Bobnap chapter 2: Betrayal at Baker Mansion

[Pyro]

Darting is, of course, bloody difficult when you’re short half a lung or so. Not to mention when your co-ordination is shot to hell because your brain’s no longer where it should be but plastered somewhere around the inside of your skull. But hell, desperation always was one hell of a motivator, as these things go, and so although it’s not without Herculean effort and more than a little discomfort he almost makes it.

Almost.

And he would have, if it wasn’t for that flying chair. On impulse he throws up a wall of flame, vaporizing most of the projectile, and what doesn’t vaporize he can duck… but ducking still takes time, and throws him of course, and means that he still has to worry about…

Or not. Thank god for back-up. Nothing like having your friends turn up to take away the problem in this really fucked up power game where everyone loses and you’re just trying to negotiate the ‘least-worst-outcome’. He watches just long enough to content himself that yes, she can handle Josh… and goes back to the matter at hand.

Bobby’s warm to the touch, and he doesn’t know whether this should worry him less than it does, or more than he wants it to… No point panicking. He’s still breathing. That’s the main point. Anything else he can sort out later, once they get out of here. Where the hell is…

*CRUNCH*
< John![/i]
John’s head snaps round. Shit. Josh is still standing (which means one of his team isn’t, and he’s given up trying to keep track and pretty much resigned himself to the fact that yeah, he’s on his own in this), somehow, though he doesn’t look good.

”Give up already” – it’s a plea, not a command, because for fuck’s sake, the kid can’t take much more, surely. The fireball which accompanies his words’ll probably be enough; no playing nice this time. While still not enough to kill there’s no way that, should this hit, Josh’ll be in any doubt as to whether it was flame which struck him.

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

> ”Give up already!”

The ball of flame shooting towards him seems to be glowing with more heat and light, this time. No! Josh pushes outwards with all of his strength, and the flaming mass splatters across an invisible barrier, the force of which makes him stumble backwards. The blast of flame roils upwards, no longer able to progress forward, and catches the ceiling on fire.

Whew, that was close. Josh suddenly feels a bloom of heat on his back. Shit, I'm on fire!! He quickly unzips his jacket and flings it away.

He sees John moving towards the room's only exit. Josh throws out a hand, and the door claps shut. With a twist of his wrist, the handle crumples in on itself. "John, don't do this!" He coughs, winded, some combination of the smoke in the air and his previous injuries.

A sharp spike of pain attracts his attention, and he turns. There's some sort of small shard - shaped like a knife - sticking out of his upper arm. Nausea rolls through his mind, and Josh holds a hand to his head to clear it. After a moment, with a wince, he pulls it out. ...Bone?

Another woman presents herself from the shadows, looking supremely satisfied. As the pain threatens to overwhelm him, Josh gestures, tossing her head over heels into the window, with a resounding crash.

John... don't! Bobby... No! Josh is quickly losing his mental focus. He begins to pick his way through the debris.

[Pyro]

Shit. Ceiling’s on fire. Shit

Put it out? Or run? Run’s best, of course… or as close to run as he can while dragging both Bob and a bumper selection of things which will hurt like a bitch when he finally has time to pay attention to them. Putting it out costs time, and there’s always the chance it’ll collapse on Josh (and he can’t believe it’s become natural to think like that… but it has, and natural has always been the best way, instinct always so much better than logic) and…

Fuck. Fucking stupid fucking telekinetic bastard.

There’s a momentary spike of panic at the fact that the door won’t open, a desperate disbelief that Josh would be stupid enough to trap them in here. Because if the place goes up there’s only one of them with any chance of walking out of here at all.

< John, don’t do this[/i]
”You die here if you want, Dalton.” Door’s not going to budge. Fine. He can make it go away the way he makes everything else go away. ”I’m sure the fact you clung to your precious fucking morals will stop Warren going to pieces” With a sharp inclination of his head as if he were steeling himself for physical effort the flames leap to his aid and there’s a hiss and the door… just isn’t there. John looks back to see if Josh caught that, another display of just what he’s up against, but the look on his face, and the… fuck, what is he holding? Shit. Marrow must have got him… right before he flicked her out of the window. And he’s not going to pretend it’s not scary, seeing how much Josh can still do even though he’s clearly beyond any normal breaking point.

Which means… back to the running. To pretending that he knows what he’s doing. To handing Bobby over – and this is what hurts, because he wants to be the one to do this, and hates having to trust that someone else will handle it – and hearing the POP-FSH (because by some miracle Josh has managed not to knock out the teleporter whose name he should be able to remember as something other than Plan B) which means he’s arriving back at the Boarding House and is something near enough to safe for him to be able to handle it. And that knowledge means two very important things – firstly, he’s not got to worry about holding himself back to keep Bobby safe. And secondly, whatever happens he has to get out of here to make sure everything else plays out right, which lends everything a grim desperation.

Not as if Josh has been getting an easy ride so far, but Mr. Nice Guy is definitely dead and buried should the fool be mad enough to push this now he has, to all intents and purposes, lost. So fuck the mess Josh made of his ribcage, or the mess he's making of his own mind... He waits for Josh to make his way in, before clearly and deliberately melting the handle to this second room – Two can play at that game – and leaning back against the blistered wood, tossing a fireball in one hand. ”Give up.”

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

>"You die here if you want, Dalton.”

Whaat? Oh. John can't throw himself out of a window and slow his descent on the way down. For him, it's a one way trip. Josh shakes his head, still fighting the pain from the knife hit.

”I’m sure the fact you clung to your precious fucking morals will stop Warren going to pieces”

The mention of Warren brings Josh back into focus. Oh, god. Warren! Josh holds back a whimper. He had to get through this, now. If he died here, what could that do to Warren through their telepathic link?

I love you. Wish me luck.

Emotion courses through him at the thought - as he sees John turn the door into ash. Shit. Time to follow.

As he tears through into the next room, he hears a vaguely familiar sound, and --- fuck. Bobby's gone - and John's melted the handle shut on the other door.

"Nooo!" John, what have you done? You're putting Bobby's life in danger, you idiot! He skids to a halt in disbelief. God fucking dammit! Behind him, some timbers crash into the entryway. No going back through there...

It's too late. Bobby's gone. There was no point in risking his life here any longer. You've lost. Some friend you are. You can't do anything right. He sniffles a little, wiping at his wet, slightly sooty face. After a moment, his face hardens into a mask. I can at least make Bobby proud of me. Josh coughs a little from the smoke, still holding his side.

Time to get out, then - preferably without any more trauma. Warren was going to kill him when he got back. When. John is leaning against the doorway, cocky as always. Perfect.

"X-Men don't give up." The X-Men also work as a team, you dolt. Way to get in over your head. Josh cocks his head slightly, his powers surging across the room as smashes into the door - and John - with them.

[Pyro]

< X-Men don’t give up[/i]
”Oh really?” – shit, getting words out hurts, every breath a stab, and John prays that’s just bruising while knowing it probably isn’t (his current positioning is not based solely upon trying to resurrect some of the old arrogance, and the measured tone probably has as much to do with trying to regulate his breathing as any genuine or faked control). Though he’s gotten pretty good at not letting anything which hasn’t killed him stop him until it’s safe to curl up and die, it’s too much for even his acting ability to suppress a wince before continuing – ”Maybe that’s why your graveyard’s so much bigger tha…”

He’s cut off mid-flow as the world seems to implode, and then explode back into being a million times more vibrant as color and light and sense (mostly sense) rush back in before he can surrender to the welcome blackness. And fuck, everything hurts so fucking much it takes him a moment or two to even realise what’s going on beyond that, well, everything hurts. After that comes more specific sensation – that parts of what used to be a door are jabbing uncomfortably into newly tender flesh and (by comparison) aged bruising, that the side of his head is burning in that weird stinging-wet way which means it’s got to be bleeding. Finally – and it’s amazing, really, that so simple a realization should take so long, he figures out what must have happened… sort of. Though it’s still sort of hazy and doesn’t make much sense, the basic facts he can just about cope with; he’s taken some sort of hit, and now finds himself sprawled awkwardly, limbs splayed, splinters of door and floor pressing into his cheek…

Shit. Now is not the time to lie down, however much every inch screams yes it is, just stop, just don’t move – some other, louder voice is shouting Get up. Get the hell up. You don’t want to die. Because death is now an option. Josh isn’t holding back, and the power the kid wields is… shit scary, really. And leaves John precious few options…

… option one, get up and fight. Not particularly wise, it seems. He’s just asking for pain that way, because Josh’ll teek him before he can make a move and that… ouch. Even if it was a good idea, it probably wouldn’t be a viable one, since when he tries to move everything just goes tense and hurts more instead of actually co-operating, and it takes a lot to bit his lip and not cry out, the coppery tang of blood mixing with salt, the chalkiness of smoke and some other unidentifiable rankness.

… option two. Stay here. Madness, maybe. But if he plays it up, acts like he’s broken… okay, it’s a crazy plan, trusting that Josh will either give up and escape or (and this still seems more likely) still act as if it’s a friend who’s hurt. Which means he can take him by surprise, make it short and intimate and nasty, and bring this to an end. It also affords him a precious few moments in which to catch something like breath while one hand attempts to curl around one of the larger shards from the shattered door and pull it back in while not giving away that he’s anything other than flat out and spent.

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

> ”Maybe that’s why your graveyard’s so much bigger tha…”

Josh's face twists at Pyro's biting comment, but as the door shatters and John topples out of sight, he snaps back into reality. Oh, god. I think I overdid it a little. Idiot, this is what happens when you lose control. Plenty of time to beat himself up over this later, though. Right, later.

He runs out onto the landing, bracing himself on the banister. There. John lying down in the foyer... not moving. Shit.

"John? John!" Josh hurries down the staircase, limping across the entry to where the older boy was lying. He kneels down in front of him, looking anxiously into his eyes.

"John... are you okay?" Concern laces Josh's words, despite the situation.

[Pyro]

Hook

John grins despite himself as Josh, true to form, rushes over and pulls the concerned act, waiting for him to be just close enough…

Line..

… and when the opportune moment arrives, he snaps upwards, silencing the roar of protest his body lets out by promising it’ll be over soon, just this one last rush and grabbing Josh, forcing the younger boy down, one hand twisting one of his arms back so that if he struggled it would perhaps not break, John being the wiry kid he was, but certainly tear something and really, really smart. The other hand presses his improvised blade to the kid’s throat, not yet enough to hurt, but enough that he’d know it could.

Sinker

”No, guess that’s why, then. Never do learn… I’m walking out of here, brother, and if you don’t give up then I’ll have no problem killing you. And it won't be noble or heroic or anything they've told you in X-lessons.” There's no trace of the plea he's sounding off - don't make me do this - because to admit any such reluctance would spoil the act. "It'll fucking hurt, and it'll be totally fucking meaningless. So just give up"

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

Josh chokes under John's rough handling. Way to go, Joshy.

>...you don’t give up then I’ll have no problem killing you.

And he's serious. At least, Josh thinks he is. A number of thoughts roil around in his conflicted brain. First off, despite the posturing, he can tell from John's mental state that he doesn't actually want to kill him. If that had been John's goal the entire time, he'd been going about it pretty badly. Secondly, he was almost certain he could teek the improvised blade out of John's hand and escape his grip - but honestly, the thing was at his throat, and there was no room for error.

And there was no point in struggling any further. Bobby's gone. You lost. Dammit.

After a second, he relaxes under John's iron grip. "Okay. You've won, Pyro." He makes sure to convey the sarcastic inflection, despite the defeat in his voice.

[Pyro]

Josh’s tone doesn’t get to him. Really doesn’t. There’s definitely no extra force as he pushes him away. And he’s definitely not struggling to think of something suitably cutting to fire back. Because the John/Pyro thing is just… how it works. How it has to work. Two people sharing the same life, it’s bound to get messy. But that’s just how it is, and he’s fine with it. Really. The repetition is just… something which isn’t him trying to convince himself, hoping that if he says it enough times it’ll become true. Definitely not. Because it is true. Really.

He pulls himself to his feet, gets there somehow, and pauses to catch his breath, leaning forward against the banister for a second or two before remembering that shit, Josh is still standing…

It’s not madness to think that even after everything he might still try and follow him. Or stop him. Or any of those *heroic* gestures. Because that’s what the X-Men do, isn’t it? And if he did… Fuck. Nightmare, whether it means his having to get more vicious (which he hasn’t the energy for… yeah, that’s the only reason for his reluctance) or Josh running into any of the other Brotherhood members who lack the, erm, subtlety he has (John, subtle? That’s a first).

… which makes coaxing the smouldering shards back into flame and sending a final rush at Josh the only sane option. ”No one ever wins, Josh. I’m just better at losing. No fucking stupid credos to make hurting the other guy worse a problem.”

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

As Pyro shoves him away, Josh breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Maybe I'll get out of this alive, after all. Now, to find out where they've taken Bobby.

>No one ever wins, Josh.

The burst of flame takes him utterly by surprise. The force-blast lifts him up off his feet and smashes him against the wall. Josh drops to the floor with a thud, sprawled on his stomach.

Hmm... it didn't burn. I guess John doesn't want to send me to the hospital. Somehow, it's not much consolation. Josh tries to get up, but every part of his body seems to be much too heavy... the lids of his eyes begin to close.

<Warren, I love you...> As he slips out of consciousness, Josh reaches out with his thoughts to brush against Warren's. He attempts to send some of his recent visual memory, but after a moment, his head drops to the ground in exhaustion.

[Pyro]

… ouch.

That last burst has taken… something. Not quite everything, but enough that he doesn’t want to move anymore, is content just to stay here and try and fit himself back together…

… except that the place is still on fire, and he doesn’t fancy finding out exactly how little a slip in concentration it would take for flames to hurt again.

Shit. Josh doesn’t even have that scant protection, does he?

Fucking stupid thing to do, knocking the kid out. And for all he tells himself it was the only option, it doesn’t make the reality any easier to handle. Because in spite of the apparent bravado, screw all his crazy nonchalance when it came to the idea of killing, he can’t just leave the kid to die. Especially not like this.

****

That dragging someone from a burning building is probably heroic and noble is scant consolation. Josh is heavy in his arms, and the way that everything feels like it’s being torn apart by even the slightest movement doesn’t exactly help matters… so it’s something of a miracle, and almost totally unbelievable, when that rush of crisp air comes and he can drop Josh and collapse for a moment or two, dropping to his knees next to the Teek’s motionless form and drinking up the lack of smoke taste and the welcome chill.

[Warren Worthington III]

Warren is driving back to the Institute from the airport in a haze of fatigue and triumph. It had taken weeks of private meetings, public meetings, calling in markers and owing favors and more cash outlay than he wants to think about, not to mention Bobby’s foray into investigative breaking and entering the other week, but he and Hank had finally done it – Hank was, at this moment, presenting testimony to the Congressional Investigative Committee.

Of course, half of them already knew everything that was going on. But it’s one thing to know it, it’s another thing to be presented with names, facts, figures, photographs, specific incident details, in an official format you can’t ignore. Even if they privately felt mutants deserved everything they got – and Warren has no doubt that some of them do feel that way, and making them sit politely at a conference table with two obvious mutants was a small but important victory – they have no choice now but to take action. Congress can’t just sit on this anymore, with Hank pushing it and the President quietly supporting him, and besides most of them would be as disgusted by what went on in those camps as Warren is.

We won! Most of him wants to collapse into an unconscious heap now that it’s over and sleep for a week, but right this moment the part of him that wants to celebrate is running the show. Of course, there would still be aftermath to deal with – his ambiguous new relationship with the Hellfire Club and Josh’s feelings about that not least among them – but he’s not going to worry about that.

As he gets within a mile or so of the Institute he thinks out loud Hey, Josh! Put on your fancy duds, hon, we’re going out for the most over-the-top celebratory dinner I can arrange on an hour’s notice. We won!

He doesn’t get a response, and tries “listening” more carefully. He’s no telepath, of course, but he’s gotten better at working with this mental link thing Josh has set up. Nothing. And, nothing. And, suddenly, pain-anger-grief-anger-fear-pain-triumph-pain.-grief-anger-concern-fear-shock-pain- Warren, I love you and images, a ceiling on fire and a bone knife in his shoulder and John with a knife and a dozen other things, and his head reels trying to take it all in.

And then nothing, which is worse in its own way than anything else. If there had been traffic on the road he’d have caused an accident… as it is, he ends up driving his car off the road before he thinks to hit the brakes.

He’s out of the car and in the air before he stops to think. He should call the Institute, find out what’s going on before charging in, but he doesn’t… instead he climbs furiously, looking all around as if he could somehow spot Josh without having a clue where he is.

Which turns out not to be as stupid an idea as all that, because once he clears the treeline the smoke from a house a mile or so away becomes visible. JOSH! Hold on, I’m coming!!! He doesn’t know if Josh can hear him or not, but he puts everything he has into the mental shout as he slices through the air towards Baker Mansion, reaching it in less than a minute.

A motorcycle is speeding away from the flame-plagued Mansion as he arrives, its rider an unfamiliar face, bare-legged and bloody in a Xavier’s shirt. Warren spares him little attention when he spots Josh on the lawn, mercifully far from the conflagration but his clothes charred and his skin covered in burns, sprawled and unmoving.

He’s just unconscious, he tells himself frantically. That’s all. Nothing more. Just unconscious. It becomes a mantra he repeats to himself as he lands and kneels next to Josh’s body, and senses the air moving from Josh’s lungs, hears his heartbeat and breathing. Oh, thank God… it’s going to be OK, hon, I’ll take care of you… His thoughts become less coherent as he huddles around Josh’s burned and bruised body, crying over it as if his tears could cure burns.

Eventually he returns to something more like sanity and makes a cell-phone call to the Institute’s emergency number. He’s not even sure who answers the phone. "This is Warren, I’m at Baker Mansion, Josh is down, I don’t want to risk moving him… send an ambulance or something, will you? Quickly!"

(( OOC: I think we can end this thread here and pick it up in the Institute medlab for chapter 4: Inside Rogue’s Brain… sound good? ))