided gracefully over from behind him.
"Your supposed to be dead," John cried, his skin paling as he tried to back himself away from the apparent ghost, the metal restraints on his wrists binding him. His frantic icy gaze met the kind chocolate stare for a mere moment before snapping to the ground, his bottom lip trembling.
"Your safe now, Pyro. Your safe," the professor soothed, as the frustrated boy leaked tears of hot confusion, his icy stare burning with fiery rage.
Storm turned to face the professor, a questioning anxiety about her.
"Why does he remember you… and not us?" she asked, as John flinched away from her touch. Charles Xavier studied the boy closely, closing his eyes and penetrating the swirling thoughts and questions that baffled John's aching mind.
"I don't know Storm," he said finally. "Ill wait until he's calmed," he added, his answer aimed more at John than at Storm. He just sighed and collapsed onto his back, ignoring the pain the ripped through his abdomen and fell into a deep, far from peaceful slumber.
"Professor?" Storm asked quietly, as she closed the heavy oak door to his office. The professor was sat in his window, staring ambient out over the laughing children in the playing fields.
"His amnesia baffles me. He has no significant injuries to the head," the professor sighed, turning his chair around too face Storm. Storm stepped lightly over and perched herself in a green and mahogany chair by the desk.
"What do you think may have caused it?" she asked quietly, folding her smooth, dainty hands in her lap. The professor closed his eyes, very slowly shaking his head.
"I have not a clue."
John tossed his head to the side, his eyes squeezing tighter shut in his slumber. Images were flashing, racing, burning through his mind in a swirling dreary haze of madness. Faces loomed, glared and snarled, voices screamed, begged and cackled and the flames. The flames were there, searing through the blackened faces, torching the voices and comforting his icy soul. They danced for him, in a way that no one else could see. They called to him, in voice that no one else could hear. But most importantly, at least to John, was the way the flames embraced him, comforted and soothed him in a way that no one else could feel. But the fire was fading, and the voices and faces were darkening, coming closer. A woman, beautiful with long black hair and amber eyes. A child, with rosy cheeks, golden curls and icy blue eyes. Who were these people? The old man, the middle aged woman…
His eyes snapped open. He was panting, his chest heaving in breath as cold beads of sweat ran down his neck.
"Stay out of my head," he breathed, staring straight up into Xavier's chestnut gaze of concern. He lowered his hands from John's temples and placed them in his lap.
"Im here to help you John."
"I don't need your help."
"Then who were those people in your head?"
"…"
John looked away, his marine eyes shimmering as he forced himself to remember, a name, a face…anything. He looked back up at the professor, his blue eyes wide and innocent.
"How can you help me now? I'm useless…"
He pulled tentatively on his cuffs, sighing at the *chink* they made against the metal bars on his bed.
"I take it that Storm told you about your powers being temporarily disabled," Charles asked calmly, gliding over to the bed where john was sat. The blonde just looked away, a frustrated look on his face. The professor reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny silver key and opened the locks around Pyro's wrist. The cuffs fell away, revealing the deep, sores of ice burns, in a purple ring around his arm. John immediately pulled his hands into his chest, caressing his burning wrists, a pained expression on his face. Charles studied him for a while, taking in his sad appearance. He couldn't quite accept that this trembling person, was once a confident, powerful… terrorist. Feared, respected and worshipped, when he was really just a boy.
"Ive arranged some clothes to be bought to you in a moment. There are some people who would like to speak to you, John. Do you think you're up for that?"
John thought for a moment, then nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving the ground.
"Ill give you a moment."
A tall, dark man was waiting in Charles' office. He had silver grey hair, pulled back into a sleek ponytail and a long scar stretching from his right eyebrow down to his jaw. His emerald green eyes were piercing, and his smile was more of a smirk, revealing cracked yellow teeth.
"Mr Howell," Charles said, acknowledging him with a curt nod. The man chuckled, a deep, manic laugh.
"Its been a while," he smirked, twirling a piece of his silver hair in his fingertips.
"Yes well, there's a reason for that. Shall we begin?"
"You know the way."