Title: Some Friends Aren't Friends
By: X
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am getting no money, I am no threat, please don't sue me.
Summary: The Love Letters Series, Part 1: Friendship's Sacrifice, Part 2: One of Those Dreams. Part 3 is where a plot actually develops, and John actually gets to be involved in the action of the story. Captured by the anti-mutant Friends of Humanity, John writes to Marie so he can die with his sanity.
A/N: I used the challenge "St. John Allerdyce- Ecstatic- Pencil" this time. The random set once again generated by .
John Allerdyce walked along the street, carrying his grocery bag. Mutant terrorists or not the Brotherhood still needed milk, eggs and bread. The brown paper bag balanced against his hip John flicked his lighter on and flipped it shut in his usual manner. Floosh…click, Floosh…click, Floosh …click.
"Dirty Mutie" was a snarled comment behind him. Some kid, about John's own age had a teenage girl with green hair and a spiked collar trapped between his arms and the wall of a house. Tears streamed down her face. Her eyes caught his, pleading with him to help her. John was not heartless; he couldn't let this go on. He put down his bag and made big strides across the lawn.
"I'm not a mutant. It's hair dye." whimpered the girl. "Not a mutant" The boy only smiled coldly. He wasn't going to stop, it didn't matter if it was because he didn't believe her or if he did but didn't care.
"You want a mutant? You got one" Pyro pushed the boy against the ribs knocking him off the girl. The kid looked up at his attacker and found him holding a large ball of fire, the flame danced around his fingers, not harming him in the slightest. He raised the fire, ready to throw it at the delinquent. The girl screamed and bolted. The hoodlum took off in the other direction.
John smiled a little to himself and clapped his hands to put out the fire. Then he calmly went to retrieve his groceries. He continued on his way to the latest hideout. Passing a house on a corner that sported a sign about something he heard the same jerk he had earlier, "There's the mutie!" John rolled his eyes and turned in the direction of the voice. There were four guys, the one from earlier the youngest. Without saying anything they all charged at John. Dropping the groceries Pyro pulled out the lighter and sent out a wave of fie, driving three of them back. But the fourth ducked, rolled forward and came up directly in front of the mutant. "F***ing freak" he tried to wrestle the lighter away. Pyro kicked up and knocked the thug back. Then he let loose more fire. It sent that attacker back but two of the others made their way up. Pyro saw them approaching, noted the young hoodlum from earlier trying to hide behind a nearby tree. The mutant whirled around and threw an arm up to block the man who'd tried to stab him in the back. The knife cut cleanly into the flesh of his forearm and made him take a step back. The approaching two had reached him and he had to twist hard and conjure up fire fast to send them back yet again. Blood flowing freely Pyro's vision darkened around the edges. Fighting was getting hard. Then he felt the worst thing, his lighter being ripped away. He blinked and focused to see the young guy with his lighter. Pryo growled and felt the attackers clamping around his arms.
"You are messing with the Friends of Humanity, Mutie. You don't stand a chance."
Pyro growled and struggled as hard as he could. "Let go of me!" He could see where they were leading him as they made their way through the house's basement. There was a corner tiled with a tub atop it. Pyro hated the idea of drowning more than any other method of death. He struggled even more.
"Shut up mutie" was the response harsh in John's ear before he felt the pain of having the back of his knees kicked and the tiled floor rush up to meet him. Then he felt something worse, the edge of the big tub hitting him in the chest and sliding forward. The next thing he was aware of was being under the cold water. He bucked as hard as he could, struggling with all he had against the three men who held him. His lungs burned, his eyes burned, his head was getting heavy.
Then the pressure let up and his head broke free of the water. He greedily gulped for air until they pushed him back down. He pulled up as hard as he could but it was useless. They let him fill his lungs again and re-dunked the young mutant. This continued until the struggling lessened and it was obvious they'd drowned a lot of the fight out of the kid. Incoherent, stumbling, and breathing heavily they easily slammed him against the white wall next to the tub. One of the Friends appeared with a camera and snapped a couple of pictures of the pathetic wretch they'd reduced the mutant to. They'd add this to their "guest" book. A black book used to bolster moral of the small minded and intolerant FoH by showcasing how many and how badly the group had stuck it to the muties.
Once he'd been defeated and photographed there really was no more use for the wet, bleeding, shaking thing. They pulled him roughly from the wall and into one of their containment chambers. The chambers were the modern equivalent of a dungeon. The mutie could rot down there and no one would even realize it.
He lay on the cold floor, thinking. They'd gotten him. It made him so mad, stupid humans! Breathing had become easy again; the stunning effects of nearly drowning had passed. But, his arm still throbbed. John sat up and tried to examine the wound in the dim light. It was still bleeding. He knew was going to have to stop the bleeding or bleed to death. Not quite prepared for that slow fatalistic death he committed to cauterizing the wound on his forearm. It was going to be a nasty scar, but hey, chicks dig scars. He'd been striped of his jacket but still had the rest of his clothes. In his boot was a spare lighter, a cheap blue Bic that would serve his purposes. He'd need metal. Luckily, living with Magneto had taught him that metal was everywhere. The room was bare stone, nothing there. He used his good hand to dig through his pockets and came up with a multiply folded Chinese food menu, his wallet, and a ticket stub. He looked at what he had in his hands, no metal. Discouraged he noticed his watch. Dropping the other items he unbuckled the watch and turned it over. It was just a cheap-o Timex thing, tiny engraving under the claim to be water resistant to 50 meters and the mention of www.timex.com said, "stainless steel back".
Heating the metal until it was red-hot he pressed it to the leaking wound. It would probably never tell time again. Well, it didn't look like he was in a position to be making future plans anyway. His screams echoed off the walls and it took every ounce of will power to finish the job, burning the skin closed along the entire jagged cut, before collapsing into the dark bliss.
Mark opened the cell door a crack and peered inside. That dirty mutant who'd shown up the previous afternoon was lying motionless on the floor. It was about his own age and had put on quite a show before they'd taken him down. It was a dangerous animal; he couldn't believe those government bleeding hearts didn't see that. Luckily he did. Luckily he also had found this group. In the Friends of Humanity he could meet with others and find ways to silence the mutant threat. Mark turned back to his friend, Regis, and nodded.
Regis hoisted the mutant to his feet and Mark slapped him across the face. It moaned a little but made no attempt at standing or defending itself.
"Wake up Mutie" the 'Mutie' still didn't come to. Regis pressed smelling salts into his friend's hand. Mark wafted them under the mutant nose, causing an intense shudder through their victim. That display of life was all Mark needed. He slammed his fist into the mutant's face as hard as he could. It made Regis stumble back. Mark smiled to himself. A bruise was already forming and his ring had caught the lip making it leak blood down the firebug's chin. Mark looked at that crimson dribble and used his thumb to wipe it off.
"God, I love to see you bleed Mutie." Regis shifted John's weight so Mark could line up another shot. The mutant was boneless; the shift had flopped his head forward but made no effort to lift it.
"Wake up damn you!" cursed Regis, giving John another jostle. Mark took a fistful of dark hair and twisted his enemy's face towards him. He brought a knee up into the mutant's stomach, then chest, then face. The brutality was rewarded by a moan slipping past the mutant's lips. Regis smiled. "He's got a little life left in him."
Pain filled brown eyes drifted open. He was still alive and he had never been in such pain. He'd had the stuffing knocked out of him before. Before Xavier's he'd been a homeless runaway. He'd been young, and alone. This dangerous combination ensured he usually wound up with the short end of the stick and in the dirtiest, roughest places. But previous beatings weren't like this; there were whole areas of his body that were just numb with pain. He couldn't see straight, everything was blurry and dark. All he wanted to do was curl up and sleep, even though he was pretty sure he'd never wake up. John wanted to live, he really did. But it just didn't seem like that was in the cards.
Regis dropped him roughly onto the ground. The Friends of Humanity kicked the still form, it didn't try to defend itself, didn't try to protect itself. They jabbed their boots into the tense body of their victim until they were satisfied with the amount of blood on the floor and the mutant's pale skin was appropriately purple and black.
"Damn Mutie that showed him."
"Yeah" Mark laughed. "He knows who's in charge around here now. The humans!"
He didn't know how long he slept, hours or days. Since it didn't really matter he didn't waste time wondering. Eventually Magneto might notice that he hadn't seen young Pyro around in a while and start to look for him. It was an idea but John didn't have much hope for rescue. His head hurt, his arm throbbed painfully, and he was thirsty. John listened to the silence around him and groaned. He hated it when things were too quiet. John theorized that at least 3 hours passed as he lay on the floor, looking at the ceiling and listening. He hated the silence. He strained to hear even the slightest sound. But the walls were thick and there wasn't so much as a scurrying rat. Eventually his ears picked up on footsteps. Someone was coming!
He thought about getting up and made an attempt to do so. He got to his feet but his center of gravity did a complete shift and he found himself on the floor again. He couldn't stop the moan that slipped past his lips. He hated how weak they'd make him. He refused to let them see him lying, unable to move, because of their hands. John carefully rolled onto his front. From there it was a slow push to his knees a deliberate crawl to the wall outcropping by the door. He pulled himself to his feet just as the door opened.
When the guard, an ape-like man that smelled like he'd slept in a bar ashtray, brought in his little bowl of cold broth John immediately noticed the glorious yellow tool in the pocket of his shirt. It shone like a beacon to the distraction starved young man. He needed that pencil. Reacting immediately with a "plan" Pyro punched the man in the face. The man punched him back. He watched the pencil fall and roll into the corner. The Friend of Humanity continued to pummel Pyro a little longer, then left, leaving the precious writing implement behind. There never was someone so ecstatic to get a dull, chewed on, yellow pencil in his hand.
When John got his head together again he sat up with a low groan. The goon had done damage to his already damaged body. The cold broth that had been left in the corner and had miraculously not been knocked over in the scuffle would be his only sustenance for quite some time. He was sure after the stunt he had just pulled it was unlikely they'd come back into the cell for any reason other than hurting him further. John crawled over to the fallen pencil and smiled to himself in triumph. They wouldn't be able to deny him a last hand hold on sanity.
He searched his pockets for something he could write on. In his pocket was a Chinese food menu, his only source of paper. He silently praised the higher power that made him never empty his jeans pockets, even to do the wash. The paper was fuzzy around the edges from its journey and creased crookedly since he'd folded it up and shoved it in his pocket fast when Magneto called. A weak attempt at a smirk crossed John's face. He'd never gotten around to getting that General Tso's chicken. It was Rogue's favorite and he'd never tried it. This menu had General Tso's chicken circled because he was finally going to order it.
He was prepared. They might be able to destroy his body, but he was going to die with his right mind. Needing strength for his plan he crawled to the bowl and with great restraint, drank the cold, salty broth slowly. He set down the empty bowl and picked up his pencil.
He hated silence. It was driving him crazy. Silence made his mind wander to unhappy places, the times in his life, years ago, when the silence was a warning that curses, threats and violence were imminent. He desperately needed to break the silence, to distract his mind. Writing was something he had done a lot as a kid. It was a quiet solitary activity, sometimes just being quiet and out of sight could spare you a beating. Writing was also a way to get stuff out. He'd needed to do that a lot growing up.
So, brandishing his dilapidated writing tool he attacked the rumpled, folded menu and wrote.
Dear Marie,
You're no doubt wondering why I'm writing you a letter. Sure we were friends, but friends come and go, I left you all and joined the enemy. But Marie, you're not a friend I could just let go. I'm writing to you because I'm dying. They have me locked in this little cell, it's dark, I'm so thirsty, and I'm too dizzy to stand. But, worse than these pains is the silence. Alone in the quiet with my thoughts they plague me more than any physical wound or ailment. I am writing to you because I need to make peace with this world before I enter the next. I've never let you know just how important you were to me; how important you still are. Marie, the friendship we had was one of the closest I've ever experienced. Our fun times, the talks we shared late at night, sitting in the game room after everyone was in bed, you let me be just how I wanted and never looked down on me or treated me like a child. I've kept my feelings for you secret. I would never want to hurt Bobby, another important friend, but as I'll be dead by the time your eyes follow these words I think I can be honest.
I care about you more deeply then I've let you know. I'd have waited for you. I'd have found a way around your powers. A creative mind is an amazing tool against any problem. They're a part of you so I even love the gift you hate. But I never acted on these feelings. The reasons for my secrecy are complex. I fear giving them will only make me seem like a coward giving excuses. Still, even though my vision has gone blurry, I can see I am dying and will be cold and gone by the time you read this. So, there is no reason to fear the repercussions of my declaration. I stepped away, hid my true feelings for you.
The relationships in my life had never been successful. My true parents weren't good for me, the families after them really just temporary acquaintances. My friendships with you and Bobby were the only proof I was even capable of caring for people and having them care for me. I couldn't risk the friendships by sharing how special you make me feel Marie. I couldn't tell you about the feelings that just being near you invoked in me.
I love you Marie. I've never said that to anyone in my life. But I mean it, what I feel for you must be love because it is wonderful, exquisite, and beautiful. I can't imagine anything better than the way I feel when I see your smile, when your shoulder brushed against mine as we walked down the hall, when you shared your excitement over your latest training success. You were a bright spot in my life while I was at the institute and have remained one even now that we are far apart and on different sides of a war.
I don't begrudge Bobby for acting when I was tentative. While I was being cautious he made his decision to act. I did nothing to challenge him and even now hope he is making you happy. As my vision is getting worse and I can actually feel the end of my life within an arm length I suppose I can make my that my dying wish. I want you to be happy Marie. Even though it wasn't meant to be that I be the one to bring you that happiness, I sincerely hope you find it. You deserve to be happy. I've seen doubt in you that breaks my heart. Your mutation keeps you separate, never lets you too close to others. But you are an amazing, beautiful individual that deserves to be happy. Do whatever makes you happy Marie.
You will always have my love,
John
John smiled at his work. At least he had done something. His vision was swimming now; it was so hard to focus. It was getting dark as well; everything was gray and turning black. He felt his face hit the floor, he'd collapsed. As he slipped into unconsciousness, expecting to never return, he thought about Marie.