Author: Dark-Angels-Tears
Title: Darkfire
Rating: T for Violence, Language, Graphic content... All that good stuff.
Genre: Angst/Action/Adventure. In that order.
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it isn't ours. If you don't, total legal-glomp.
Summary: AU. To go back in time and change the past, in order to save the future. This is the mission of one Johnny Storm. However, his family doesn't understand this new, ruthless, darker Johnny. None of them have ever seen this side before...except Sue.
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Jackie: Three important topics to address before we head on with today's chapter, because we so often forget to talk about them in our Author's Notes. Anyways, we're doing our best to merge the comic and movie worlds more and more as we ourselves learn more and more about the characters. We'll do our best to explain each new character as best we can, each old villain the same, and so on and so forth so those who've never turned a page can still follow along. And yes, to you comic buffs, this does mean that we'll be getting some light crossover-y goodness from other heroes along the way. That's just a secret for now. n.n
Sarah: On the next note, you know those random fics where the main character can get horrifically maimed and disfigured, and yet by the miracle of technology he suddenly pops out the next chapter completely fine? Yeah, in case ya haven't noticed, this ain't one of them fics. Reality is j00r friend. Real injuries stick around and handicap you for-freaking-ever. –says this with leg propped up on pillow and bandages on shoulder- Trust me. TT
Jackie: Finally, just so you all are aware, the disorder mentioned in this chapter has few connections to the real thing. It goes by the same name, but that is simply because they haven't found a better one yet. It's explained below- just… read on. :P
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Chapter Seven
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I don't wanna live!
I don't wanna breathe!
'Less I feel you next to me -
You take the pain I feel.
(Waking up to you never felt so real!)
I don't wanna sleep!
I don't wanna dream!
'Cause my dreams don't comfort me,
The way you make me feel…
(Waking up to you never felt so real!)
-Skillet, Comatose
That night Johnny was so emotionally drained that when he finally did pass into the land of Nod, he did not have a nightmare. He'd used up nearly all of his horrific visions for the moment, and his mind could come up with no new fearsome situation to torture him with.
He did, on the other hand, have a night terror.
An unexplainable phenomenon that usually occurred in younger children, night terrors were comparable to nightmares, but there were several key differences. Whatever happened while he was asleep was completely lost to memory, and it was nearly impossible to be wakened from one. From what others had told him, during a night terror he would thrash about or kick, sometimes even moan softly – normally he had trained himself to stay absolutely still, absolutely silent when sleeping to avoid detection.
Johnny had actually suffered night terrors as a child, but back then he'd had parents and a sister to help him overcome it. He'd been fine for several decades, but after Sue died… something in him just…snapped. The night terrors came back in full force. But this time, they took second place to his regular nightmares. This time, something was different.
Normally the predominant emotion in a night terror was, as the name implied, fear. Panic.
But Johnny had nothing to fear outwardly anymore. In his time, he had lost absolutely everything precious to him. Now, his true demons were inside.
In his night terrors, Johnny felt only despair.
Relentless, overwhelming sorrow that seeped into his bones, lurked within the darkest places in his soul. So vivid and real it was like a great weight lying on his chest. Crushing him. Suffocating him. Killing him in a slow but sure manner.
And it just didn't end.
He and Reed were only two sufferers of the same disorder, which had laid claim to so many more in dying Earth. 'Mr. Fantastic' made the connection between their symptoms and night terrors, but the key differences made them more inclined to give it a new name. However, they had simply never gotten around to it.
But anyways.
Johnny finally awoke with a strangled scream in his throat, drenched in cold sweat, more than a few nicks and scratches on his abused body from rolling about in the broken wreckage of his Day. It didn't really hurt all that much, but he figured that it would be a bad thing for the rest of the team to come back to furniture speckled with blood. As such, he headed to the bathroom.
Or… tried to.
In the process of limping his way down the hall, Johnny suddenly felt as if all the mass in his body had shifted to his head and wanted to explode from within. He swayed violently and pitched forwards, infinite coloured dots swarming into view. The last thing he saw was the ground eagerly rushing up to meet him.
'This is going to hurt.' He thought grimly.
--
He was right. It did hurt.
Not enough for a concussion, but bad enough for a lasting migraine, he assessed critically, lingering on the floor for a moment because frankly, he didn't want to even attempt moving into what would probably be a wall of pain. Finally, stupidly, Johnny balled up his fists and pushed himself off the floor with his knuckles. He groaned aloud. Yup, there it was.
He half-staggered to the bathroom and knocked the door open with his shoulder. Beneath bare feet, the tile was bitterly cold. Something in his brain flashed a warning light at that, but through the fog of a mind that had recently woken up and been knocked out in short order, he could care less. All he wanted was a damp washcloth and a dry towel.
He splashed some water on his face, wincing at accidental contact with what would be a most attractive bump on the head. As the warm water trickled down his skin and into the sink, he mused that a hot shower would be deliciously wonderful right now. He straightened up, mentally toying with that idea, while at the same time examining himself in the mirror. There, he spotted something that made his blood run cold.
Oh. Oh, dang. Hot shower, yes. Enjoy it, no.
Still shirtless from yesterday, Johnny could clearly see a thumb-sized patch of blackened skin in the center of his chest.
He swore.
Loudly.
Slamming his hands down onto the counter, Johnny screwed up his eyes and tried to stay as calm as possible. He had done this before and everything was alright. He'd survived just fine. He'd caught it early; it was his skin, it would be okay. It was only himself this time. No one was in danger. It was going to be fine.
He let out a long sigh and straightened up, moving closer to the mirror in order to take a closer look at the area. All things said, it looked like a dark bruise except for several tiny lines extending from the center. As if it were slowly spreading out.
But this was no simple bruise.
This was the poison slowly attacking his body. This was its way of spreading its way throughout the entire body, every system, every organ. First by overtaking the bloodstream, then weakening and altering the rest of the body until absolutely everything had shut down. Until there was not even the slightest chance of revival.
And this was where it began.
Johnny set to rummaging through the cupboards for something, and he finally emerged with a straight razor.
Everyone else had responded, at least in some minor way, to their own crude attempts at antidotes. But because of his powers, any sort of new substance in his veins –whether helpful or hindering- had been simply burned away. However, this toxin was of a different breed entirely. In his case, the razor was the only way to treat a poison he was unable to burn through. He had to bleed it out.
He removed his bandages as well as the rest of his clothing and stepped into the shower, turning the hot water on full blast as he did so and closing the door. Johnny inhaled the steam in deep breaths, trying to steady his shaking hands. Finally, when he could delay it no longer the man raised the sharpened blade and pressed it to his skin, pushing harder and harder until he saw the first drop of blackened blood.
Firmly setting his jaw, Johnny slid the strangely cold steel edge along his skin in a diagonal line across the patch, continuing the neat incision until the liquid that so eagerly spilled from the wound turned a healthy crimson. Unfinished, he made another cut in the opposite direction; this one was far deeper – but not quite deep enough to strike muscle. The two cuts crossed in the center and formed an X in the middle of his chest. Black and red mixed with the steaming water and dripped to the floor harmlessly.
Johnny waited with eerie patience as the black patch faded from his skin and the blood flowing steadily from the open wounds became entirely scarlet.
He pointedly ignored the tainted razor still waiting, innocently, in his hand; ready to be used again if necessary. Ignored the sick sense of pleasure he received from the release of emotions this bloodletting had given him. Ignored the fact that it would be so easy to do it again, and again, and again. Ignored the fact that with a flick of the wrist he wouldn't have to feel anything anymore.
Ignored all that, because he was on a mission. And that mission required that he place duty before pleasure.
He snapped the blade shut and clutched it tightly in his fist. A nearly unconscious action led to it becoming melted shut, taking away even the slightest temptation. Johnny was not going to fall into that trap again.
He did not know how long he stood there, glaring into space; hanging on to a useless piece of metal like a lifeline. But eventually, as the wound on his chest stopped bleeding, the man returned to a normal state.
Ben was supposed to come back tomorrow. What was he doing standing around for?
--
Fresh bandages on his old and new wounds and a sense of fierce determination in his heart, Johnny set to cleaning his room and, in fact, their entire section of the Baxter Building with a vengeance. He finished just as the sun was reaching the peak of its daily journey across the sky, and all of a sudden the man found himself with absolutely nothing to do.
He stood on mildly unsteady legs and surveyed his surroundings, taking a longing glance out the window. Johnny wanted, so badly, to go outside and make himself useful to the world… but knowing New York like he did, it was very likely that something would go horribly wrong and he would accidentally expose himself to the world. And that was completely unacceptable at this point.
But he had to do something, he mused, or he would go stir-crazy. As a matter of fact, without any horrific being to run from or looming evil to defeat, he was already going slightly stir-crazy. Johnny had a lot of energy and nothing to use it on.
Then something clicked in his brain.
Aha. Training. That was certainly a possibility.
But where?
The roof was the first, most obvious choice. However, he did not trust the fact that it was not being watched from an outside source, and Johnny was not going to take any chances. So he would just have to make due here.
Slowly, taking his time so as to not aggravate his chest, he moved the furniture out of the way and rolled back the carpet to reveal the plain metal flooring. Then, he headed into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. With it in hand, Johnny made his way to the center of the cleared space and sat down cross-legged.
Perfect.
He took a deep breath and concentrated on the water.
When you got right down to it, the basis of Johnny's power lay in his unconscious ability to control the speed of molecules in any given substance. If he sped it up, the item would heat up and eventually combust. However, if he did the opposite… if he reduced it, then it would possibly shift the state of matter it held.
For example…
Johnny saw past the surface of the water and saw to the molecules he knew composed it, then by expending some of his own energy, urged them to move faster. The liquid began to bubble, then froth, then steam, until finally it boiled away and there was nothing but air occupying the empty glass.
But he was not finished.
The man next looked to the air, to the steam slowly spreading throughout the room. And in a similar yet completely reversed process, Johnny absorbed the heat energy in the vapour and returned it to a liquid, then finally solid stage.
Opening his eyes to see a jar of entirely frozen liquid sitting before him, his eyes shone pleasantly. "Now, let's kick it up a notch." He muttered, using the same technique to absorb the ambient heat in the room. The energy he gained from that was like a bucket of ice-water thrown onto a slumbering man. Johnny was very suddenly awake, alert, and raring to go.
He stood up and placed the glass off on a side table, then returned to his position in the center of the room in order to prepare for a mock battle.
Closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.
One opponent- male; protective mask, armour, and dark green cloak. Weaknesses: eyeholes, joints, relies on oxygen. Strengths: absolutely everything.
Five minutes. Take him down.
Johnny flamed on, but kept his powers harshly restrained. As a young man, he had been in a mindset where he thought that in order to really 'make his mark' on the big bad villain, he had to give off as much heat as possible. However, years of experience taught him differently. By having his flames curl no more than a centimeter off his skin and absorbing, rather than expelling heat in the air, Johnny was able to both conserve his energy and slowly regain lost strength.
That was the major thing about his abilities. In terms of raw power, Johnny ranked up there with the world's top supers. But power is not the only thing that makes one great.
A raging forest fire can devour whole acres of trees in mere hours, if the wind is right. Nonetheless, it will eventually and inevitably burn itself out.
Control.
Control was what made the difference between a campfire and a wildfire. Control was what made the difference between a lantern and a torch. Control was what made the difference between a super and a hero.
Control was what made Johnny great. Because that was what he was, and would never be finished, learning.
Four minutes. Take him down.
In the remaining time, Johnny fiercely battled his imagined villain. Throwing everything he had barring actual flames, he did his best to subdue them. But every single time, the villain won. Every single time they figured out a way to get out- because Johnny knew, there always was a way out. And if he knew it, then his opponent certainly did.
So why couldn't he get his act together and finish the blasted thing? What mental block kept him from being able to give his all?
The time passed, fortunately for his abused body. Aching and sore from the exertion, Johnny finally returned, defeated, to the floor.
This wasn't working.
Despite his best efforts so far, neither his mind nor his body was in top shape. Looked like daily training was going to have to become a necessity.
As Johnny slowly and painedly stretched his sore muscles, he made a mental note to subtly 'hint' to Reed to make a training room sometime soon. He didn't care to have to worry about Sue's curtains every time he wanted to throw a fireball.
When he finally finished, all he wanted to do was something passive; something that didn't require moving his aching... everything. But to stop in the middle of training would be to throw what he had just accomplished out the window. Besides that, to stop doing something would mean that he would have to think.
And in his current state of mind, thinking was one of the last things he wanted to do.
Johnny sighed frustratedly, running a hand through his short locks. How could he stop thinking? Everything in this place- every table, every chair and lamp and scrap of carpet held a memory he didn't want to dwell on.
He had to get out.
But wait a second... hadn't he ruled out doing something outside because something always went horribly, horribly wrong?
We-ell...
He didn't have to go out and fight crime, per se. He could just go for a walk.
A nice little walk around the block. Yeah, that would be good.
A few minutes later Johnny was walking out the front door (his ankle having healed enough that he merely walked with a pronounced limp) onto the street. It was a cold, crisp day, but the sun was shyly peeking out from behind the clouds and basking the city in a clear light. And as soon as the afternoon sun hit his face, Johnny knew that he had made the right decision.
Out here... amid the screaming tires and blaring horns, with the chatter of thousands upon thousands of people rising up about him, he felt strangely peaceful. Almost like…like he was home.
Chuckle. Stupid thought.
He walked aimlessly down the streets, turning here and there, not really paying attention to where he was going. After a long while, Johnny found himself walking into a fairly shady neighbourhood. Crumbling brick walls were coated with graffiti. Trash was strewn all about. People standing in the shadows sent him fierce glares, as if blaming him for their problems. The sun was hiding its face now; it had turned its back on this part of town.
This type of scene... this was more familiar to Johnny then the restored New York was. He started to think that he'd wandered into a nightmare when suddenly, amidst all the darkness of his surroundings, a brilliant light shone in.
Metaphorically speaking.
Just ahead of him one building, slightly smaller than all the rest, was practically gleaming compared to all the rest. The brass lettering above the open front doors read Victory Christian Center.
Oh. That made sense. It was a church.
He didn't really want to go inside, but if he continued wandering outside he was liable to be mugged or something of the like. Also, seeing as it was a Saturday, there would probably be no one inside to bother him.
Which meant that Johnny would be able to take refuge in there... if only for a few minutes.
The front doors had been flung wide open, but no one was in sight. So it was with slight relief that the man slipped inside and made his way into the deserted sanctuary.
Sanctuary.
That was what he really needed at the moment. A place to be where no one could find him, where he could sit and not think.
Johnny walked down the center aisle and stepped into one of the pews, sitting down and heaving a great sigh. He rested his head in his hands and rested a moment; allowing the warm, musty air to fill his lungs and calm his mind. But even while at peace, his head was filled with questions - the greatest one, of course, regarding his own outlook on the future and this timeline.
It hadn't happened. Everyone was alright. So why did he still care so much for those he had lost there?
"In my experience, it's hard to stop anyone from caring- especially yourself." A deep, rumbling voice interrupted Johnny's thoughts and nearly scared him half to death.
At the sound, his head jerked up suddenly. An older, richly black man was sitting next to him and smiling. It was at that point that Johnny realized that he had spoken aloud- and the man was merely responding to him.
"Welcome to Victory Christian Center. I'm Pastor Jim Walsh. You want to tell me more about this problem you're having?" The man asked.
Johnny hesitated. Obviously, he couldn't say anything about the future... but something about him- maybe just the fact that he was a pastor, made him feel at ease. Well, maybe it would be alright just to ask him about his struggle. Besides it wasn't like he would ever see him again.
"I've been having this... dream lately. In my dream, something happens and basically everyone I know dies. But it's just a dream. I know it didn't happen, but I can't stop myself from treating everyone around me like I treated them after they died." Pause. "In the dream."
The man furrowed his great brow and leaned back against the pew. There was silence for a fair few minutes, before Pastor Walsh finally spoke up. "When I was a boy, I had a dream once that a friend of mine pushed me down an elevator shaft. It was just a dream, but I couldn't help myself from distancing myself from him for the next week or so, just in case."
He smiled wryly. "Eventually, my friend confronted me about how I'd been acting and I realized that I couldn't treat him as if he had done something he hadn't. It wasn't fair to him, and it wasn't fair to myself.
"Our brains are smarter then we think they are. They pick up on things that we don't; our suspicions, our fears, and all of that comes out through dreams. But that doesn't mean that these dreams are necessarily true. We have to give people the chance to prove themselves for who they really are, not who we think they are or what we fear they could be.
"You just need to make the distinction between the dream versions of these people, and the real ones. Once you do that, you should be able to be just fine."
There was quiet in the pews as the pair sat, lost in their own thoughts, until finally Johnny spoke up. "You know, that actually made sense. For a moment there, I thought you were going to preach at me or something."
Pastor Walsh chuckled, then added bemusedly, "Well, if you'd like a sermon, I've a few very catchy ones prepared. Sin and hellfire – one has lepers."
Johnny shook his head bemusedly. "I think I'm fine."
"I think you will be, Mr. Storm."
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Sarah: Oh yes, we DID just quote Shepherd Book. Ten points to you for catching it. :3