A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Sorry for the wait. Enjoy!

What the Hell?

CH. 11

Don't Ignore the Signs

Robin slept in a Nike shoebox on top of John's nightstand that was against the wall in the middle of the room between the two beds. It was five in the morning when Robin went off just like an alarm clock. Those two things share a couple of things in common: both can be loud, make noise, and wake you up at the crack of dawn. However, one you can shut off by flipping a switch or throwing it against a wall, but the other wouldn't be that simple; it wanted something specific besides waking you up. Throwing it wasn't an option either.

John and Bobby woke up immediately. When John sat up it felt like there were daggers in his head, thus, he lay back down. "Jesus! Not so loud! What does it want?" whined John through gritted teeth. He squirmed in his bed from the pain and tried to block Robin's cries with a pillow.

"I don't know! It's your bird," replied Bobby annoyed, also covering his ears.

"My head is killing me!"

"It's probably hungry." Bobby sighed. "I have sour gummy worms."

"Don't feed it those," John bellowed. "Make it stop!" he pleaded desperately.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "You owe me." He threw on a royal blue t-shirt and decided to go outside in his boxers.

"Hurry!" yelled John before Bobby closed the door.

When Bobby exited the mansion and rounded the corner he made a face, "Is that urine I smell?" With nothing to gain from finding out the answer, Bobby continued to his destination—Storm's garden.

He watered the dirt, dozing off every so often. He stood in the garden forgetting why he was there in the first place, but that's understandable considering it was five-thirty in the morning, and most people aren't coherent at that time… especially when it's not planned. Bobby created a puddle, which didn't help. He didn't want to drown the worms; he just needed to draw them out. When Bobby noticed he was making a puddle he shut off the water and played the waiting game. As he waited, he was thinking to himself: if he were a worm would he rather drown, get fried by the sun, or be eaten?

"Robin, please stop! You're going to make my head explode!"

It stopped for a moment, but then it was reminded by a rumble. The little bird took a deep breath and belted out all over again.

John couldn't take it anymore. He shut the lid to the Nike box, assuming Robin would instantly go to sleep if it was surrounded by darkness; however, Robin wasn't your average bird.

Robin jumped with enough force to flip the lid open. John could have sworn Robin gave him an 'evil eye'. He scooped up the small bird, held it in his palm, and spoke softly, "Bobby will be back shortly. I know this because he would like to go back to sleep, as would I."

When Bobby entered the room, he didn't look very happy. Three worms were squirming in his hand, his sneakers were muddy, and John didn't manage to give him a title.

"What's your problem?" John didn't care but asked anyway.

"No Uncle?"

He raised a brow. "You and I aren't brothers."

With the worms still in his fist, Bobby folded his arms over his chest. "I just went outside in my boxers. That doesn't earn me a damn title?"

"Alright! You can have 'rambling lunatic' for crying out loud." Robin started up again. "What the fuck are you waiting for, Bobby?"

"I don't think Robin is old enough to eat the worms like this… I think they need to be regurgitated." Bobby glared at John. "Whatever you're thinking… stop. I'm not a fucking bird! Besides, Robin is not even my responsibility, but I still deserve a real title."

John grinned, he wasn't thinking that but the thought of Bobby regurgitating a worm was amusing. "When I first found it, I fed it a non-regurgitated worm, so it's old enough." John pointed his index finger at his friend, and said, "Be careful of what you say… you don't want to put ideas in my head."

Bobby took a step closer to John to hand him the worms. "You smell like ass, Dyce. Your odor probably woke Robin in the first place."

He ignored the comment. "The worms are kind of soggy."

"They'll slide down Robin's throat better this way. Beggars can't be choosers."

John snorted. "This one can."

Bobby went into the bathroom to wash his hands. When he came back, he went straight to his bed to lie down and hopefully get at least four more hours of sleep. "What are the chances of you finding a bird, better yet… a bird with an attitude?"

"I like this one. It's special."

"Dude, you can't keep on referring to the bird as 'it', so is it a boy or girl?"

John looked down at Robin and then glanced at Bobby before he asked the living creature in his palm the question of the day, "Robin, are you a boy?"

Bobby laughed. John ignored him, asking it the opposite, "Robin, are you a girl?"

Robin squeaked and John said, "I told you she's special."

Bobby sat up in his bed. "That doesn't mean anything!" he argued.

"Go ahead and ask her yourself." John was serious. "I'm telling you, she's not your ordinary Robin."

Bobby asked the bird a few times. Every time he asked her if she was a girl she would squeak. "If she's so special… she'd be able to talk."

John placed Robin back in the Nike box. "All in due time my x-polar opposite." He rolled over in his bed to face the wall and was able to fall asleep without having to count any sheep.

Dark, damp, and chilly. Four walls but no windows or doors. The lone soul sits in the corner on the cold floor hugging his knees. The only sound he hears is the rapid beating of his own heart.

Quietly sitting in the Nike box, Robin inquisitively studied a daddy-long-legs spider crawling on the edge of her enclosure.

A spark hits the floor like a raindrop and a line of fire is created. The fire quickly rises and almost touches the ceiling. The flames race toward the other side of the room. With nowhere to go, the man squeezes his eyes shut, holds up his arms to protect his face, and accepts his fate.

"NO!" John sprung up in his bed. After a minute, he looked over to discover he was by himself. With his sleeve, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and checked the time—one in the afternoon. He stretched and swung his feet over the side of the bed. All it took was one whiff to decide what was next on the agenda. To officially start the day, a shower was mandatory.

Bobby walked past the kitchen but stopped in his tracks when he noticed a figure in the corner of his eye. He turned around and went into the kitchen to see who it was. Rogue leaned against the kitchen island, drinking coffee while gazing out of the window. Her back was facing him.

"Hi Rogue, did you see John last night?"

She knew who the voice belonged to, but she turned around to acknowledge his presence. "Yeah, he was at a bar; it wasn't a pretty sight." She paused. "He was so cold."

He sat in the seat across from her. She circled her finger around the mug's rim, and asked, "Did he talk to you about anything?"

"He was still sleeping when I woke up. He didn't tell me anything at five in the morning when Robin demanded attention. John keeps his thoughts to himself, though. The only time I can figure out what he's thinking is when it's about fire."

"The loss of his gift is bothering him."

"Wouldn't it bother you, especially if it was without your consent?"

"Of course it would, but I don't think his head is in the right place." Rogue set the mug down, looked Bobby directly in his baby blues, and said, "He shouldn't be thinking it's the end of the world."

Bobby held his gaze. He agreed, but John was more complicated than most people. He reached out across the table and touched Rogue's gloved hand, "I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."He got up and turned on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall over the refrigerator.

The two mutants continued their conversation regarding John while the News could be heard in the background. At the sight of earlier footage of a burning building, Bobby turned up the volume as they both listened.

'Late last night an abandoned building was purposely set on fire. It took firefighters over an hour to contain the blaze and put out the flames.'

Simultaneously they looked at each other.

"He was drunk," she said with the rise of a shoulder in a half-shrug, her voice laced with uncertainty. However, Rogue wasn't sure that was the actual reason. It was the only logical explanation she could come up with... unless it was something deeper?

A/N: Reviews got me to pick up the slack; you all know what to do.