Post by Pyro on Jul 2, 2006 18:17:32 GMT -5
3.30am.
Everything at the Xavier Institute was quiet and peaceful. Apart from the one or two young mutants who never slept, or who couldn't sleep, everyone was happily asleep, dreaming whatever dreams they dreamed.
Bobby Drake, however, was about to get a rather rude awakening.
The scent of burning permeated his sleep, slowly but surely.
As he dreamed, he was standing in his backyard, back home in Boston. He was standing in the little inflatable kiddie pool he and his brother had practically lived in every day of the summer until they outgrew it. As he looked around, he shivered. The water was extremely cold. Though he couldn't feel it, his mind knew it.
Then he heard a familiar voice call his name. He looked, and saw Rogue up on the back deck...Which was suddenly much closer than it should have been, right in front of his face. She was leaning over the side of the deck and reaching down to him, wanting to pull him up. But she didn't have her gloves on, and Bobby tried to tell her he couldn't take her hand.
He then realized for the first time that it smelled faintly like something was burning. Was John there? Bobby looked around. Then, conjured by his mind, John stepped into view, beside Rogue on the deck, his eyes on Bobby. As he'd come closer, the sound of flames crackling grew louder. He was flipping his lighter open and shut, like he often did. "Nothing lasts forever, Ice." John commented, his thumb on the lighter.
A roar of flames ripped Bobby from his odd dream, and his eyes flew open. The room was not pitch black as it should have been in the middle of the night. In a second, his eyes fell on the source of the light, noise, and the smell that had carried over into his dream. He bolted up and scrambled out of bed as his mind registered that something was on fire--the curtains?
Facing the flames, he glanced over to John's bed, to see if his roommate and friend was okay--to see if he was even there--but as is want to happen in those kind of situations, the fire kept him from looking at anything else for more than a split second.
When his eyes adjusted to the light levels and the flames, he realized that John was on his bed, the bedclothes long since thrown off. His sleep was not peaceful, so much was obvious. His Zippo lighter was in his hand, presently off, but there was a ball of flame clutched in the young man’s hand.
In the three months the two had shared a room, John had regularly woken Bobby with his restless nightmare-laden sleep – but until now, he’d certainly never set fire to anything.
Bobby's momentary glance at this alarming sight wasn't enough for him to see if John's eyes were open or not, but Bobby knew he must be sleep-walking. If he hadn't been in a panic, he would have acknowledged that--though he hadn't been brought up to be very religious--this was one of those times when he thanked God that he'd been born with powers.
But he didn't think about it. He threw out one hand, palm facing out, and with the movement of his arm, water and/or ice (he'd only used it a few times, when it was needed, and each time he'd been too preoccupied by the danger at hand to determine what exactly it was he was creating) began to form from the moisture in the air and shoot forward. He directed his hand across the flames, the air filling with smoke as the fire was quenched. When Bobby had finished, a sheet of frost and ice covered both curtains, Bobby's bedside table and everything on it, and most of John's desk.
The cold permeated into John’s nightmare and for the briefest of moments, his fire flared hotter and brighter than Bobby had ever seen it. Then the young mutant sat bolt upright, dropped the lighter and the last of the flames died away to nothing.
Sweat poured from John’s forehead and his eyes were wide and, Bobby noticed, scared. It was evident he was totally disoriented and still in the grip of whatever had caused him to set fire to the room in the first place.
Eventually, he woke up and took several huge, gulping breaths. He sniffed the air and his brow furrowed.
Bobby turned wildly toward John as he saw the flame from the lighter flare up, for a second wondering if his sleeping friend was about to toast him. But as he sat, he dropped the lighter, and the last of the fire went out. Bobby caught John's frightened expression before they were left in darkness.
Bobby hurried to the door and felt for the light switch. When he found it, he turned on the light and turned back again. He moved quickly to John's bed and sat down, the mattress giving under the added weight.
He'd never seen John like this--scared. But more than just scared.
He put a hand on each of John's shoulders and shook him gently once, examining his sweaty face with concern. "Hey--John--you okay?"
“What?” John stared blankly at Bobby for a few seconds, all trace of the arrogant braggadocio gone. For now, at least, he was a scared teenaged boy. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Nightmare, that’s all. Shit, man, did I do that?” He stared at the charred remains of the curtains, then down at his dropped Zippo.
He reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. This close to him, with his arms on John’s shoulders. Bobby could feel the other boy trembling slightly. “That was so real. So real, dude.”
Bobby nodded in answer to his question--he couldn't have blamed it on something else if he'd tried. He glanced back to take in the damage for a moment. The curtains were in ruins--it was a miracle they rod hadn't fallen off the wall yet, with the heat warping it and then the weight of the ice on the curtains. The blast of ice had knocked everything on Bobby's bedside table and John's desk back against the wall, where the stuff had either just toppled or fallen to the ground.
But the damage was secondary to the obviously shaken state John was in. "You want to talk about it?" Bobby asked comfortingly--he could see John not wanting to. Sometimes, nightmares dealt with really personal stuff. That was what made them so terrifying. But he wanted John to know he was there to confide in if he wanted to.
“There was some crazy woman…and she was just vaporizing everything – and everyone in sight, women, kids, the lot. She didn’t care. And I was SURE I knew her.” John shuddered visibly. “I was trying to stop her, because she’d have just killed everyone. Then some of the street gang we used to avoid came into the dream as well…started dragging me towards her…shit, man, I was gonna die.”
He put his face in his hands for a moment. “I fought back,” he said, looking up and indicating the curtains. “There was all this fire…then there was cold, terrible cold…then I woke up.”
John had never once been so open about his nightmares. Usually he snapped ‘I’m fine’ and went back to sleep. This was something else, though. He was seriously spooked this time.
Bobby listened intently as John recalled the dream, his face not changing from it's serious and concerned expression. Nightmares were never as scary to those told about them, of course--it was one of those 'you had to be there' things. But something John had learned about Bobby was that he had this thing about taking his own experiences and using them to help or at least understand someone else's, if he could. He didn't just give empty condolences, because he hated getting that from people. And Bobby had had his fair share of nightmares. Clearly, this was a really scary one.
But Bobby still found it hard to find advice to give. "Do you think she's someone you knew?" He let go of John's shoulders, almost hesitantly, and dropped his hands to the bed.
“I don’t know.” The nightmare was fading fast and John was becoming vaguely aware of how vulnerable he had let himself become. He was too shaken and too tired to put his mask back into place. “Yes. No. I think so. The Professor warned me that I might have more nightmares in this place, what with all the psychic vibes flying around, but man.” He lay back down on the bed and ran a hand along his jaw. “It was easier when I stayed awake all night.”
For the first few weeks after his arrival, John had stayed awake all night, sneaking down to the kitchen to steal food. He never ate communally, feeling uncomfortable amongst the gathering. It had taken several talks from Storm and the Professor to make him realize that he didn’t have to steal to live any more.
At John's mention of Professor Xavier, Bobby realized he was probably the man John should go to about his nightmares--and his insomnia. Bobby felt a little guilty that he hadn't said something, at least to John, about it before now. Bobby had noticed that even on nights when he was up late into the night, cramming for a test or doing a project he'd put off until the last minute, that John was always up later than he was. A couple of times, he'd woken up at some point during the night to find that John wasn't in his bed. But Bobby hadn't thought that it was an every-night thing.
"You should talk to the Professor about it," Bobby suggested. "He could probably find out a lot more about it, if you want to know. He's got incredible mind powers."
“Yeah, maybe in the morning,” said John, and Bobby knew that he wouldn’t. John had said that he’d always found the Professor’s ‘incredible mind powers’ decidedly creepy. He was faintly aware that when the two of them had first met, Xavier had gone somewhere inside his mind, that in that instant he’d known all he needed to know about St. John Allerdyce. “I gotta get some sleep, Bobs, I’m shattered.”
The way John said it, almost plaintively, was rather surprising. Where was the cocky, loudmouthed show off that Bobby had come to know?
Bobby nodded and stood from his bed. "Just, uh..." Bobby faltered. Just what? Be careful? Sweet dreams? "'Night." He said instead. He glanced down and caught sight of John's silver shark lighter, still on the floor. He bent down and scooped it up smoothly, then headed for the light switch. He turned out the lights and headed for his bed, the red numbers on his alarm clock staring at him blurrily from under an inch of ice. When he sat on his bed, he reached down and unplugged it. The ice would melt, and he didn't want anything to start shooting sparks. Though John would enjoy it.
He set the lighter on a dry place at the corner of the table, in plain sight of John if he looked for it before Bobby got up the next morning. Then he laid down and pulled his blankets over him, though he wasn't cold. It took him a while to get to sleep, and he stared up at the dark ceiling, listening for John’s breathing to slow and show that he was asleep.
John’s breathing did eventually slow.
But he didn’t sleep.
Everything at the Xavier Institute was quiet and peaceful. Apart from the one or two young mutants who never slept, or who couldn't sleep, everyone was happily asleep, dreaming whatever dreams they dreamed.
Bobby Drake, however, was about to get a rather rude awakening.
The scent of burning permeated his sleep, slowly but surely.
As he dreamed, he was standing in his backyard, back home in Boston. He was standing in the little inflatable kiddie pool he and his brother had practically lived in every day of the summer until they outgrew it. As he looked around, he shivered. The water was extremely cold. Though he couldn't feel it, his mind knew it.
Then he heard a familiar voice call his name. He looked, and saw Rogue up on the back deck...Which was suddenly much closer than it should have been, right in front of his face. She was leaning over the side of the deck and reaching down to him, wanting to pull him up. But she didn't have her gloves on, and Bobby tried to tell her he couldn't take her hand.
He then realized for the first time that it smelled faintly like something was burning. Was John there? Bobby looked around. Then, conjured by his mind, John stepped into view, beside Rogue on the deck, his eyes on Bobby. As he'd come closer, the sound of flames crackling grew louder. He was flipping his lighter open and shut, like he often did. "Nothing lasts forever, Ice." John commented, his thumb on the lighter.
A roar of flames ripped Bobby from his odd dream, and his eyes flew open. The room was not pitch black as it should have been in the middle of the night. In a second, his eyes fell on the source of the light, noise, and the smell that had carried over into his dream. He bolted up and scrambled out of bed as his mind registered that something was on fire--the curtains?
Facing the flames, he glanced over to John's bed, to see if his roommate and friend was okay--to see if he was even there--but as is want to happen in those kind of situations, the fire kept him from looking at anything else for more than a split second.
When his eyes adjusted to the light levels and the flames, he realized that John was on his bed, the bedclothes long since thrown off. His sleep was not peaceful, so much was obvious. His Zippo lighter was in his hand, presently off, but there was a ball of flame clutched in the young man’s hand.
In the three months the two had shared a room, John had regularly woken Bobby with his restless nightmare-laden sleep – but until now, he’d certainly never set fire to anything.
Bobby's momentary glance at this alarming sight wasn't enough for him to see if John's eyes were open or not, but Bobby knew he must be sleep-walking. If he hadn't been in a panic, he would have acknowledged that--though he hadn't been brought up to be very religious--this was one of those times when he thanked God that he'd been born with powers.
But he didn't think about it. He threw out one hand, palm facing out, and with the movement of his arm, water and/or ice (he'd only used it a few times, when it was needed, and each time he'd been too preoccupied by the danger at hand to determine what exactly it was he was creating) began to form from the moisture in the air and shoot forward. He directed his hand across the flames, the air filling with smoke as the fire was quenched. When Bobby had finished, a sheet of frost and ice covered both curtains, Bobby's bedside table and everything on it, and most of John's desk.
The cold permeated into John’s nightmare and for the briefest of moments, his fire flared hotter and brighter than Bobby had ever seen it. Then the young mutant sat bolt upright, dropped the lighter and the last of the flames died away to nothing.
Sweat poured from John’s forehead and his eyes were wide and, Bobby noticed, scared. It was evident he was totally disoriented and still in the grip of whatever had caused him to set fire to the room in the first place.
Eventually, he woke up and took several huge, gulping breaths. He sniffed the air and his brow furrowed.
Bobby turned wildly toward John as he saw the flame from the lighter flare up, for a second wondering if his sleeping friend was about to toast him. But as he sat, he dropped the lighter, and the last of the fire went out. Bobby caught John's frightened expression before they were left in darkness.
Bobby hurried to the door and felt for the light switch. When he found it, he turned on the light and turned back again. He moved quickly to John's bed and sat down, the mattress giving under the added weight.
He'd never seen John like this--scared. But more than just scared.
He put a hand on each of John's shoulders and shook him gently once, examining his sweaty face with concern. "Hey--John--you okay?"
“What?” John stared blankly at Bobby for a few seconds, all trace of the arrogant braggadocio gone. For now, at least, he was a scared teenaged boy. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Nightmare, that’s all. Shit, man, did I do that?” He stared at the charred remains of the curtains, then down at his dropped Zippo.
He reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. This close to him, with his arms on John’s shoulders. Bobby could feel the other boy trembling slightly. “That was so real. So real, dude.”
Bobby nodded in answer to his question--he couldn't have blamed it on something else if he'd tried. He glanced back to take in the damage for a moment. The curtains were in ruins--it was a miracle they rod hadn't fallen off the wall yet, with the heat warping it and then the weight of the ice on the curtains. The blast of ice had knocked everything on Bobby's bedside table and John's desk back against the wall, where the stuff had either just toppled or fallen to the ground.
But the damage was secondary to the obviously shaken state John was in. "You want to talk about it?" Bobby asked comfortingly--he could see John not wanting to. Sometimes, nightmares dealt with really personal stuff. That was what made them so terrifying. But he wanted John to know he was there to confide in if he wanted to.
“There was some crazy woman…and she was just vaporizing everything – and everyone in sight, women, kids, the lot. She didn’t care. And I was SURE I knew her.” John shuddered visibly. “I was trying to stop her, because she’d have just killed everyone. Then some of the street gang we used to avoid came into the dream as well…started dragging me towards her…shit, man, I was gonna die.”
He put his face in his hands for a moment. “I fought back,” he said, looking up and indicating the curtains. “There was all this fire…then there was cold, terrible cold…then I woke up.”
John had never once been so open about his nightmares. Usually he snapped ‘I’m fine’ and went back to sleep. This was something else, though. He was seriously spooked this time.
Bobby listened intently as John recalled the dream, his face not changing from it's serious and concerned expression. Nightmares were never as scary to those told about them, of course--it was one of those 'you had to be there' things. But something John had learned about Bobby was that he had this thing about taking his own experiences and using them to help or at least understand someone else's, if he could. He didn't just give empty condolences, because he hated getting that from people. And Bobby had had his fair share of nightmares. Clearly, this was a really scary one.
But Bobby still found it hard to find advice to give. "Do you think she's someone you knew?" He let go of John's shoulders, almost hesitantly, and dropped his hands to the bed.
“I don’t know.” The nightmare was fading fast and John was becoming vaguely aware of how vulnerable he had let himself become. He was too shaken and too tired to put his mask back into place. “Yes. No. I think so. The Professor warned me that I might have more nightmares in this place, what with all the psychic vibes flying around, but man.” He lay back down on the bed and ran a hand along his jaw. “It was easier when I stayed awake all night.”
For the first few weeks after his arrival, John had stayed awake all night, sneaking down to the kitchen to steal food. He never ate communally, feeling uncomfortable amongst the gathering. It had taken several talks from Storm and the Professor to make him realize that he didn’t have to steal to live any more.
At John's mention of Professor Xavier, Bobby realized he was probably the man John should go to about his nightmares--and his insomnia. Bobby felt a little guilty that he hadn't said something, at least to John, about it before now. Bobby had noticed that even on nights when he was up late into the night, cramming for a test or doing a project he'd put off until the last minute, that John was always up later than he was. A couple of times, he'd woken up at some point during the night to find that John wasn't in his bed. But Bobby hadn't thought that it was an every-night thing.
"You should talk to the Professor about it," Bobby suggested. "He could probably find out a lot more about it, if you want to know. He's got incredible mind powers."
“Yeah, maybe in the morning,” said John, and Bobby knew that he wouldn’t. John had said that he’d always found the Professor’s ‘incredible mind powers’ decidedly creepy. He was faintly aware that when the two of them had first met, Xavier had gone somewhere inside his mind, that in that instant he’d known all he needed to know about St. John Allerdyce. “I gotta get some sleep, Bobs, I’m shattered.”
The way John said it, almost plaintively, was rather surprising. Where was the cocky, loudmouthed show off that Bobby had come to know?
Bobby nodded and stood from his bed. "Just, uh..." Bobby faltered. Just what? Be careful? Sweet dreams? "'Night." He said instead. He glanced down and caught sight of John's silver shark lighter, still on the floor. He bent down and scooped it up smoothly, then headed for the light switch. He turned out the lights and headed for his bed, the red numbers on his alarm clock staring at him blurrily from under an inch of ice. When he sat on his bed, he reached down and unplugged it. The ice would melt, and he didn't want anything to start shooting sparks. Though John would enjoy it.
He set the lighter on a dry place at the corner of the table, in plain sight of John if he looked for it before Bobby got up the next morning. Then he laid down and pulled his blankets over him, though he wasn't cold. It took him a while to get to sleep, and he stared up at the dark ceiling, listening for John’s breathing to slow and show that he was asleep.
John’s breathing did eventually slow.
But he didn’t sleep.
