Post by Pyro on Sept 4, 2006 14:59:44 GMT -5
(JP by Ravery & meself)
John's sleep was restless that night.
Since he had started his sessions with Emma, the nightmares had lessened considerably, rarely waking him any more and sometimes being little more than simply a bitter taste in his mouth when he woke up.
The dream that usually left him sobbing like a babe was upon him this night.
The Green Meadows Children's Home dealt with particularly 'difficult' children; those who it was difficult to place for one reason or other - mostly due to assorted levels of social problems. Thus it was that the age range tended to be around the eleven to sixteen mark.
John Allerdyce had arrived there when he had been twelve and had hated it from the outset. He was a sullen boy who didn't mix with the other kids at all and who spent most of his time in the well-appointed common room reading. It was behaviour that earned him no respect at all, but he refused to be drawn into fights.
There had been one boy there, a sixteen year old called Paul Saunders who had made his life an absolute misery for the three years he'd been there. He bullied the undersized John Allerdyce for all he was worth and in truth had been largely instrumental in the boy running away. No humiliation was too great in Saunders' eyes, but John didn't complain. Not under threat of what would be done to him if he did.
This day, John found himself walking the halls of Green Meadows, the sounds of boys laughing outside echoing in from the double doors he'd just come through. He'd narrowly avoided a confrontation only to hear Paul's heavy footsteps behind him.
A thick hand clapped hard down on John's shoulder. But the voice was one he had not heard in this dream before.
"Where did you think you were going, Johnboy?" Mystique's velvety voice cooed behind him. As he turned, he saw only Paul's face, ruddy features smeared over with sweat from running in the yard.
Instant confusion was his. The voice? The face? He blinked in uncertainty but as was usually the way with dreaming, he rode with it.
“I was going to the common room,” he said, his own voice that shaky contralto of a boy whose voice has only just broken. That was so long ago now. “I’ve got homework to catch up on.”
The kids at Green Meadows were privately tutored according to ability. John, for all his moodiness and anti-social tendencies was one of the better pupils. He liked to learn, was eager to expand his knowledge and it was only in some of his lessons that he truly came to life.
"You don't need to study," Paul said, Mystique's voice a little taunting. The hand tightened on his shoulder, then shoved him forward hard. "What do you think you're gonna be when you grow up John? Some high and mighty Professor? Ha!"
This was the point at which John usually ended up being subjected to a beating at the end of Paul’s fists. But something had changed. Something fundamental had changed.
His eyes narrowed and he turned to face down his would-be attacker. At the age of twelve, he was puny and undersized, with the sixteen year old standing almost half a foot taller than him. But he squared his shoulders anyway.
“I just want to improve my chances of getting a good job and not rot in a cesspit like you will, Saunders.”
Paul's face went angry and bright red. He closed the distance between he and the littler boy and grabbed his shirt.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
“People will know me. Who’s gonna remember who YOU are, Saunders?” Despite the fact he knew the other could beat him easily, he was filled with the urge to taunt, to mock.
But you’re not you. And he’s not him. This is all different.
The feeling confused him. “This is all wrong,” he murmured.
Kids came in from the yard, all laughing and rushing past them. They laughed most particularly at John, and when he looked at them, then looked back, Paul was no longer there.
And then the kids were gone too.
And it was just a long hallway.
There was silence for a moment, and then the sound of an infant crying.
"John!" A young woman's voice called from down the hall. "John come here!" She sounded happy.
Caught up in the dream, the only thing John could do was obey the summons. He moved, dreamlike, down the hallway, which began to change subtly from the uniformly magnolia walls of the children’s home to the sickly green walls of a hospital.
He remembered going to hospital at the age of fourteen when his appendix had burst. He’d been scared stiff of the idea of an anaesthetic.
One infant's cry was joined by another, and a third, whimpering. When he neared the sounds he found them through a doorway, one long room with a dozen or more bassinets on either side. A woman sat in a rocking chair, a bottle in her hand and a baby in her arm. Her long brilliant red hair caught the sun through the windows.
There was singing, a tune he remembered from somewhere deep in his
subconscious. The woman hummed a lullaby, and rocked.
Then her face turned to greet John, golden eyes glowing from the end of that long room. "John, honey, come here. Look."
“Raven?”
He never used that name to refer to her by, knowing full well how she loathed it. She wouldn’t hear his protestations that it was a beautiful name, that she was a beautiful woman.
He crossed the distance between them, all the while humming the same tune that was running over and over in his subconscious. “What is it, baby? What have you got?”
The rocking chair turned towards him, and over Raven's swollen, pregnant belly lay an infant who she fed with a bottle. He knew the child was Kitty Pryde, a blonde lock on her forehead only confirming what his mind already knew.
"She's not mine," Raven said. "I'm just borrowing her. What do you think of our daughter?" It was all entirely normal to her, her voice sweet and easy.
“Our…daughter?” He looked down at her and his expression softened. Reaching down for her, he picked her up, holding her easily in the crook of his arm like he was used to holding an infant.
With the other hand, he reached out and touched Raven’s belly. “You are so beautiful,” he said, and even then he didn’t know if it was Raven or the child to whom he spoke.
Very gently, he rocked the baby, singing that same song gently out loud. “So beautiful,” he said, and he felt briefly tearful.
The golden moment was shattered as the sound of a door being kicked open resounded through the room. Raven didn't lift her eyes, that peaceful smile on her lips as Bobby's voice echoed into the room.
"SPARKY!!!" It was half a greeting, half a taunt. Bobby stood there in full X-Men regalia, ice spinning around him like razor blades in a blender. Beside him stood another figure, a girl, carrying an immense tommy gun, almost too big for her to hold. The scowl on her face was hatefilled.
It was Angie.
John whirled around to face his would-be attacker, the baby still held tightly to his chest. He flicked his wrist downward to bring forth the fire that would protect him and the ones he loved…
…and nothing happened.
“No, that can’t be right,” he said, trying again.
Still nothing.
“Bobby, you can’t do this, look, it’s Kitty!” He held up the infant, who was no longer peaceful, but now squalling in fright. “Raven, help me!”
"Look what you did to her," Raven murmured behind him, turning her face away from him, her eyes down. "How can I have your child if you do this?" As Bobby yelled again, something unintelligible, Raven's skin tone slowly sickened, rot marks opening along her cheek, her throat. Her lips curled back to reveal dirty ivory teeth, her pregnant belly shrivelled until his beautiful Raven was little more than a corpse.
Angie's scream cut through the nightmare. She opened fire, just as Bobby slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her neck. The baby screamed, then stopped, red bursting from its clothing. John remained untouched.
“NO!”
He dropped to his knees and clutched the baby to his chest. “No, you can’t! Oh, god, RAVEN!”
He threw his head back and let out a low howl, almost animalistic in nature. Then, almost as suddenly, he fell silent and snapped his head upright again. “No,” he said, in total calmness. “No. This isn’t happening. This is all lies. LIES!”
He flung the bloodied baby away from him and got to his feet. “This isn’t happening! I’m in CONTROL!!”
John turned and grabbed Raven's decaying hand, jerking the body to its feet. Instantly she returned to him, the lithe Mystique he saw her last night at Genosha. She gave him one of her ferociously wicked grins, and her hand rested on the small of his back as they turned to the others.
"You're the leader now Pyro." She reached out a hand as if to stop the
others, but it did nothing. It was entirely up to him.
Angie continued to fire the gun, angry yells turning to the sobs he heard in his cell the night he went insane.
Bobby sent out jets of ice in John's direction, and they sailed towards he and Mystique at lightning speed.
And then the fire came.
The fire came and it kept right on coming. A veritable inferno burst forth from John’s shaking hands and he felt gloriously drunk with the power that he possessed – his power to command.
“I’m the leader now,” he repeated, laughing uproariously. “I’M the leader now, and you know what, Bobby? You aren’t gonna get the best of me again. None of you are!”
There was a searing, dazzling moment of flame.
And then there was John, sitting bolt upright in his bed, putting out the fire he’d started on the clothes that he’d so carefully hung up on the floor, in a moment oddly reminiscent of that night all those years ago in his and Bobby’s bedroom.
“I’m in charge,” he said, and he felt more optimistic and hopeful than he’d done in a long time.
John's sleep was restless that night.
Since he had started his sessions with Emma, the nightmares had lessened considerably, rarely waking him any more and sometimes being little more than simply a bitter taste in his mouth when he woke up.
The dream that usually left him sobbing like a babe was upon him this night.
The Green Meadows Children's Home dealt with particularly 'difficult' children; those who it was difficult to place for one reason or other - mostly due to assorted levels of social problems. Thus it was that the age range tended to be around the eleven to sixteen mark.
John Allerdyce had arrived there when he had been twelve and had hated it from the outset. He was a sullen boy who didn't mix with the other kids at all and who spent most of his time in the well-appointed common room reading. It was behaviour that earned him no respect at all, but he refused to be drawn into fights.
There had been one boy there, a sixteen year old called Paul Saunders who had made his life an absolute misery for the three years he'd been there. He bullied the undersized John Allerdyce for all he was worth and in truth had been largely instrumental in the boy running away. No humiliation was too great in Saunders' eyes, but John didn't complain. Not under threat of what would be done to him if he did.
This day, John found himself walking the halls of Green Meadows, the sounds of boys laughing outside echoing in from the double doors he'd just come through. He'd narrowly avoided a confrontation only to hear Paul's heavy footsteps behind him.
A thick hand clapped hard down on John's shoulder. But the voice was one he had not heard in this dream before.
"Where did you think you were going, Johnboy?" Mystique's velvety voice cooed behind him. As he turned, he saw only Paul's face, ruddy features smeared over with sweat from running in the yard.
Instant confusion was his. The voice? The face? He blinked in uncertainty but as was usually the way with dreaming, he rode with it.
“I was going to the common room,” he said, his own voice that shaky contralto of a boy whose voice has only just broken. That was so long ago now. “I’ve got homework to catch up on.”
The kids at Green Meadows were privately tutored according to ability. John, for all his moodiness and anti-social tendencies was one of the better pupils. He liked to learn, was eager to expand his knowledge and it was only in some of his lessons that he truly came to life.
"You don't need to study," Paul said, Mystique's voice a little taunting. The hand tightened on his shoulder, then shoved him forward hard. "What do you think you're gonna be when you grow up John? Some high and mighty Professor? Ha!"
This was the point at which John usually ended up being subjected to a beating at the end of Paul’s fists. But something had changed. Something fundamental had changed.
His eyes narrowed and he turned to face down his would-be attacker. At the age of twelve, he was puny and undersized, with the sixteen year old standing almost half a foot taller than him. But he squared his shoulders anyway.
“I just want to improve my chances of getting a good job and not rot in a cesspit like you will, Saunders.”
Paul's face went angry and bright red. He closed the distance between he and the littler boy and grabbed his shirt.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
“People will know me. Who’s gonna remember who YOU are, Saunders?” Despite the fact he knew the other could beat him easily, he was filled with the urge to taunt, to mock.
But you’re not you. And he’s not him. This is all different.
The feeling confused him. “This is all wrong,” he murmured.
Kids came in from the yard, all laughing and rushing past them. They laughed most particularly at John, and when he looked at them, then looked back, Paul was no longer there.
And then the kids were gone too.
And it was just a long hallway.
There was silence for a moment, and then the sound of an infant crying.
"John!" A young woman's voice called from down the hall. "John come here!" She sounded happy.
Caught up in the dream, the only thing John could do was obey the summons. He moved, dreamlike, down the hallway, which began to change subtly from the uniformly magnolia walls of the children’s home to the sickly green walls of a hospital.
He remembered going to hospital at the age of fourteen when his appendix had burst. He’d been scared stiff of the idea of an anaesthetic.
One infant's cry was joined by another, and a third, whimpering. When he neared the sounds he found them through a doorway, one long room with a dozen or more bassinets on either side. A woman sat in a rocking chair, a bottle in her hand and a baby in her arm. Her long brilliant red hair caught the sun through the windows.
There was singing, a tune he remembered from somewhere deep in his
subconscious. The woman hummed a lullaby, and rocked.
Then her face turned to greet John, golden eyes glowing from the end of that long room. "John, honey, come here. Look."
“Raven?”
He never used that name to refer to her by, knowing full well how she loathed it. She wouldn’t hear his protestations that it was a beautiful name, that she was a beautiful woman.
He crossed the distance between them, all the while humming the same tune that was running over and over in his subconscious. “What is it, baby? What have you got?”
The rocking chair turned towards him, and over Raven's swollen, pregnant belly lay an infant who she fed with a bottle. He knew the child was Kitty Pryde, a blonde lock on her forehead only confirming what his mind already knew.
"She's not mine," Raven said. "I'm just borrowing her. What do you think of our daughter?" It was all entirely normal to her, her voice sweet and easy.
“Our…daughter?” He looked down at her and his expression softened. Reaching down for her, he picked her up, holding her easily in the crook of his arm like he was used to holding an infant.
With the other hand, he reached out and touched Raven’s belly. “You are so beautiful,” he said, and even then he didn’t know if it was Raven or the child to whom he spoke.
Very gently, he rocked the baby, singing that same song gently out loud. “So beautiful,” he said, and he felt briefly tearful.
The golden moment was shattered as the sound of a door being kicked open resounded through the room. Raven didn't lift her eyes, that peaceful smile on her lips as Bobby's voice echoed into the room.
"SPARKY!!!" It was half a greeting, half a taunt. Bobby stood there in full X-Men regalia, ice spinning around him like razor blades in a blender. Beside him stood another figure, a girl, carrying an immense tommy gun, almost too big for her to hold. The scowl on her face was hatefilled.
It was Angie.
John whirled around to face his would-be attacker, the baby still held tightly to his chest. He flicked his wrist downward to bring forth the fire that would protect him and the ones he loved…
…and nothing happened.
“No, that can’t be right,” he said, trying again.
Still nothing.
“Bobby, you can’t do this, look, it’s Kitty!” He held up the infant, who was no longer peaceful, but now squalling in fright. “Raven, help me!”
"Look what you did to her," Raven murmured behind him, turning her face away from him, her eyes down. "How can I have your child if you do this?" As Bobby yelled again, something unintelligible, Raven's skin tone slowly sickened, rot marks opening along her cheek, her throat. Her lips curled back to reveal dirty ivory teeth, her pregnant belly shrivelled until his beautiful Raven was little more than a corpse.
Angie's scream cut through the nightmare. She opened fire, just as Bobby slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her neck. The baby screamed, then stopped, red bursting from its clothing. John remained untouched.
“NO!”
He dropped to his knees and clutched the baby to his chest. “No, you can’t! Oh, god, RAVEN!”
He threw his head back and let out a low howl, almost animalistic in nature. Then, almost as suddenly, he fell silent and snapped his head upright again. “No,” he said, in total calmness. “No. This isn’t happening. This is all lies. LIES!”
He flung the bloodied baby away from him and got to his feet. “This isn’t happening! I’m in CONTROL!!”
John turned and grabbed Raven's decaying hand, jerking the body to its feet. Instantly she returned to him, the lithe Mystique he saw her last night at Genosha. She gave him one of her ferociously wicked grins, and her hand rested on the small of his back as they turned to the others.
"You're the leader now Pyro." She reached out a hand as if to stop the
others, but it did nothing. It was entirely up to him.
Angie continued to fire the gun, angry yells turning to the sobs he heard in his cell the night he went insane.
Bobby sent out jets of ice in John's direction, and they sailed towards he and Mystique at lightning speed.
And then the fire came.
The fire came and it kept right on coming. A veritable inferno burst forth from John’s shaking hands and he felt gloriously drunk with the power that he possessed – his power to command.
“I’m the leader now,” he repeated, laughing uproariously. “I’M the leader now, and you know what, Bobby? You aren’t gonna get the best of me again. None of you are!”
There was a searing, dazzling moment of flame.
And then there was John, sitting bolt upright in his bed, putting out the fire he’d started on the clothes that he’d so carefully hung up on the floor, in a moment oddly reminiscent of that night all those years ago in his and Bobby’s bedroom.
“I’m in charge,” he said, and he felt more optimistic and hopeful than he’d done in a long time.
