In a Healing World I Write

by The Emcee

"In a healing world I write - I, who will never be healed. Let my last gift be one of memory; from a thousand lost thoughts, choose one, and remember my name." - flavor text of Tragic Poet. John returned to the mansion, to the X-Men, to Bobby, a broken man.

Title: In a Healing World I Write Author: TheEmcee Rating: T for depression, anxiety, and mentions of murder. Pairing: Bobby Drake/St. John Allerdyce Summary: "In a healing world I write - I, who will never be healed. Let my last gift be one of memory; from a thousand lost thoughts, choose one, and remember my name." - flavor text of Tragic Poet. John returned to the mansion, to the X-Men, to Bobby, a broken man. Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, the fandom, the source material, the flavor text, or the likenesses of the characters. This is a work of pure fiction, written by a fan, for the fans, and the author does not receive any monetary gain from this work. A/N: After seeing Pyro on the big screen again in Deadpool & Wolverine, I felt compelled to revisit the Iceman/Pyro pairing that I fell in love with when X2 came out. That being said, I haven't watched any of the X-Men films for some time, and I've never read the comics. I'd like to read the comics, but I just don't know where to start, so if you have any recommendations, please let me know. Also, this story has not been beta read, so if you see any mistakes or errors, let me know. Feel free to leave a comment in the towel section down below, and enjoy! ~🔥❄️🔥~ In a Healing World I Write ~🔥❄️🔥~ 'In a healing world I write - I, who will never be healed. Let my last gift be one of memory; from a thousand lost thoughts, choose one, and remember my name.' - flavor text of Tragic Poet. ~🔥❄️🔥~ Fate had never been a friend to him. A constant companion, yes, as it was for everyone else, but never a friend. Most days, he didn't even truly believe in it; those were the days when his mind was quiet and he could get some relative rest. On the other days, when his mind tormented him mercilessly and refused to give him reprieve, fate bore down upon him like an apparition of doom, a portent of hardship and pain. John was no stranger to either of those; his life, from birth until now, had been an unending cycle of hardship and pain, suffering and loss, anger and fear. Fear had clung to him just as tightly, if not more so, as fate had. As a child, it was fear of his father, of the kids who bullied him, and of the adults who always seemed to look at him a certain way, a way that made him nervous and apprehensive. During his early pre-teenage years, before arriving at the mansion, he'd been afraid of his father and his drunken friends, of other far strong mutant kids, of humans in general, and of himself. After running away from home, he'd had other vagrants to worry about, ones that eyed him up like fresh meat. But he had been tough, and there was always some source of fire nearby that he could manipulate if he ever lost a lighter. John had never had any friends, he had never known his mother, his father was a complete waste of a person, and none of the teachers at his previous schools ever really cared, genuinely, honestly cared about him. A few of them showed interest in him, the same kind his father's friends had. All of his life, he'd been alone with his fear and on fate's tether. When he had first arrived at Xavier's, a new, far more intense and instinctual fear blossomed inside of him. It had been the first time in years that he'd had a stable roof over his head, three hot meals a day, access to a shower, and clean clothes. Having lived on the streets since twelve years old, it had taken a while to adjust to it all, though part of him believes he never truly adjusted to life there. But that wasn't what sparked that new fear within him; being roomed with Bobby Drake was what did it. John had always defaulted to sarcasm and indifference when meeting people as he preferred to get a feel for them, who they were, how they reacted, and, with mutants, what their powers were. He was all too aware of his own weakness; being able to control fire didn't equate to manifesting it himself, and he'd learnt long ago to choose his battles. And no one had ever cared for him enough to want to get to know him, and it was a self-preservation tactic of his to not get attached to people who would only let him down or toss him aside like yesterday's trash when it fancied them. Yet Bobby Drake hadn't given a single fuck about John's walls and barriers. He'd managed to get beneath John's skin, dissolved himself into his blood, and carved out for himself his own corner of John's soul to dwell in. The day that John had first realized that he cared for and loved Bobby Drake had been the day that started out with the nightmare of the Iceman being brutally, viciously murdered in front of him. Waking up with tears streaming down his face hadn't been too odd of an occurrence during his lifetime, but the nightmares had begun to lessen over the course of his first year at Xavier's. Having one about his roommate had begun an awakening within John that had been utterly unexpected, inconvenient, beautiful, striking, and ultimately heartbreaking. It started with him admitting to himself that he cared about Bobby immensely and that he was his friend, the only friend he'd ever truly had. Eventually, John came to realize that he was in love with Bobby, which brought forth both happiness and terror. Love had always been a foreign concept to him. No one had ever loved him, not really, and he'd spent most of his life fearful of it because he knew, had always known, that he was undeserving of it. Nothing about him was or had ever been endearing or lovable; of that, John was acutely aware. Bobby Drake was the only person that John had ever put before himself. Everything he'd learnt living on the streets melted away when it came to Bobby. All of his experience and rationale dissipated into the aether. If Bobby had ever felt such feelings for him, John didn't know, didn't deserve to know. And in the end, it hadn't mattered. Because Rogue arrived, and John slowly began to fade into obscurity. He'd always known the day would come, but that didn't lessen the pain that he'd felt, didn't make the nightmares easier to bare, didn't make him feel important or cared for. Bobby, who had called John his friend, his best friend, in fact, began to distance himself, spending a majority of his spare time with Rogue. Even when John was invited, he wasn't wanted; it was a feeling so palpable that everyone around them felt it too. Eventually, the invitations ceased, and John was left alone again. He took it out on everyone; the other kids, the teachers, Rogue, Bobby, himself. Though he had never been nice or sweet or gentle, after being roomed with Bobby, John had settled down enough to be approachable. After Rogue, he'd start arguments and fights with anyone and everyone that would take the bait. He'd lash out with insults and jeers intended to hurt deeply, and he grew distant and cold towards everyone. His duration at the mansion was coming to an end. Even a blind man could see it. So he left when the first opportunity arose. Magneto's words had sparked something within him. John had and would never, deny that. However, they hadn't been what had pushed him to leave. The day of the field trip had been the first day in months that Bobby had spoken to him, and, truthfully, that brought him more pain than being cast aside and ignored had. No one at the mansion wanted or needed him there, so he left. Might as well make a difference and help 'The Cause' instead of twiddling his thumbs in a classroom. Whether Magneto thought he was truly a believer in 'The Cause' or not, John will never know. Both himself and Magneto used each other to advance themselves as much as they could. No secrets needed to be kept for they were both aware of their mutual exploitation. Mystique had been more personable, though she was often away on missions. John rarely accompanied her, but during the few times that he had, he learnt more than he had with Magneto. Perhaps part of him saw Mystique as a mother figure, or an older sister; he couldn't say for sure. After she'd been cured and promptly tossed aside, John tried not to think about her, about how it should have been him and not her. Unlike him, she was far more useful, resourceful, and clever, yet fate bestowed its justice as it saw fit. Following Magneto's orders had been easy at first; all he had to do was turn off his brain and go. After Mystique had been cured, though, John began to hesitate, to second guess, and to question. The more destruction Magneto's Brotherhood wrought, the less John wanted to participate. But he felt unable to leave. Magneto wouldn't have just let him walk out of the door, not with all that he knew, and John doubted that the Professor would ever accept him back. He hadn't fought to keep him. No one had. No one ever did. Not that he could blame them. Unlike Mr. Summers, he wasn't handsome or mechanically inclined. Unlike Dr. Grey, he wasn't telepathic or smart. Unlike Ms. Monroe, he couldn't control the weather or be kind when he was being blunt. Unlike the Professor, he wasn't compassionate or wealthy. Unlike Rogue, he wasn't beautiful or deadly. Unlike Bobby, he wasn't likable or admirable. John couldn't even conjure the flames he controlled. He had always been the weak link. During his time with Magneto, John had stolen, harmed, and murdered. At first, it had been a pleasure, exerting power over meager humans. Too quickly, it started to be too much, too overwhelming, and oh, so pointless. The Cause, the war, all of it was pointless, hopeless, and as much as John had wanted out, he couldn't just quit. He had been in too deep to simply walk out the door like nothing had happened. Instead, he had blown up clinics that offered the cure and helped Magneto recruit others. All the while, Bobby Drake kept a residence in his mind. John had never missed anyone so badly. Even when Bobby had all but abandoned him at the mansion, he hadn't missed the ice powered mutant as much as he had when he'd been with the Brotherhood. He had feared for him, had worried for him, and even after Rogue, he had still loved him. After encountering him outside of that clinic, John knew that, eventually, they'd meet on the battlefield, and he had dreaded each second leading up to it. John had been prepared to die on Alcatraz. Honestly, he had welcomed death, as it would have been much more preferable than fighting Bobby. Whether Bobby knew he'd been holding back or not, John didn't know. Even after all of the anger and pain that he'd held for the other teenager bubbled to the surface, John couldn't, flat out refused to, find the will and strength to kill him. Even when Bobby looked at him with such anger and betrayal, John hadn't been able to deny the love he felt for him. Even when Bobby grabbed his wrists, his ice soaking into John's flesh, permanently marking him with hideous scars, scars he more than deserved, he had loved him. When Bobby bashed his ice coated cranium against his skull, knocking John unconscious and causing him to crumple to the ground like a doll, he still loved him. He had woken up alone, but he'd been with others in the Brotherhood when he started crossing the bridge. Police cars had formed a blockade and there were numerous guns pointed at him and his fellow mutants. John had never been the brightest Crayola in the box, but he had enough smarts to know that those guns hadn't been loaded with bullets. Fear clasped his hand, gripped it in a hold made of iron, unrelenting. Fate walked beside him, his constant companion regardless of whether he had believed in it or not. Both were by his side the moment the dart had struck him. His ability to manipulate, contort, and control fire had been embedded into his genetic makeup from conception. It had always been part of him before he had even been self-aware. Pyro had always been who he was. John had been certain of one thing his entire life: he was Pyro. To have that ripped away from him so cruelly, without a thought or care about anything except neutralizing the threat, was a pain beyond comprehension. He could still remember how it felt. It was like the flesh and muscle were being pulled away from his bones. The very blood in his veins was like molten lava, bubbling and boiling. Every molecule inside of him was shrieking in utter agony. John felt as though a bomb had been dropped on him, and no part of him was free of the torturous pain. His mutant ability had kept him safe from burning his flesh, but that one singular dart caused an invisible fire to envelope his entire being, striping it down to his very soul, stealing away the one thing that had always made him different from the normal, mundane humans. Though it felt like an eternity of punishment, the whole ordeal realistically only lasted mere seconds. When it had finally ended, when all was said and done, John had crumpled to the ground in a pathetic heap, his flame extinguished after a lifetime of companionship. Not even fear and fate had remained by his side. He was alone, just as he always had been. ~🔥❄️🔥~ "We found him." Those were the words that greeted Bobby Drake when he entered Ororo's office. After Alcatraz, she had taken over the Professor's role. In the three years that she'd been overseeing everything at the mansion, she had truly stepped into her new role and embraced it instead of being hesitant and reluctant. Not that the students saw that. Having known her for a while, Bobby had picked up on her feelings during those first few months. "Really?" Bobby asked, daring to hope for the first time in a long while. "And you're sure it's John?" "Yes. I saw the photos. It's him," she confirmed. Then, she gave him a smile. "You're flight leaves tomorrow morning at six am." "Thank you, Ororo," Bobby said, voice thick with gratitude. "You're welcome, Bobby." ~🔥❄️🔥~ Whatever Bobby had been expecting, this wasn't it. John had always been alert, his head constantly on a swivel, quick to clap back with an insult, a threat, or a warning depending on the situation, and always on guard. Not even Bobby had been able to break down his walls, and he had tried. There had always been a glow to the shorter mutant, as though he had his own fire that ignited his spirit, breathing fresh life into a soul that had experienced too much too soon. In short, John had been breathtakingly beautiful and exquisite. The person before him was a hollow shell, barely alive. Dark circles under his eyes that seemed so unfocused and lifeless made him look haunted. The clothes that he wore hung like a loose second skin off of a too thin body and were torn and tattered. Aside from the dark scars on his wrists, John was pale and gaunt, more wraith-like than human. It was obvious to anyone who bothered to look at him that he'd been living on the streets. Guilt welled up inside of Bobby. He had done this. That day on Alcatraz, instead of going back and getting John like he had wanted, he had allowed himself to be ushered into the jet with the other X-Men. Instead of making a case for John, he had abandoned him, left him unconscious and alone, and returned to the mansion, to Rogue. Seeing the scars left behind by the frostbite he'd caused was bad enough; seeing his closest friend in such a sorry state was nigh unbearable. His fists clenched at his sides. Bobby would fix this, all of it. This was a personal mission for him, bringing John back home, and he refused to fail. "John." Bobby's voice sounded far stronger and more assured than he actually felt. He watched as John stiffened and slowly turned to him. For the first time since he'd started observing him, those dull, listless eyes came to life. John blanched and he stumbled away from him, as though he were afraid of Bobby, which was odd. Pyro had never been one to back down from a challenge or obstacle. What happened to him? Cautiously, Bobby took a step forward and John bolted down the alleyway, away from him, looking like he'd seen a ghost. "John! Wait!" There was no way he'd lose him again. Without a second thought, Bobby took off after him, chasing him down the alleyway. John was fast, had always been fast, but Bobby was persistent. Turning right, continuing the pursuit of his quarry, Bobby was gaining on him. At least, until he tripped over some discarded rubbish that John had nimbly dodged. Panting from his exertion, Bobby planted a hand on the ground and sent of sheet of ice after John, causing him to slip, stumble, and fall. It took little time to cross the distance between them. "John, stop," Bobby practically pleaded. "I'm here to take you home." Crouching down beside the smaller man, Bobby reached out to touch his shoulder, hesitating briefly when John flinched away. That could be addressed later; he needed to get John home. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you," Bobby reassured him as he stood up, pulling John with him. "Are you good, man?" "I'm fine," John grunted, pulling away from him. "Don't touch me." His words were flat, lacking emotion, so unlike the John he had known. "What happened to you?" Bobby couldn't help but ask. John shrugged. "The same thing that always happens," was all he said. "John, I want you to come back home with me. Please," Bobby pleaded, trying to make eye contact. John refused to look directly at him. "I don't belong there, Bobby," John argued weakly. "I never did." "What are you talking about? Of course you did. You still do," Bobby insisted. "Look, just come with me. Stay for a while. And then, if you still want to leave, we'll talk about it." "I... I don't know, Bobby," John hesitated, looking uncomfortable. His eyes shifted all over the alley, as though he were expecting a surprise attack. At least he looked more alive now, more alert and aware. "No one's gonna say anything. I promise," Bobby vowed, still trying to look into the same eyes that he'd dreamt of over the past three years. "You were still underage, so none of the officials know who you are. No one will come looking for you. Even if they did, we'd keep you safe." "No one wants me there," John said, looking defeated. Broken. "I want you there," Bobby told him, placing a comforting hand on John's shoulder. Finally, at long last, John looked at him. Those eyes, so impossibly dark and deep, reflected some sort of story that Bobby just didn't know or understand. Not yet, at least. It was clear that John had been through something, but asking about it right now would be a mistake. His focus needed to be on getting John back home. "I've always wanted you there, John," Bobby confessed, hoping that he was conveying how much he'd missed his dearest friend since his departure. "Please, come home with me?" He watched as the remainder of John's resolve crumbled. Bobby watched as those eyes lost focus and began looking past him, through him, beyond the alley they were in. Perhaps into the past? "Okay." ~🔥❄️🔥~ Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What had he been thinking when he agreed to go with Bobby? He hadn't been thinking, that was the problem. Those familiar eyes had gazed into his very soul and it was as though he were seventeen all over again, unable to deny the other anything. And now, he was in the medical lab in the mansion. They had arrived late in the night, when the students were, supposedly, in bed. Ms. Monroe greeted them and ushered John down into the labs, where he'd showered, changed into clean clothes, and slept on a semi-comfortable medical bed. The nightmares pursued him, as they always did, and sleep had been fitful and draining. The doors opened and Dr. McCoy stepped into the room, giving him a brief smile. "Good morning, John. How did you sleep?" "I slept," John said. It wasn't technically a lie, merely an omission of the nightmares and terrors that plagued him. "Well then, let's take a look at you," Dr. McCoy said. The exam didn't take long. Beast, ever vigilant ans perceptive, asked questoon after question after question. How long had John been out on the streets? How often had he moved around? How often was he able to eat? Had there been adequate shelter during harsh weather? How often had he gotten sick while he was on his own? What towns or cities had he traveled to? Had he been in contact with other mutants or the remnants of Magneto's broken Brotherhood? Did his wrists still hurt or tingle? Had his motor skills diminished in his hands? The list went on and on. "You're malnourished, but you don't have any serious injuries," Dr. McCoy told him. He scrutinized John for a minute before he added, "Your mutation is fire manipulation, correct?" It had been years, but the mere mention of his mutant ability brought back the phantom pains of it being ripped away from him. He could still feel the burning in his very bones, engulfing him in a torrent of hellfire that he would never be able to escape. John wanted nothing more than to have a lighter to fiddle with, to help calm the growing anxiety welling within him. Dr. McCoy seemed to sense that something was suddenly very, very wrong with him. "John?" he asked softly. John knew his fingers were trembling. Hell, his whole body felt like it was quivering as it relived the experience of his mutation being taken away from him. He couldn't help it, and he had tried to stop it, to stop living that same awful experience over and over again. Nothing helped. "I-I-I don't... I don't ha-have my power an-any-anymore," John managed to push out. The words held more weight than they should have. They meant so much more to him than anyone else. Others sought the cure willingly; he had not. There was no getting it back. Perhaps it had been mere chance that a dart had struck him. Perhaps it had always been the direction his life was supposed to take. A far greater fear had developed over these past few years without his power: that it was some sort of divine punishment. Maybe living a long life without his mutant ability was the preamble to what awaited him in the afterlife. "You took the cure?" Dr. McCoy inquired, credulity obvious in his tone. "It... it wasn't voluntary," John ground out. He never would have voluntarily taken it. "I... I see." "You can't tell anyone," John insisted. "John -" "Please, Dr. McCoy! Don't tell anyone," John grabbed his forearm and pleaded desperately, his eyes wide. Dr. McCoy - Beast - studied him for a good while, his eyes, full of wisdom, examining him, searching for something. It felt as though they could see into John's very soul and were able to observe his entire life up to that point. After what felt like an eternity, the older man gave a heavy sigh. "I think Ms. Monroe should know at least," he said. Reluctantly, John nodded. "Would you like to talk to her, or would you prefer I do it?" Dr. McCoy asked, his voice patient, kind. "I will," John croaked. The thought of the Beast relaying his condition was tempting, very much so, actually, but John would have to talk to Ms. Monroe sooner rather than later. Bobby haf said that he was wanted here, that he'd be safe, but were those his words alone, or Storm's? She had no reason to trust him, yet she was allowing him to be here. John supposed she deserved to hear the truth from him, regardless of how much he dreaded telling it. When Ms. Monroe entered the medical lab, looking as ethereal and formidable as she always had, John knew that he wouldn't have been able to lie even if he wanted to. With just the two of them, John spoke his truth, forcing himself through a voice that stuttered and faltered. There were times when he had to stop, wait, and pull himself together. All the while, Storm listened to him, her face calm and neutral, offering neither comfort or contempt. Her presence alone was enough to strengthen his resolve and get through the worst of it all. And when he was finished, Ms. Monroe placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a kind look. "Bobby was right: you're welcome to stay for as long as you'd like. You are safe here, John." Her words were simple and held no secrets, but they helped to quell his frantic mind. She hasn't absolved him or condemned him; all she'd said was that he had a right to be here at the mansion. It was more than he deserved, John was well aware of that, and he planned on atoning for his past mistakes and transgressions. At the very least, that would provide enough of a distraction from the piece of himself that he'd lost and was missing so badly. ~🔥❄️🔥~ "He's going to need time, Bobby," Ororo told him gently but firmly. "I know that, Storm, but he's..." Bobby trailed off, not quite knowing how to phrase his words without sounding like a complete ass. "John has changed, as have we all," she said, giving him a pointed look. "I'm just worried about him. Before he left, he was abrasive, pugnacious, and fearless. Now he's none of that," Bobby admitted, his concern palpable. "Whether he tells you his story or not is completely up to him. No one has a right to force it out of him," Ororo consoled him. "I'd never force him to do anything," Bobby said immediately, looking mildly offended. "I never said you would. But I know you, Bobby, and if you think you can help someone, you'll do everything you can to do so," Ororo countered. "Even if it means pestering them until they open up." She arched an eyebrow at him and Bobby gave her a sheepish, apologetic smile. Waving away his unspoken apology, Ororo turned to watch John through the window. He was seated outside on a bench, reading a book. "He's barely been here a month, Bobby. I'm just relieved that he's finally able to keep most of his meals down," she confessed. "Same. And he's been doing well with his GED classes," Bobby added, a small smile starting to form on his face. It warmed his heart to see John looking more like a person again. He was still underweight, but he was keeping down what he ate. Since being released from Dr. McCoy's care, Bobby had shared his room with John, just like they used to before. John still had trouble sleeping, as indicated by the dark circles under his eyes, and Bobby was positive that he was having nightmares almost nightly. Every time he woke up, though, John was quiet, no screaming or flailing or anything. Sometimes, he'd be panting and sweaty, but he never said anything about any possible nightmares. That wasn't the only thing. Before he'd left, John was comfortable around people. He may not have liked most of them, but he wasn't skittish or jumpy, not like he was now. Bobby had lost count the number of times John had flinched at a sudden loud noise or whenever someone close by would suddenly move. Touching was off-limits to everyone except for Dr. McCoy and Ororo, and even then, it was obvious that John wasn't a huge fan of it. Not that he ever vocalized any sort of displeasure or discomfort. The old John wouldn't have hesitated to speak his mind or sling out an insult, but this new John hardly spoke. He wasn't boastful, he didn't brag, and he sure as hell didn't flaunt his power like he used to. Actually, Bobby had yet to see a lighter or match in John's hand, and he never bothered to play with fire like he used to. Unless John was on kitchen duty, he refused to be in the kitchen. If Bobby didn't know any better, he'd say that John was avoiding fire. But, at least he was eating. One step at a time. Bobby knew that they had to take it one step at a time, that he had to take it one step at a time. John was back home. He was taking classes to obtain his GED. Ororo was even thinking of asking John to teach at some point if he continued to progress like he was. What more could Bobby ask for? ~🔥❄️🔥~ John had never really liked Rogue, or rather Marie. That's what she went by now. Part of him had wanted to blame her for stealing Bobby away from him, but he couldn't. Bobby had never been his to begin with. No one had ever needed to tell John that. All he had ever been to Bobby was a friend, and that was all he'd ever be, even if he didn't deserve it. But part of him did hate her for getting the cure. Marie had made the choice, had willingly given her power up like it was nothing. Would he have ever willingly gotten it? That wasn't something he could answer, not any more. Even so, John couldn't deny that he was curious if being cured had felt the same for her. Had Marie's body been submerged in an invisible fire that stripped away everything that made her different from the normal, everyday human? Had she felt any pain, and if she had, had it been as awful and torturous as it had been for him? Could she still feel any sort of phantom pain? Was she as haunted as he was? "Hey, John," she called to him as she walked down the hall. He turned slightly to look at her. "Oh, hey." "You're back? For how long?" she asked gently. "I'm not sure. Bobby and Ms. Monroe told me I'm welcome to stay for as long as I'd like," he replied, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "Well, it's good to see you back," Marie said, giving him a small smile. "Bobby seems happier now. More relaxed." "I'm... I'm sure he's missed his girlfriend," John forced himself to say, even though the words tasted like poison on his tongue. Marie gave him a quizzical look. "John, Bobby and I broke up," she told him. "We have been together for two and a half years." "I... I didn't know," John confessed. "I'm sorry?" "It's alright. Things weren't the same after you left," Marie explained. "So, it's good to see Bobby looking and acting like his old self." "I guess." For a moment, they both stood in the hall, letting an awkward silence take up the space between them. He wanted to ask her so many questions, but where to start? Looking up, John's eye met Marie's, and he knew. "Do you ever regret it?" he asked, no malice in his voice. Such a simple question, yet there was so much emotion behind it. Simple words that conveyed so much that was important to him. "Sometimes I do," Marie admitted. She never broke eye contact. "But it was a power I never wanted, and it kept me from living my life." "Don't you feel like... like there's something missing?" John pressed. "It felt like that at first, but my power never defined who I am," she answered honestly, without shame. "I made myself whole again. Now, it's like the past me lived in a completely different lifetime." Marie started to walk past him, but she paused for a moment. Cautiously, she placed a hand on John's shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. "Take care of Bobby, John." ~🔥❄️🔥~ John entered the room at the same time as Bobby exited their bathroom, freshly showered, and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. It was obvious even before now that Bobby had grown, had filled out and gained more muscle mass from all of the rigorous training he'd gone through, and still went through. Not that Bobby had ever been meek or soft, not like John had always been. He had always been like a mutant version of Adonis. Heat rose up his neck and to his face, and John forced himself to keep his gaze on the floor. "H-hey, Bobby," he greeted. He busied himself with setting his things down on his desk, all the while hearing his roommate come closer. It was always cool in their room, but the temperature dropped even more as Bobby approached him. Not enough to be off-putting, but enough to be noticeable. "Welcome back, John," Bobby said, his cool breath ghosting across the back of his neck. It made him shiver deliciously. "Thanks, man," John replied, turning his head to the left to spare the other man a quick glance. Bobby was so close to him, impossibly close, and it made him excited and nervous. "I've missed you, y'know," Bobby confessed, his voice soft and quiet. John turned to face Bobby. It was hard to look at him and not think about before. Before he had lost his power. Before he had left to join Magneto. Before Marie. Bobby was still kind and caring and handsome and smart. He had always been everything that John wasn't, and he always would be. Not even on the worst days could he forget about Bobby, about the love he held for him. "I've only been gone a couple of hours," John pointed out, giving Bobby a slight quirk of a smile and a chuckle. "That's not what I meant, John," Bobby replied, his expression serious, his eyes a swirl of emotion. It hurt John's heart to meet them. Bobby stepped closer, his cool breath caressing John's face. He smelt of the same soap he had always used. It was alluring and intoxicating and dangerous. The way Bobby was staring at him made his body tingle and caused hope to swell in his chest. John tried to push it down, down, deep down. Hope was something he couldn't afford to feel. "You survived well enough without me," John pointed out as he tried to take a step back. His back hit the wall. There was nowhere left from him to go, not with Bobby crowding his personal space. "Is that what you think?" Bobby inquired, his eyes narrowing slightly. "That nothing changed much after you left?" "Why would anything change? I've never meant anything to anyone, and I never will. Even I know that," John pushed back. "You've always meant something to me," Bobby whispered. His words dislodged something inside of John, a grudge that he had carried for too long. "Oh, yeah, Bobby. You care so much for me. That's why you cast me aside for - what? - eight months before Striker came knocking?" John hissed, eyes narrowed. For the first time in far too long, he could feel his old flame begin to smolder. "Don't put this all on my shoulders, St. John," Bobby growled, anger bleeding into his expression. "Every single time I asked you to hang out, you'd either refuse or cancel. So I stopped asking." "That's because you always wanted to hang out with Marie! We couldn't go anywhere or do anything without her," John seethed. "She was my girlfriend, John!" "So what? I was your -" John stopped himself, his temper dissipating just as quickly as it had surfaced. A cold chill ran down his spine, but not due to Bobby. If he didn't stop now, he'd say something he could never take back. There were secrets that he'd been keeping for far too long to just expose them in a senseless argument. The risk was too great, and there was no reward for it. "Go on, John," Bobby dared, stepping back, his hands on his hips. "Spit it out. You've never kept your opinions to yourself, so why start now?" "Because it doesn't matter," John admitted in a defeated sigh. He was suddenly very, very tired. "It won't change anything." "It might," Bobby spoke softly, some of the heat gone from his tone. "Just... talk to me. Please." "I just... I thought I was your friend and that that meant something," John told him. "But it felt like you two didn't want me around, so I made myself scarce." "John..." Bobby mumbled. John purposefully kept his gaze focused on the ground, unable to look Bobby in the eye anymore. "I mean... it's not like I blame you," John continued. "I've never been pleasant to be around." "That's not true! I've always loved being around you," Bobby insisted. "Even when you were being a dick, I loved being with you. You just... you've always been so warm." A humorless, broken laugh escaped John. Warm. Bobby always thought he was warm. Did he still feel that way, or was John cold now without his power? "That's... that's kind of you to say," John croaked, his voice tight, his throat constricting a bit with each word spoken. "I meant every word. You've always been very important to me. I just... I didn't know what to do," Bobby confided, stepping closer once again. "It never even occurred to me that Marie and I had been making you feel unwelcome. That certainly had never been my intention." "Well... it's not like I handled it all that well," John admitted. "I was an awful shithead back then." "You were, but you were my shithead," Bobby teased lightly. His expression turned serious. "I never blamed you for anything, you know." "You should. You have every right to," John replied. "You have every right to be angry with me. And to loath me." "I know, but I don't. Even at your worst, I could never hate you. I doubt I ever will," Bobby said. Slowly, so as not to startle him, he reached a hand up and cupped John's cheek tenderly. Such a small, simple touch made his whole body shudder and caused his breath to hitch. He could count on one hand the number of times that he'd been touched with kindness instead of anger or malice, most having occurred in this mansion. Bobby's touch was cool and familiar, and it quieted the thoughts that haunted his mind. In fact, John felt his entire body relax at the touch, and he felt a sense of calm and peace the likes of which he hadn't felt in a long time. Was Bobby even aware of the power he held over John? It was too much for him. Though it pained him, John pulled away and side-stepped around Bobby. "I... I'm going to take a shower." He could feel Bobby's eyes follow him to their bathroom and felt them still even after he closed the door. ~🔥❄️🔥~ Most of the residents of the mansion were in bed when the fire alarms went off. John was awake, having been tormented yet again with a nightmare, one very specific, very visceral nightmare. He was trying to calm his mind and his frantically beating heart when they went off. Bobby shot straight up in his bed like a rocket, his head swiveling even as he hurried out of his bed. "Where is it?" Bobby demanded as he charged out of the room. Several students were already filing out, heading towards the fire exits. Smoke, thick, heavy, and dense, wafted from the common room area down the hall. Flames licked along the wall, coming ever closer with each passing second. John frozen after he followed Bobby out of their room, his eyes locked on the fire dancing down the hall. The world around him melted into a dull drone in the background as the fire took center stage, teasing him, mocking him. If he strained himself, he could hear her, the fire, singing her haunting tune, beckoning one and all. Except for him. Never him ever again. There was nothing he could do about it. She spurned him and everything he was. "-hn!" Her sensual dance and hypnotic song crawled ever closer, ignoring his plight, his pain. "-ohn!" All he wanted to do was reach out to her and sing back, get her attention, and make her listen to him too. John stepped forward, wanting, more than anything, to reach out and touch her once again. "JOHN!" Suddenly, Bobby was there, breaking her mesmerizing spell. He pushed John back behind him and sent a wave of ice towards the fire. All sound faded away as John watched Bobby, his strong back shielding him from the flames that he couldn't control. As the ice collided with the fire, a pained scream resounded inside of his mind, forcing John to tear his eyes away, closing them tightly and putting his hands over his ears. It took minutes for the screams to weaken before they faded away to nothing, leaving a longing within him that was raw and painful. "Are you okay?" Bobby asked him, crouching down beside him. "Y-yeah. I'm fine," John stuttered, opening his eyes and looking up at where the fire had been. Ms. Monroe was walking towards them, and it was then that John noticed that rain was pelting the windows and coming into the burned remnants of the common room. "John? Were you hurt?" she inquired, her brow knitted in concern. It was then that he realized that his body was trembling. "No, Ms. Monroe. I'm fine," John replied, his voice more even and level than it had been. "Bobby took care of things on this end." "I saw. Thank you, Bobby. Things would've been worse without you," Ms. Monroe told him. "It was no problem," Bobby said, giving John a weird look. Both of them stood up. "What happened?" "I'm not quite sure, but the root cause seems to be a lamp," she answered, looking somewhat skeptical. "It's too soon to tell, and we need to take care of the students." "Right." In the days following the fire, one of the younger kids who hadn't been there long came forward. She had changed the light bulb in the lamp went it went out and installed the wrong bulb. Bobby wouldn't stop giving John weird looks for the remainder of the week. Unspoken words hung in the air between them, and eventually, it became too much. "John, I gotta know," Bobby began one morning as they were getting dressed for the day. "Why didn't you help out with the fire?" John's entire body stiffened. It suddenly felt like a spotlight was on him and every single flaw could be seen clearly. Fear spread through his veins. He knew that he would tell Bobby about losing his powers one day, but not now. It was too soon after the fire, after coming back, after everything. "Bobby, do me a favor and just drop it. Please?" he added softly. "Why? Kids could've gotten hurt. You could've gotten hurt," Bobby pointed out. "I could've used your help." "I wanted to help, but I just... I froze," John replied. "I couldn't help it." "John, I've seen you around fire, and you don't freeze. No one can manipulate fire to their will as well as you can," Bobby said, not realizing how badly his words stung John. "What happened to you?" "Life happened, okay, Bobby? Life! Not everyone made it off Alcatraz safely!" John snapped. His defenses were up. Bobby was getting too close to the truth. John was getting too close to reliving that day again. Not that it was ever far from his mind, but he didn't normally have flashbacks while he was awake. Those haunted his dreams, playing on repeat in his nightmares, along with Bobby being murdered. "I... I'm sorry," John panted, trying to quell his ever mounting anxiety. "No, I... I'm sorry," Bobby answered. "I shouldn't have pushed you." "It's okay. You didn't know," John said. But he should know, his mind pointed out. ~🔥❄️🔥~ "We need to talk," John said to Bobby. It was the one year anniversary of his returning to the mansion. He'd gotten his GED and was taking college level courses to help teach at Xavier's. Bobby looked up from his mug of hot chocolate, his eyes wide, concern so evident in those blue eyes of his. How could anyone ever say that Bobby was cold when his eyes reflected his emotions so clearly? "Is everything okay?" Bobby asked, standing up from his stool. "Yeah. There's just something that I need to tell you," John reassured him. He took a seat on the barstool across from Bobby. "Okay, shoot," Bobby said, sitting back down and visibly relaxing at John's words. "This is hard for me to say," John began, his hands on the counter top, clasped together to mask the shaking. Bobby could see it, and hand placed his own hand, firm and steady, on top of them, silently offering reassurance and comfort. "Thanks." "No problem. I've got you, John. I'll always have your back," Bobby told him, his gaze sincere and intense. John met it and nodded. "That day, on Alcatraz, after I woke up, I was walking across the bridge with whatever remained of the Brotherhood," John continued. He took a deep breath. "There was a police barricade there, and they started shooting at us." "Jesus..." Bobby whispered, his eyes wide. "They weren't bullets, though i wish they had been most days," John said quickly. "They were darts. With the cure in them." Bobby looked like he was going to be sick. His face was so pale, and he looked like he wanted to throw up. John squeezed his hand, finally being able to offer some comfort of his own, even if it was such a small, miniscule gesture. "A lot of mutants got hit. And I," John forced the words out. He needed to. Bobby deserved to know. "I got hit. And I haven't had any powers since." "Fuck... John, I-I'm so sorry," Bobby croaked, looking both sorrowful and furious. "You didn't know, Bobby. I didn't want anyone to know," John insisted. "Only Dr. McCoy and Storm know." "I knew something was up, but I never thought it'd be this," Bobby confessed. "Man, I feel like a dick. All those times I mentioned your power." "Bobby, it's okay. Really," John quickly reassured him, giving his hand another squeeze. "You and Ororo have been a big help over this past year. More so than I'll ever be able to pay back." "You don't have to repay me. I've never expected payment for helping you," Bobby asserted, firmly but kindly. "You mean the world to me, John." Their eyes met. Bobby's hands were clutching John's as though he were afraid that he'd disappear. John's heart was thundering in his ears, and he could feel himself grow hot. He wanted to shrink back and seclude himself from Bobby's brilliance, knowing within the deepest, darkest recesses of his soul that he didn't deserve to bask in it, yet being too selfish to pull away. Hope dared to sprout within him, but he didn't push it away. "I never told you why I broke up with Marie, did I?" Bobby reminisced, his gaze fond and soft. His thumbs caressed the backs of John's hands. "No, and you don't have to. I'm sure it was... painful," John replied. "It really wasn't. I wasn't in love with her," Bobby answered quickly. "It took my best friend leaving for me to realize that I've been in love with him the whole time." Bobby gave him a pointed look, one that could only be interpreted in one way. John felt a blush creep up his neck and dust his cheeks. "Bobby, I... I don't deserve you," John admitted. "I didn't back then, and I sure as hell don't now." "That's not for you to decide. I think you'd make a very worthy partner," Bobby said. "But, if you don't feel the same way, I'd understand." "No!" John blurted out. Then he cleared his throat and added, "It's not that I don't feel the same, it's just -" "So, you love me too?" Bobby coaxed gently, a smile on his face and dancing in his eyes. John wanted to hide. "Yes, Bobby, I l-love you," John vouched. "Great! Then there's no issue," Bobby declared, a triumphant expression on his countenance. "Yes, there is," John countered. "Oh?" Bobby questioned, tilting his head to the side, looking adorably amused. "Yes! I'm not a mutant anymore. I've done horrible things. I've murdered people, Bobby," John stressed. "I was your enemy. I left you to join Magneto." "I never once considered you an enemy, John," Bobby refuted. "And I'm not so naive as to think you're innocent of any wrongdoing. But life without isn't life. I'm not whole unless you're around." Gracefully, Bobby slid off of his barstool and rounded the corner until he was standing behind John. Turning around in his seat, John met Bobby's stare, his soul bare and transparent in his gaze. He wanted a lighter, a zippo, to fiddle with, to satiate his anxiety, but he was left on his own with his feelings and with Bobby's. Strong arms reached out, and pressed against the counter, caging John in. Somehow, and he didn't know how, he just knew that if he wanted to break out of Bobby's arms, he could effortlessly. But he didn't want to. "John, I'm in love with you. I have been for so long," Bobby articulated, leaning down close to John's face. "I know you've been hurt and that you're still hurting. I'm not saying that I can fix you or that you should be fixed. All I want is to be beside you while you figure things out, as whatever you'll allow me to be. "The decision is yours," Bobby breathed, his lips a hair's breadth away from John's. He expected Bobby to straighten himself up and walk away, leaving John to contemplate his words and ponder his feelings. Instead, Bobby stayed right where he was, his cool breath ghosting across John's face as a gentle caress. There was no judgment in his expression; he merely waited patiently. If John told him that he wanted or needed more time, Bobby would let him go. Hell, if he wanted to simply get up and leave, he knew that Bobby wouldn't stop him. But there was nowhere else he'd rather be than here with Bobby. "I'm not a whole person anymore," John lamented. "I know. That doesn't make me love you or want to be with you any less," Bobby told him. "I have no experience with..." John paused and gestured between the two of them. "...with any of this." "I know that too. We'll go at your pace," Bobby reassured him. "For fuck's sake, Bobby. Why are you so perfect?" John bemoaned. At that, Bobby chuckled softly. "I am, by no means, perfect. I snore," Bobby said. "Yeah, I know you do," John grumbled. "And I sing in the shower," Bobby continued. "Loudly and off-key." "Tell me something I don't know," John groaned, though he was smiling in spite of himself. "I spread cream cheese on my cheese curls before I eat them," Bobby teased. "You're a monster," John gasped. "See? Didn't I tell you that I'm not perfect?" Bobby looked very pleased with himself. "Whatever you say, Bobby Drake," John conceded, tipping his head forward slightly. A comfortable silence fell around them. Bobby was smiling lovingly at him, and it made John blush again. No one had ever given him a look so full of love and acceptance. Who was he to be the recipient of such love? What had he ever done to be worthy of Bobby and his affection? His had been a lifetime of hardship and pain. Bobby couldn't fix him. All he could do was walk beside him, as a friend, as a partner, as a lover. That was more than enough for John. "Okay," John said at last. "Okay?" Bobby parroted, looking slightly surprised. "Yes. I'm... I'd like to see where this goes. I want to give this a chance," John affirmed. "Is that... okay?" "It's perfectly okay, St. John Allerdyce," Bobby confirmed. It was John who crossed the distance between them. He hesitated for just a second before pressing his lips to Bobby's. They were just as cool as the rest of him, and John melted into him. If Bobby deemed him worthy, then John would work every single day to prove so. That was the least he could give in return. ~🔥❄️🔥~ They started sleeping in one bed three months after they started dating. Sleeping beside Bobby, or in his arms, kept the nightmares at bay for the most part. On the nights when they refused to be caged, Bobby held him close, petting his hair and cooing sweet words into his ears until John could settle down again. But it's been the best slept his had his entire life. ~🔥❄️🔥~ John was standing before the full-length mirror in their room, smoothing out his shirt. It was his first day teaching an English class, and though the students knew him already, he still wanted to give a good first impression as a teacher. "I'm so proud of you," Bobby told him, coming up behind him and embracing him from behind. "Look at how far you've come in five years." "I've still got a long way to go," John answered. He gave Bobby a smile nonetheless. "But thank you. I appreciate the support." "You're gonna be the best English teacher we've ever had," Bobby said. John turned around in his arms to return the embrace. "If I were a kid in your class, I'd have the hots for you." "Bobby, you can't say that," John snickered, looking somewhat like his teenage self. "It's a good thing I'm not a kid in your class then, isn't it?" Bobby countered playfully before his expression became serious. "I really am proud of you, baby." "Thank you. I'm proud of me too," John admitted. He meant it. Not even his mind offered up any protest or criticism. They shared a kiss, both of them sighing happily into each other. It was everything John had always wanted and more. All too soon, they parted, John's face flushed a pretty pink. Bobby pressed a kiss to his forehead. "C'mon. Let's get some breakfast," he said, reaching down to grasp John's hand in his own. "It is the most important meal of the day." "Lead the way, Mr. Drake. I'll follow you anywhere," John said as he gestured with their entwined hands, grinning. "I know you would," Bobby replied. "Though, I have no intention of letting you go again." "Good." Both of them knew that John wouldn't ever leave again, not after finally finding his place in this life. Fate was welcome to tread after him. Fear could come and rest for a while in his heart. Neither could consume him anymore, for the broken pieces of his soul have been reforged by ice. ~🔥❄️🔥~ The End ~🔥❄️🔥~