#well lads this fic exists thanks to that conversation so here you go! except it's um not as creepy as I think you guys were imagining | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 4 years

Text

Another self-indulgent fan-fic, this time with Blob and Pyro drinking, fighting, talking, and bonding over bullying a teenager.

This was an attempt to give Blob a little more depth beyond just the crass asshole of the Brotherhood, and show that he’s got some feelings, too. I also wanted to deal with some stuff with Pyro that Marauders hasn’t really gotten into, especially his death and relationship with the rest of the Brotherhood. There’s also some discussion of Pyro/Avalanche. I will forever headcanon original Pyro as a closeted gay man, who had a kind of undefined friends with benefits thing going on with Avalanche (I don’t care how many fantasy Jean Greys he kisses in Marauders), and who still feels uncomfortable being open about it, even if attitudes have changed somewhat.

Warnings for - Very nasty language, some body-shaming from Pyro, some discussion of homophobia. Blob says some things that maybe aren’t quite homophobic, but kind of insensitive. Behind a read-more, because it wound up being long.

Pyro was absolutely not nervous when he knocked on the door of the small habitat building nestled just at the edge of the Krakoan jungle. It was a nice spot, with one window offering a view of the beach, but the trees providing a bit of protection from tropical storms. There was a little garden plot to one side, so neatly and delicately arranged that he wondered if the man he was there to see had a tidier room-mate.

He wasn’t nervous. And he hadn’t been putting this off, he’d just been busy. He’d fallen in with a whole new team, after all, who had accepted him with a surprising amount of tolerance, and he was spending most of his time having high-seas adventures. Not much time on Krakoa itself, to drop in on an old….friend? Acquaintance? Former team-mate who could snap his spine in half if he happened to be in a foul mood? Pyro wasn’t sure exactly where he stood with any of them now. But he wasn’t nervous. Sod that.

The door swung open, the view inside immediately blocked by the massive fleshy mountain that was Frederick J. Dukes, the immovable object.

“Hey Fred. I brought booze.” Pyro held up the wine bottle like a peace offering between them. It was entirely possible he was about to get his face bashed in, or possibly smother to death under Blob’s sizable buttocks. And sure, he’d get resurrected, but he wasn’t keen to go through all that unpleasantness.

“Aww, hey matchstick! Get in here!” Blob grinned and swung an arm around him, practically clobbering him forward into the living room. “Where ya been?”

“Um….dead, mostly. Yah know,” Pyro quipped, not willing to admit to the relief that was flooding into his chest. Because he hadn’t been nervous. He had just been…curious….to see where he stood with the mutants who had been his team-mates for years. Just wanted to catch up and see how they were.

(To see if they all hated him.)

“Haw, haw, yeah, don’t I know it. You shoulda seen Avalanche cryin’ into his beer over that,” Blob guffawed, pulling him in close and hugging him against his side. Pyro could smell body odor and coconut oil.

“He cried, huh?” He murmured, his mouth muffled against pillowy flesh.

“Blubbered like a damn baby.” Fred released him so that he could step back and gasp air.

“What’d you do to your face, man? You going emo on me, now? C’mon, buck up. You only died the one time. Not like those X-Men, they got a whole revolving door thing going.”

“It’s not emo,” Pyro protested, running his hand over the skull tattoo covering most of his face. “It’s ‘cause I’m a pirate. I’m runnin’ round with the Marauders. We’re wrecking ships and stealing supplies, it’s a blast.”

Blob scoffed. “You’re running around with X-Men, matchstick. You’re basically an X-Man, now.”

“The hell I am!” Now Pyro really felt insulted. “I’m not wearing an X anywhere. We’re the Marauders, not the X-Marauders or whatever. We’re pirates, doin’ pirate things! Like fighting the military and helping mutant kids get to Krakoa – “ Except that wasn’t exactly what pirates did, was it? That was more of a hero-type deal. “-and sinking ships –“ and delivering medicine to people that needed it around that globe, but Pyro wasn’t going to mention that. Even if it did give him a bit of a warm glow in his chest to be helping the sick and desperate. He knew what it was like to be sick and desperate.

“Everyone on that ship is a goody-two shoes X-Man!” Blob sneered. “Storm, that phasing girl, Ice-nerd.”

“Bishop’s pretty cool,” Pyro felt the need to interject. The man could fight, and he respected that. He was also extremely good looking, something Pyro tried to not notice.

“Still an X-Man. You’re one a them now. I shoulda expected it after the way you died.” Blob stepped back from him, shaking his head. And oh, there it was.

It didn’t seem quite fair. Pyro couldn’t even remember what he’d done. What he’d been thinking at the time.

“I mean….does it really matter?” He tried. “We’re all one big happy mutant family on Krakoa now. Xavier and Magneto getting all chummy. Seems like the X-Men and the Brotherhood don’t even exist anymore.”

“Seems ta me like there’s a bunch of X-Teams and no Brotherhood. They split up all us nasty “bad” mutants and stuck them on teams with the wussy good guys ta keep us in line. Except when they need their dirty work done, then they’ll send out those of us with criminal records. I dunno who’s really running the show on Krakoa, but it ain’t the Brotherhood.” Blob slumped down on his sofa, but gestured to Pyro to sit in one of the chairs. At least he wasn’t being thrown out.

“Guess you might be right there,” he mused, tossing himself down sideways across the chair, both legs hanging over one arm. The X-Men were in an awful lot of positions of power, even with the attempts to balance the Council. And they seemed to dominate most of the island’s strike teams.

“I guess there are more of them than there are of us.”

“Guess running a school for mutant kids is better recruitment strategy than a creepy dude in a metal helmet that’ll throw his own people under the bus in a heartbeat. Did I ever tell ya about how he chucked an explosive at me? And that was back he was tryin’ to recruit me!”

“Many times, Freddie,” Pyro was a little relieved that the conversation was meandering away from his own status – X-Man, Brotherhood member, Krakoan or whatever the hell he now was. He wasn’t sure himself.

“Wine?” He held out the bottle again. Blob swiped it and held it up between two fingers with another guffaw.

“What is this, matchstick, booze for ants? That ain’t gonna be thimbleful for me.”

“Oh, but this is a very special bottle, Freddie.” Pyro took the bottle back. “Have ya got a bucket? I’m gonna be like Christ with the loaves and fishes here.”

“Doncha mean water into wine? That was one of the miracles, right?” Blob came back with a massive stew pot.

“Yeah, but there’s no water involved here. Watch and marvel!” He upended the bottle with a dramatic flourish. Moments later, Blob’s mouth dropped open as the stew pot was half-way filled, and the bottle showed no signs of emptying.

“Ain’t that a hell of a trick. What’s the deal, Aussie? Some kind of mystical Outback dream-time thing?”

“Nah, just a bribe from a wizard. Bottomless bottle. Never runs out.” Technically, Dr. Strange had offered the gift as a gesture to the entire island. But technically didn’t matter, because Strange had given the bottle directly to him, which meant it was basically his. He certainly wasn’t going to hand it over to the Council to use in their fancy-pants secret meetings. Better to keep it among the people, right? Pyro was willing to share. A bit.

“Well, tell Harry Potter thanks. That’s one hell of a gift.”

“Who?”

“C’mon, don’t fuck with me. You haven’t been dead that long.”

“True,” Pyro grinned. But being dead was certainly a convenient excuse for bowing out of whatever must-see pop culture phenomenon he was supposed to be familiar with. “Sorry mate, I was dead at the time,” usually shut people up.

Blob took the full bucket, downed half in one gulp, and held it out again for more. Pyro took a moment to fill his own glass to the brim before pouring again.

“Damn, that’s good stuff. Usually bulk wine is pretty crappy.” Fred licked his lips in appreciation.

“I wouldn’t know the difference,” Pyro shrugged. He’d gotten invited to a few fancy parties, way back in the day when he was journalist/writer St. John Allerdyce and “Pyro” didn’t exist. But it hadn’t exactly refined his palate. He’d rather have a full goon bag to himself than a dainty little glass of something aged and expensive.

“Well, we can’t all be sophisticated gourmets,” Blob said airily, swirling the wine around and giving it a sniff. “French grapes, I’d say. Black currant, acai, cherry, and just a hint of chocolate. Probably a ’78 or ’79.” He proceeded to down half the stew-pot again.

“Freddie me lad, you are absolutely full of shit.” Pyro obligingly poured a refill. Maybe he should get some kind of stand for the bottle, or he’d be doing this all night.

“I aim to be full of wine, so keep pouring, toothpick,” Blob laughed. They lapsed into a moment of comfortable silence while Pyro finally had a chance to drain his own glass.

“So how’s it feel to be back in the land of the living?” Blob ventured. “Ya know they cured that Virus just a few months after you croaked. Ain’t that a kick in the teeth?”

“I wasn’t gonna last a few months at that point. I wasn’t gonna last even a few days, so…whatever.” Pyro shrugged. He still couldn’t remember the moment of his death, but he remembered some of the time leading up to it, feeling incredibly frail, and wondering every night if he would wake up in the morning. Is it gonna be tonight? Today? Will I just drop dead trying to walk down the street? Even if some miracle cure had appeared, he suspected he would have been too far gone at that point.

“It’s just good to be healthy again,” he added. And wasn’t that the truth. Just walking around, breathing the ocean air freely and without pain had been heavenly. He’d made it a point to get laid the first time the Marauders spent the night in Taipei – hadn’t seen any of that action for months before his death. He didn’t want to touch anyone after the diagnosis (he was a selfish bastard, but not so selfish as to potentially spread the disease), and pretty soon pain and fatigue had meant his cock was the furthest thing from his mind.

“Yeah, I bet. Ya made a real spectacular flame-out at the end, there,” Blob said, and there was something left hanging in the air at the end of that sentence. What Pyro might have called a “pregnant pause,” in one of his novels. He gulped down another large swallow of wine.

“Yeah that was….I dunno. I dunno what I was thinking, exactly.” He hadn’t been able to believe it when Mystique showed him the headlines. Sure he’d tried to help her save her shitty racist spawn Graydon Creed (a spectacular failure, thanks to X-Factor), but it had still been him playing Follow the Leader, trusting Mystique to know the right thing to do. Apparently he’d made that final decision completely on his own – turning on his comrades to save the man they’d once tried to assassinate. He didn’t like to look at the articles – all splashed with that one famous picture of Kelly cradling his dead body. It made him feel sick to look at it.

Blob just grunted in response, and the silence became uncomfortable. Pyro sighed.

“All right, you want me to say it? I’m sorry. I’m sorry for turning on you guys. I can’t say I’m sorry for protecting Kelly. I guess I thought it was the right thing to do at the time, and I’ll stand by that. But I’m sorry for going against you guys. And especially for killing Post.” Blob snorted, but held the stewpot out for more wine.

“You were gettin’ real soft near the end there, toothpick. Can’t completely blame ya, I guess. You were starin’ death right in the face, and Legacy was probably eating away at your brain. Avalanche said you seemed half-delirious near the end, whenever he went to see ya.”

“Maybe I was.” Time had gotten fuzzy back then – long patches of confused dream-like haze, punctuated by sharp, painful clarity. Dominic would be there one moment and gone the next, conversations evaporating mid-sentence. He’d lay down for a moment in the morning and wake up in the evening two days later.

“It was just all starting to seem a bit pointless, ya know?” He continued after another swig of wine. “All that violence….well, I won’t deny it was fun. I don’t need an excuse to start a fight. But it was also for a cause, right? And things just kept getting worse no matter what we did. I guess I just thought….if I could change the guy’s mind, maybe things would be different.”

“Well, ya did change his mind, I’ll give you that. Too bad he got himself killed right after that,” Fred smirked.

“Yeah. That’s the real kick in the teeth. More than dying before the cure, really. Bloody pointless.” Pyro poured again.

“I reckon everyone was pissed at me, yeah?” At least the wine was giving him the courage to ask certain questions.

“Heh, yer lucky you croaked when ya did, really.” Blob grinned. It was not a nice grin. “I woulda snapped you in half for Post, invalid or no. Lady Mastermind wasn’t real pleased, either. But you ain’t really here to ask about how I felt, are ya? You wanna know whether yer boyfriend is pissed at ya.”

Pyro was suddenly sitting up very straight, tension running up and down his spine.

“The fuck did you say?” he snapped.

“Oh, come off it, man. Don’t act like I’m stupid! I know you had this whole ‘don’t ask, don’t tell thing’ going on back in the day, but I figured it out. We all did.”

“I don’t know what you’re blathering on about, mate,” Pyro said, each word coldly annunciated. The tension from his spine was spooling tight in his mid-section. “You’ve been watching too many soap operas.”

“You’re the one that watches that crap, matchstick. I gotta listen to you talk about ‘Home and Away’ every time you get smashed. But don’t change the fucking subject.”

“What subject? Some made-up bullshit you imagined in your head?” Pyro’s hands were clenched tight around the glass. Some logical part of his mind wondered why he was even making a fuss about this. Times had changed a great deal in the years that he’d been floating in a void of nonexistence. Iceman was openly gay, Mystique referred to Destiny as her wife, and no one batted an eye.

But still. When Pyro was growing up, you didn’t say it. You didn’t dare say it, because it would it ruin you, at best, and possibly get you killed, at worst. It had been something he’d kept locked up tight in his chest, even when he was boldly and proudly “coming out” as a mutant. And what he’d shared with Dominic over the years, secret little intimate moments slipped under the surface of their public friendship, had always rested on a foundation of silence. They didn’t talk about what they did. Didn’t even really acknowledge it to each other or try to define it. It was their own special, private thing, and it was meant to remain unspoken.

And now, here was Fred J. Dukes putting his fat, clumsy, grubby hands all over it, like a toddler smearing chocolate on a cashmere sweater.

“Quit bein’ so stubborn about it,” Blob continued. “Ya think I’m stupid, that I couldn’t figure it out? You guys were always slipping off together, locking your door. Fuck man, I heard you two dumbshits in the shower together a couple of times when we were doing that Freedom Force thing. My room was right next door, you know. Haw!” His laughter was an ugly sound.

“What, were you getting off on it?” Pyro snarled. “Were you alone in your room jerking it to us, you fat fuck? Probably the only action you ever see, ain’t it? Assuming you can even find your dick.” He paused, suddenly wishing he could hook the words back into his mouth, because he’d basically just admitted to it, hadn’t he? But he didn’t think he could stop now if he tried, with the anger burning in his chest, a familiar, almost comforting heat.

“No, I was just sick of you both lying about it. Pretending it wasn’t happening, and making the rest of us pretend, too! Acting like we’re all idiots!” Blob was on his feet now, red-faced.

“Well, you never made that very hard, did ya, Freddie?”

“Ya know what?” And Blob had suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder with one meaty hand. “I’m tired of your bullshit!” Then Pyro found himself flung across the room, smashing into the wall and knocking crockery down to shatter on the floor. Maybe he was going to get his spine snapped after all – but the way he felt at the moment he didn’t much care.

“You always act so superior, like you’re sooooo much smarter than me. What, just ‘cause you wrote some crappy books to help lonely women get their panties all moist?! ”

“At least I know how to write. Least I can get a woman wet,” Pyro quipped, while trying to climb to his feet. Hell, Blob had just handed him that one, hadn’t he? There was a blur at the edge of his vision, and suddenly Blob had grabbed the front of his shirt and tossed him again.

“You ain’t smarter than me!” Pyro could hear Blob bellowing through the ringing in his ears. “You and Avalanche always acted like you were better than ol’ Fred Dukes, gangin’ up on me all the time. Well, I danced on both of your graves, didn’t I? I’m glad you died like you did. Mr. Smart Fancy-pants, wasting away to nothing. It was funny!” Blob was towering over him, fists clenched. Pyro raised his wrist and sent a jet of flame up at the man, mentally intensifying it enough to hurt as he darted for the door.

“Augh! Pyro, you asshole,” Blob roared, slapping at the flames on his clothing. They’d keep right on burning if Pyro wanted them to, and he had half a mind to let them. Why not have a pig roast right there on the beach? But in another moment he shook his head and let the fire gutter out. Perhaps a mistake, as Fred charged out through the door.

“Don’t think you’re getting away, you skinny little fucker.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Freddie, just getting myself a little more room,” Pyro said through clenched teeth. “Go ahead and come at me if ya wanna get burned again.”

Apparently Blob did wanna get burned again, because he ran at Pyro, arm raised to swing. Pyro shot out another blast of fire at Dukes as he dove out of his path. Blob tried to duck, but it was hard dodge fire that Pyro could mentally send wherever he pleased. That was one advantage he’d always enjoyed over the fire-producing mutants. This time it singed Blob’s eyebrows and licked at his shoulders. Blob howled.

“Cut that shit out!”

“What, so you can hit me again? Ya know, this is why no one likes you, Blob! You’re always flying off the handle. Gotta turn everything into some big fight. I was tryin’ ta be friendly, coming here- “

“Bullshit! You didn’t come here for me, you came here for news. You wanted to know if your boyfriend hated ya after what you did. You only came to me because I’m the only one here who was with the group when it all went down. The only one let alive, anyway.”

“I came to you ‘cause I wanted to drink with ya, Blob. And you started acting like a dick, like ya always do!” Pyro protested, although he couldn’t quite suppress a guilty twinge. Blob wasn’t entirely wrong…and if Avalanche was alive again, it probably would have taken him even longer to get around to visiting Dukes.

“You’re the one who started getting all hot under the collar when I was just tryin’ ta talk to ya! But I ain’t surprised, I know where I rate! None of you assholes give a shit about me!” Blob charged again. Pyro sent more fire swirling towards him.

“You wanna keep getting singed, Freddie, I could do this all da – oof!” Pyro grunted as Blob ran right through the fire and slammed into him, shoulder first, knocking him back into the well-tended vegetable garden.

“Pyro, you jerk, I worked on that for weeks!”

“Ya knocked me right into it, ya stupid wanker!” Pyro jumped to his feet, brushing ruined squash and pumpkin off his uniform. “I’ve been pulling punches, but if you come at me again, I will absolutely barbeque you, you fat piece of shit. Then you can wait in line for resurrection behind all the people that actually deserve to be alive and breathing right now!”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me gone, and you all alone with your precious Dominic and your new X-Men friends. I know you wouldn’t miss me. Nobody would! Ya know I tried to kill myself, back when I lost my powers? And who was there for me? No one, that’s who!”

“….ya tried to kill yourself?” Pyro paused for a moment. Dropping his guard was a mistake, as Blob charged again and belly-slammed him several feet away. It might have done some damage if he hit a tree, but luckily he just rolled on the soft sand.

“Freddie, wait, what’s this about – “

“It was a fucking nightmare. I had huge folds of skin hanging off my body. I looked like….like melted wax or something. Couldn’t go out. Couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. It hurt just to move. I tried…tried to cut my own throat, and I couldn’t even get through the skin. And none of the Brotherhood lifted a goddamn finger to help me! You had Dominic holdin’ your hand and cryin’ over ya, ya think anyone spared a thought for me?!”

Pyro clambered to his feet, feeling uncomfortable. Angry Blob he was used to. People called Pyro a hothead (and maybe it was just a little bit true), but anger seemed to constantly run under the surface with Fred, coloring every interaction – snide remarks during briefings, playful banter quickly turning into explosive outbursts, laughter that always had a cruel undertone, always at someone else’s expense. But this was new. Fred’s voice was shaky, threatening to crack.

“Freddie, are ya serious? Look mate, I didn’t know. I was – “ Dead, he was about to say. But they were interrupted as a sudden telekinetic force lifted Pyro off his feet, leaving him flailing uselessly in the air.

“The fuck?” Blob slurred. Something was tugging at him, a psychic force attempting to lift him skyward. Attempting, and failing, as he remained solidly on the ground.

“Haw! Who’s tryin’ ta lift me?” he laughed, digging his feet into the sand for good measure. “Ya must be really stupid, whoever you are!”

The pressure around Blob increased, and the sand at his feet flattened as Blob pushed down with his personal gravity field.

“Keep tryin’, Chuckles! That tickles!” Blob yelled.

“Hey, whoever you are? You wanna put me the hell down?” Pyro called out, from a good six feet in the air. “Unless you wanna see me blow chunks all over this beautiful beach.” He’d been tipped partially upside-down, which was really not helping his drunken nausea.

“All right, that’s enough, lad. We’re just here to break it up, and it’s broken up.” Banshee stepped out of the jungle, accompanied by a scowling boy with pink hair that Pyro didn’t recognize.

“Aww, are you the one tryin’ ta lift me off the ground?” Blob cooed nastily. “That’s cute. Nice effort, kiddo, but ya obviously didn’t do your homework. Nothing moves the Blob!”

“I could telekinetically hurl you into the sun, you simple-minded tub of lard,” the boy snapped. “I’m only holding back because of Krakoan rules. But by all means, feel free to try my patience.”

“Try my patience?” Pyro repeated incredulously. “Hey Freddie, this kid thinks he’s Magneto or something. Simmer down, junior.” Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to be mocking the mutant who was telekinetically holding him suspended in the air, but booze had ruined Pyro’s already less-than-stellar decision making skills.

“It’s Kid Omega,” the boy corrected, and whatever he wanted to say next was drowned out by Pyro and Blob’s obnoxious, jeering laughter.

“Kid Omega, you’ve gotta be bloody kidding me! That’s so adorable!” Pyro stopped laughing as the boy bounced him up and down in the air a few times. “Seriously, ya don’t wanna do that. I’m gonna – “ he interrupted himself by spewing wine and stomach fluids all over the ground below him.

“Gross, dude,” Blob said casually.

“Listen, we’re here because you boys are causing a public disturbance,” Banshee said, hands on his hips. “Remember, you’re expected to follow certain rules and keep the peace if you wanna stay on Krakoa. Pyro, I thought you might be better than this since you joined Kate’s crew, but I guess you’re still just as dumb and violent as always. I don’t think Storm’ll be pleased to hear about this.”

“Aww, c’mon mate, “ Pyro sputtered, still trying to spit the taste of bile and sour grapes out of his mouth. The wine wasn’t nearly as good coming back up, and his stomach was roiling. “It was just a little scuffle that got outta hand. We weren’t hurting anyone. ‘Cept each other.”

“Oooooh, you’re in trouble now, Pyro! Banshee’s gonna tell on you,” Blob drawled. “Then they might kick you out of their little heroes club.”

“Piss off, Freddie.” Pyro would never, ever admit to that particular fear, buried deep under a shit-ton of apathy and forced bravado. He honestly kind of liked the Marauder crew, despite having tangled with most of them in the past (although in some respects, he really liked them more because of that.) He knew he had the reputation of being the loose cannon of the group, given how frequently he was reminded not to kill (as if Sabretooth’s horrific fate wasn’t enough of a deterrent), but he was following all their bloody rules, wasn’t he? He wasn’t keen on getting thrown out. He’d go stir crazy on the island without a way to burn off all his energy with “a bit of the old ultraviolence.”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook either, Blob,” Banshee said sternly.

“Awww, whattaya gonna do? Use Lady Mastermind to force me to be a good boy?” This apparently struck a nerve, as Banshee blanched for a moment. He’d have to ask Blob about that later.

“Maybe we should, if that’s what it takes for morons like you to behave yourselves,” said the kid snidely. “No wonder the cause of mutant rights never got anywhere before if it was championed by you two losers.”

“Hey, I ain’t gonna listen to any lip from some brat that hasn’t even grown pubes yet,” Blob snarled. “I was out busting my ass for mutant rights while you were getting conceived behind a bowling alley at 3 AM!”

Pyro was about to chime in with something equally nasty, when suddenly his entire world shifted. The beach disappeared, and he was floating with the vastness of space stretched out before him. Stars and planets that he had never seen, that he couldn’t even conceive of, glittered in impossible colors against the darkness, and it would have been extremely cool, if not for two unfortunate facts. One – he couldn’t breathe, and his lungs spasmed and choked in a horribly familiar way when he tried. Two – it was cold. It soaked through his skin, into his bones, seeming to devour him from the inside.

And then, just as suddenly, he was back on the island, still shivering in the tropical heat, taking deep breaths of the moist air scented with the ocean, the faint perfume of nearby flowers, and the strong scent of sour wine. He’d been dropped onto the sand, and was lying in his own vomit. Well, he’d always said it wasn’t a good night if you didn’t puke on yourself at some point.

“Whoa, that was a hell of a thing,” Blob stammered, still shaking as Pyro sat up.

“All right, boyo, that’s enough. I’m not sure what you did, but I’m sure they deserved it,” Banshee said briskly, putting a hand on Kid Omega’s shoulder.

“I made a universe in my own mind, you know. And I can put people there anytime. So don’t piss me off,” the boy said, staring daggers at Blob.

“Yeah, yeah, nice tricks, pink hair,” Blob waved his hand dismissively, quickly recovered from the ordeal. “I used to work with a guy who can do illusions. You’re nothing I ain’t seen before.”

“I’m Omega level!” the boy snapped, as Banshee just shook his head.

“i’M oMeGa LeVeL!” Blob mocked, and Pyro couldn’t stop himself from snickering.

“Forget it, lad, they’re not worth it. They’re just drunk and stupid. Very, very stupid, “ Banshee said. “I’m giving you idiots your one warning, got it? If I have to come back out here, you’re gonna spend the night in the drunk tank – which is NOT built for comfort – and spend all day doin’ community service tomorrow. There’s bathrooms to be cleaned, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, message received. We’ll be good,” Pyro said. He almost wanted to apologize, it was right on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words in front of that posturing little brat. Banshee he could respect, but not this pissant half his age that thought he was the next Big Thing for mutantkind. There was always one of them running around.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t wanna keep junior here up past his bedtime,” Blob added. “He’s obviously already cranky.”

“Shut it, or I’ll let him put your minds through a telepathic blender,” Banshee snapped, but he grabbed the boy by the arm, and walked off into the jungle. There was a quiet moment, while Pyro staggered none too steadily around, gathering up the wine bottle and their respective glasses (or pots), then collapsed against Blob’s side. He needed something to wash the taste of stomach acid out of his mouth. And besides, throwing up meant he was entitled to more – it was like hitting the reset button on intoxication, right? He could feel Blob quivering against him, and realized after a moment that the man was shaking with laughter.

“Can….can you believe that little twerp,” Blob gasped. “Strutting around with his boots and leather jacket like he’s hot shit. Oooo, look at me, I’m Kid Omega!”

“I think pink hair is a substitute for having a personality!” Pyro chimed in. “Probably jerks off to…..I dunno, what are kids into these days? Is it still Harry Potter? NSYNC?”

“Fortnite? I think?”

“What the fuck is Fortnite?” Blob shrugged in response.

“Christ, Freddie, we really are over the hill.” Pyro shook his head and filled Blob’s stew-pot to the brim.

“Well, you ain’t. You missed some years an’ I’m pretty sure they brought you back younger. You’re missing some lines there.”

“Missing scars, too.” Pyro stretched his arms out in front of him, as if he could see through the spandex. Underneath, they were disturbingly smooth, no trace of the marks life had left on him. Like Blob’s skin, which was almost impossible to pierce. But he probably had scars hidden somewhere.

“Hey, Freddie.”

“Yeah, string bean?”

“About that whole….suicide thing. What you said earlier. You wanna talk about it?” Blob shifted against him.

“Nah, it…it wasn’t really such a big thing. Just went through a rough patch, is all. You know me, I can bounce back from anything. That’s why I made it so long. I was kicking up shit way back in the day, and I’m still kicking now. No need to resurrect the Blob,” he finished proudly.

“Yeah, you got me there. Me, and a lot of others.”

“Too many.” Blob shook his head. “I been waiting forever for Unus to come back, but seems like he’s low on the list. Most of us are. Same old story.”

“Yeah.” Pyro had asked Mystique when Avalanche’s turn would come, but she couldn’t give him a clear answer – given that Destiny hadn’t been resurrected yet, it seemed like she didn’t have a huge amount of power over those decisions, despite her position on the Council. Would former terrorist criminals come before or after the millions of mutants that had died at Genosha? Meanwhile other Council members’ family and friends got pushed to the front of the line, and Magneto couldn’t be bothered to stand up for people like Avalanche and Unus and the old Mastermind – but he’d still brought back several of his Acolytes (even Fabian Cortez, who, according to what Frezny had told him over a couple of drinks, was the absolute worst.) Of course Magneto would bring back fanatics that worshiped the ground he walked on. He couldn’t completely quiet the fear that lingered in the back of his mind – that this whole thing would eventually fall apart, before certain people came back.

“I guess I was lucky to be a guinea pig after all, otherwise I’d probably be at the back of the line somewhere.”

“Fuck it, man, it’s all political. They just bring back their people, or the ones they think’ll be useful. I’m lucky I ain’t croaked,” Blob sighed.

“They’d bring ya back, Freddie. You’re one of a kind. Look, mate, I’m sorry about what I said. That no one likes ya. It’s not true. I like ya. Toad likes ya. Dom liked ya, even though you picked fights all the time. I’m glad you’re here and not dead.” Pyro wasn’t sure why he was being so generous after some of the crap that Fred had said, but to hell with it. He was probably feeling soft ‘cause of the whole “suicide” thing. And when it came down to it, he didn’t have that many friends – and his very closest one was still dead. May as well appreciate the ones that weren’t six feet under.

“Only picked fights ‘cause you guys were always looking down on me, acting like your powers were so much better,” Blob grumbled.

“We only did that because you were always throwing your weight around, pretendin’ you were too good to follow Mystique’s orders, bein’ nasty to everyone – “ Pyro abruptly stopped, biting his tongue. This wasn’t where he wanted this conversation to go, and he was still just sober enough to remember Banshee’s threat if another fight broke out. He sighed deeply, then poured Fred another generous serving of wine.

“Fuck, Fred, let’s not do this. We’ve been through some shit together, yeah? We all acted like dicks sometimes back in the day, but it doesn’t really matter now. I’m sorry I said you were a fat piece of shit.” ��

“Well, I kinda am, ain’t I?”

“If you’re a fat piece of shit, I’m a skinny piece of shit. None of us are exactly saints in the Brotherhood.”

“You’re a saint. It’s right in your name.” Blob poked at him clumsily.

“Yeah, real ironic, that. Gran wanted a good Christian name so I’d be good Christian lad. Buckley’s chance of that.”

“You get real Aussie when you’re drunk, ya know that. Can’t barely understand ya.” Blob was starting to slur now, having gone through the equivalent of several vats of wine at this point. “But hey man, I’m sorry I said that I was glad you died. I mean, I was glad right when it happened. I was mad at you ‘cause of Post. But it was a shitty way to go, wasting away like that. You didn’t deserve that. Gettin’ eaten up inside by your own power. I remember when that happened to Unus. He…he died right in my arms, man.” Blob’s voice sounded shaky again. Pyro reached up and patted his side – somewhere below the armpit, since he couldn’t reach huge man’s shoulder.

“Sorry, Freddie. I’m sure Unus didn’t deserve that, either.” Pyro had never met the force-field wielding mutant, but he’d heard stories when Blob was feeling especially drunk and sentimental. But he didn’t think he’d ever seen this kind of raw vulnerability from Fred J Dukes before. He’d blame the wine – stupid wizard probably cursed it with a sadness spell or something. Get the mutants to drop their guard by making them all soppy.

“He sure as hell didn’t.” Blob actually reached up and rubbed his forearm over his eyes, and Pryo diplomatically pretended not to notice. “I miss him, man. He was a real stand-up guy, you know, for a criminal piece of garbage, and he didn’t let anyone push him around. Don’t think I’ve ever clicked with anyone like him. And now they’re danglin’ this resurrection thing in front of us, and who knows if they’ll ever get around to him? Must be worse for you, with Dominic, right man?”

“I sure as fuck miss him,” Pyro admitted, downing another glass. “He’s my best mate.”

“Hey look, man, what I said earlier, I wasn’t tryin’ ta –“

“Freddie, I really don’t wanna talk about it.” Pyro abruptly found himself pinned as Blob swung an arm down around him, holding him pressed against his side. “What the hell, Freddie, are you tryin’ ta flirt, now?”

“No man, just listen. Listen, listen man, shhh, listen,” Blob said in what he probably thought was a soothing whisper, while Pyro pushed uselessly against him. “I don’t wanna start another fight, but I got stuff I wanna say. I wasn’t tryin’ ta be a jerk before, okay? When I brought it up. I just wanted to say that, you know….we knew. We ain’t that dumb, and you guys weren’t that slick. We figured out you were – “

“Don’t say it, okay?” Pyro snapped.

“Fine, but dude. Listen. We don’t care. That’s the important thing here. I mean, we probably cared a little back in the day. I admit I made some pretty shitty jokes, but, you know, times were different. I mean, ‘homo’ was the worst thing you could be back when I was growin’ up. Until mutants started becoming a thing, of course.”

“Yeah, same here,” Pyro muttered. Apparently this conversation was happening whether he liked it or not. He downed more wine to try to stop his insides from twisting up.

“But everything’s like, different now. Most people don’t give a shit anymore. Including most of us in the Brotherhood. I mean, it was stupid to ever care in the first place. We’re already a group of outcast criminals, and we’re gonna judge you guys for wanting to bang each other? It’s cool if you don’t wanna make out in public or get married or anything, but you don’t haveta sneak around anymore. I’m cool with it, Toad’s cool with it. I think ‘Tazia had you figured for gay even before Avalanche came back. ‘Cause you weren’t drooling over her like Toad an me.”

“She was a perceptive one.” Pyro wondered for a moment whatever had happened to Eileen. She had been close-mouthed about her past – and Pyro could respect that – but extremely intelligent, and fun to talk to.

“The point is, it’s a brave new world and all that. Dudes are marrying each other, chicks are marrying each other. There’s a whole show starring drag queens that’s run for like, 10 years or something. It’s all mainstream now. I mean, I still don’t get it. Making out with another dude sounds gross to me. But I ain’t got no problem with other people doing it.”

“That’s real decent of you, Fred,” Pyro said, and he wasn’t totally sure if he was being sarcastic. This was a surprisingly heartfelt comment coming from Dukes. “You spend a lot of time writin’ that speech up?”

“I’m tryin’ ta be nice here, okay, matchstick? And I’m just sick of you pretendin’ ta be straight, an’ me havin’ to pretend I don’t know.” He trailed off, and gulped down his pot of wine, finally releasing Pyro from his grip.

“Fair ‘nuff,” Pryo conceded. Even though actually dragging all this out into the open felt horribly uncomfortable. Exposed. “Don’t expect me to do some big ‘coming out,’ thing or wear a rainbow or any of that crap, though. I’m not into that. My private life is my private life, right? I’ll just….stop trying so hard to hide it, you know?”

He’d already started to relax his guard a little in front of the Marauders, even picking up a guy at one of the bars that Iceman always dragged them to – although he’d waited until Storm and Bishop had left for the night, and Kate and Iceman seemed too drunk to notice. Iceman seemed to think Pyro was straight, as he’d asked him, with a mix of nervousness and defiance, if he “minded” the first night they went to a gay bar. That probably would have been the time to say it, if Pyro was a little braver, but instead he’d just shrugged and said, “No worries,” like a good tolerant fellow. Of course they wouldn’t care. For all he knew, maybe none of them were straight. He’d seen Kate give sideways glances to girls, Storm and Calisto seemed to have some chemistry between them, Bishop never seemed to mind men hitting on him at clubs. But still. A literal lifetime ago, he’d been afraid of getting his teeth kicked in, or worse. Things were different now, but actually coming out and saying it….it was not so much baring his chest, more like stripping completely naked and handing the other person a knife.

“Hey, fine. Do what ya want. But I’m still gonna make fun of you and Dom if you get all lovey-dovey in front of us. Not because it’s gay, just because I hate that hearts and flowers crap.”

“I would expect nothing less, Blobbo.” Pryo took another long drink of wine, refilled his glass and downed it again, until the tension eased out of his spine.

He supposed it had been stupid to assume that no one noticed. Everyone living in close quarters, both in Brotherhood safehouses and government facilities (not to mention prison). They’d all known. Had they gossiped about him? Laughed behind his back? Been disgusted?

But then, Toad and Phantazia had both hovered over him protectively in the first stages of his illness, when they were all on Empyrean’s private island together. Toad had even talked about how glad he was that Avalanche could be “there for him,” and wow, there was probably a coded message that Pyro had been too dense at the time to pick up on. Mystique was certainly not one to judge, and she’d figured him out ages ago. And if Fred Dukes, of all people, was accepting, then…well, it was probably okay, wasn’t it?

“Hey, matchstick.”

“Yeah, Freddie?”

“You and Dom. Who tops? Be honest, ‘cause I got money riding on this.”

“Shit, Freddie, I gotta be way drunker for this conversation.” And he poured again. The bottle continued to oblige.

When he opened his eyes a crack, the sun pierced right through to stab into his brain. Pyro groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again, bringing one arm up clumsily to better block out the light. He felt like utter shit, and that realization caused a sharp spike of alarm in his chest.

Sick. I’m sick again.

Or maybe he’d always been sick. Because it was all too good to be true, wasn’t it? Dying like a hero, coming back to life on this magical island where mutants from all sides of the political divide were having nonstop raves and orgies, getting to sail around and play pirate with the X-Men, who accepted him as a team-mate without question. How could that possibly be real? Wasn’t it more likely that this was all just the fever dream of a dying man, still lingering comatose in a hospital somewhere?

Except Pyro realized in a moment that he was lying on sand, with ocean waves creating a comforting rhythm just at the edge of his hearing. And the pain he was feeling wasn’t quite the same as what the Legacy Virus had done to him. His head was pounding like a drum, he ached all over, and he was fairly certain he wouldn’t get through the morning without barfing at least once – but he could breathe without pain. He sucked in a deep, cool breath and slowly let it out again. No coughing, no burning in his lungs, no constricting weight on his chest.

This wasn’t Legacy, it was a very familiar kind of suffering. One he’d inflicted on himself many times before.

“Heya, toothpick!” Blob’s voice boomed cheerfully in his ear. “Had a little too much last night, huh?”

“Uggghhhhh…..fuck off, Fred,” Pyro mumbled, trying to roll away from the sound of his voice. Moving made his stomach flip-flop, and he stopped for a moment.

“Haw, haw, ya shouldna tried to keep with me, ya scrawny little light-weight,” Blob guffawed, but he didn’t sound as mean as usual. Pyro feel something cool being pressed against his face.

“Here man, drink this and come back to life.” He opened his eyes again, wincing, and accepted the water bottle that Blob was holding out to him.

“Probably gonna take a few of these, Fred,” Pyro said, carefully sitting up, pausing for a moment to swallow saliva and wait for his stomach to hopefully quiet itself. Then he began sipping the water cautiously.

“You’ll probably need a couple of these, too,” Blob offered, slipping him some aspirin.

“Thanks, mate, right neighborly of ya. You’re in a good mood this mornin’ aint ya?” He swallowed the aspirin and gulped down more water.

“Well, I actually was smart enough to drink water last night, so I didn’t totally wreck myself. Plus I never get hit too hard with hang-overs. Got all this extra body mass cushioning me.” He laughed again, slapping at his belly. “Besides, it was hilarious watching you last night. You were trashed, man.”

“Well, I had good company, didn’t I?” Pyro looked around, squinting in the bright morning light. He’d wound up sleeping sprawled out on the sand at the edge of the jungle, just a few feet away from Blob’s hut, thankfully some distance away from the puddle of vomit he’d left the previous night. He remembered that part clearly – the fight, the encounter with Banshee and that little pink-haired shit acting as Krakoa’s rent-a-cops, some of the heartfelt conversation that had followed. And then, the night dissolved into a dream-like haze. Well, they weren’t locked up in the drunk tank, so they must not have gotten in any more trouble.

“Least I know how to handle my liquor,” Blob chuckled. “You wanna shower, toothpick? You smell like something Wolverine rolled in.” Pyro grimaced as he realized that the sour aroma of dried puke and smashed pumpkin was wafting up around him.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

He spent a good twenty minutes in the shower, using Blob’s surprisingly luxurious bath products, then gave his uniform a thorough scrubbing, and fire-dried it. He’d get a clean one from the Marauder later, but he didn’t feel like sitting around smelling like garbage in the meantime.

Vague images kept floating up out of the haze while he washed, little snippets of memories dissolved in wine.

…..Blob putting the stew pot over his head and fastening a curtain around his shoulders, staggering around shouting, “To me, my Brotherhood! Throw yourself under the bus for mutant rights! I’m a self-important jackass and I don’t actually care about any of you, my loyal soldiers!” while Pyro rolled around in the sand laughing hysterically…….

……Pyro splashing into the waves, yelling back at Blob, “I’m gonna do it, you’ll see! I’m gonna fight one a’ them sharks with my bare hands, then fry up it for dinner! We’re gonna have a barbeque right on the beach, yeah.” Blob was bellowing laughter while pulling him back with one hand, so that he was helplessly flailing around, swimming in place. “C’mon mate, I can do it! Aussies aren’t scared of sharks! We’ll kick the shit out of any animal!” “C’mon dumbass, this won’t be nearly so funny if you drown,” and then he was being hauled back up onto the beach……

…..then he was draped across the stomach of a maudlin Blob, who wasn’t even bothering to hide the tears that dripped down his cheeks. “It’s just….what am I if I’m not the Blob, right? You’ve got those stupid books, but what have I got? I mean, I’m nothing without my powers. I tried to make it work back then, I really did. Got my own reality show, got real popular in Japan, but it just wasn’t enough. I was miserable not bein’ the Blob.” Pyro was patting at Blob’s stomach, almost kneading it like a cat, in what he probably had thought was a comforting manner at the time, muttering encouraging nonsense,” Nah, Freddie, c’mon mate, you’ve got lots to offer, you got a big heart and a big personality……”

….then the two of them were chucking the last of Blob’s squash and pumpkins at the trees. For some reason they were both singing “Highway to the Danger Zone” at the top of their lungs……

Pyro just sighed and tried to blink it all away. It wasn’t actually the worst drunk memories he had. At least neither of them had gotten naked. He hoped.

“Hey man, you took your sweet time. You jerking off in there?” Blob said as he emerged, piling eggs and bacon onto a plate and passing it to him. Luckily his stomach had settled a great deal by then.

“Nah, I wouldn’t be so crass, Freddy. I only jerk off in my own shower.”

“Guess it’s not as much fun without Avalanche, huh?” And Blob actually winked at him.

Pyro opened his mouth to snap back at Dukes, to tell him to shut up and mind his own damn business. Then closed it again, because he couldn’t actually detect any malice in the other man’s tone. Not needling him, just…playful joking, in Blob’s own crass way.

Instead, he just shrugged and grinned. “Guess so. Thanks heaps for the food, Freddie. And the bloody aspirin, I really needed that.”

“Well, what can I say, I know my manners. I’m a hospitable guy,” Blob chuckled, sitting down to his own breakfast. “Besides, it’s the least I can do after what you gave me.”

Pyro paused with the fork mid-way up to his mouth, thinking back. What had he given him, besides a whole fuckton of wine?

“’Fraid I don’t quite remember what you’re referring to there,” he said cautiously. Had he promised his services or something? Given up some of the booty he’d stashed from raids with the Marauders? (He didn’t feel at all bad about that, as the captain herself was actively encouraging them to take as much booze and money as they pleased.)

“The wine.” Blob jerked a thumb over to the shelf on the wall, where the bottle sat surrounded by little ornaments, as if occupying a place of honor.

“Oh yeah, well I’m always glad to share – “

“No man, the whole bottle. You gave me the bottle.”

Pyro’s fork slipped out of his hand. Fuck. Fuck! He hadn’t. Surely he hadn’t been so stupid as to give up a priceless treasure like that, just because ol’ Blob had gotten a little weepy last night. Surely not.

“Oh hell, I didn’t really, did I?”

“You did! You insisted.”

And much as he wanted to deny it, there was a memory creeping back into his mind. Himself, holding the bottle up to Fred with a grandiose air, waxing poetic about how he would be Krakoa’s Dionysus, Life of the Party, Keeper of the Mysteries, and the other mutants would frolic around him like the Maenads. Christ, he really was a pretentious sot when he got drunk, wasn’t he? (But hey, he couldn’t help that he’d gone through a pretty heavy Greek mythology phase as a kid. It was just so interesting!)

“I….guess I might remember something like that,” he conceded hesitantly. “But that doesn’t count, does it? You can’t hold me to that! I was trashed out of my mind!”

“Not so trashed that you couldn’t blather on about a bunch of Classical bullshit!” Blob declared. “It was damned funny. And if you think I’m givin’ this bottle back to you, you’ve got another thing coming.” His tone stayed light, but a sharp gleam in his eye suggested the promise of another fight.

“C’mon Freddie, you’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“Look man, I thought this might happen. So I got video evidence. I got a message from Drunk Pyro to Sober Pyro.” He held out his cell phone.

“Fuuuuuck,” Pyro moaned, not even wanting to see. He took a side glance at the bottle, so inviting out in the open. He should just grab it and run. Instead, he heard the sound of his own voice, slurred with wine, Australian accent even thicker than usual so that he was running his words against the backs of one another.

“I, St. John Allerdyce,” the figure on the video stopped to belch, “bein’ of sound mind an’ body, do hereby bequeath this bottle of never-endin’ wine to Frederick J. Dukes, the Blob, forever an’ ever, no take backs! Be’cause…..’cause….he’s my good mate, an’ he needs somethin’ for himself, an’ I’m fulla good will tonight.” The figure was bleary-eyed and staggering, but at least he seemed to be happy, judging by the wide grin stretching his face.

“Fuckin’ hell, Drunk Pyro,” Sober Pyro groaned, laying his head in his hands. That bastard had gotten him into more scrapes than he could count.

“But!” Drunk Pyro continued on the video. “There’s….conditions. One….no….two! Two…two conditions.” He swayed for a moment, seeming to look up at the stars before pulling himself back together. “Condition the first! You gotta share the wine, Freddie. Share it like, like I’ve been…been sharing it. Bring it to all the parties. Pour for….for eeeeveryone.” He made a sweeping gesture and nearly fell over. “Condition the two! You gotta….gotta give me special access, right? I get ta come over and drink as much as I want, any time I want, yeah? No matter what!”

“I accept your conditions,” came Blob’s voice from behind the camera. Drunk Pyro grinned again.

“Then I now pronounce you man and bottle!” He crowed, holding it aloft. “You may kiss the …wait, no, don’t put your mouth directly on it. Everyone’s gotta drink that.”

“Now make it official by singing Waltzing Matilda. That’s Australia’s national anthem, right?” Blob’s voice suggested on the video.

“No, it isn’t, “ said Sober Pyro.

“Yes, mate, you’re exactly right!” exclaimed Drunk Pyro. He made it through one off-key verse and chorus before fumbling the words and collapsing to his knees, laughing.

“Hey man, thanks for this,” said Blob’s voice on the video, as a hand reached out to take the bottle from Drunk Pyro. And Blob actually sounded a bit sincere. “I really appreciate it, ya doing something like this for me.”

“Well, you’re my special mate, right? We’ve been through loads together. And I feel sooo wonderful tonight. I’m fulla…..fulla love for everybody!” Drunk Pyro spread his arms out to the stars. “The world is so bloody beautiful, yeah?”

“Who do you love, Pyro?” Blob asked from behind the camera.

“Everybody! All the little mutants, and even the humans, too! The ones that aren’t too shitty, anyway.”

“Who do you really love?” Blob asked pointedly.

For a moment, Drunk Pyro looked up at the camera in confusion, then he lit up with the nicest smile Pyro had seen on his own face in a long time. It wasn’t cruel or sarcastic, not sloppy drunk or wild with adrenaline. It was the kind of genuine, soft smile he’d described in many novels over the years.

“I love Dominic!” Pyro exclaimed, hugging arms around himself and slumping down against the sand. “I love Dom.”

“Oy, you fucker!” The video switched off abruptly as Sober Pyro made a grab at the cell-phone in Blob’s hand. “How dare you, how fucking dare you pull that shit! Fucking shit-cunt!”

“Hey man, chill out! You gave me the bottle fair and square!” Blob held the phone over his head, while Pyro began trying to clamber up him.

“Forget the bottle, I don’t care! Why would you make me say that! On video, for fucks sake? You lookin’ to blackmail me?”

“No man, no!” Blob plucked Pyro off with his other hand, and deposited him back in his chair. “That’s not what that was about! I ain’t gonna show it to anyone. Here, look, I’m deleting it. Geez.” Blob pushed a couple of buttons in his phone.

“You were tryin’ to make me say it, though, weren’t you? Why would you want me to say that?!” Pyro glowered at him over the table.

“I dunno man, I was loaded, too! I just….thought it would be nice, I guess. I thought maybe….maybe you’d feel a little better if you said it.” Blob looked confused, and again oddly vulnerable. Not mocking or mean.

“You thought I’d feel better? Seriously?” Pyro gave a breathless laugh.

“I mean….yeah, man. It’s like what we talked about last night. You’re so uptight about this shit, but no one cares anymore.”

“Fucking hell, Fred,” Pyro sighed, putting his head in his hands again. Fucking Blob. Fucking Drunk Pyro, spewing everything out into the open.

But….it probably had felt kind of good to say it in the moment, hadn’t it? All open like that? He couldn’t deny, Drunk Pyro had looked beatifically happy when he said those words, his eyes soft and gentle. Perfect for a scene in a romance, even if he was absolutely humiliated to see that expression on his own face. He supposed there was no sense in denying it. He’d said it, after all.

“Don’t spread it around about Dom, okay? I mean, I know what I am. I’ve known for a long time, and I guess I don’t mind people knowing, now that we’re all enlightened these days. But I think Dom’s still working some things out. Or at least he was.”

“Yeah, sure, man, my lips are sealed,” Blob agreed. “So, are we cool?”

“You deleted that video, right?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re gonna give me free wine whenever I want, just like you promised, yeah?”

“Of course! I’m a generous fellow, and I don’t go back on an agreement!” Blob pressed a hand against his chest, proudly.

“Then, yeah. Freddie. We’re cool.”

Notes: Apologies to poor Quentin Quire, he didn’t deserve the crap Blob and Pyro were throwing at him. I have nothing against the character, he just seemed like the kind of arrogant young hot-shot mutant that Pyro and Blob would have no respect for (even if he could absolutely destroy them).

#pyro #st. john allerdyce #blob #fred dukes

16 notes · View notes

cutiesonthehorizon · 7 years

Text

The Exorcist fic - Price of Vision part 4

Here comes another chapter. This one went through a quick beta from Starrylizard (thank you so much:) Any and all existing mistakes are my own doing. I hope you’ll enjoy. You can also find the fic on AO3 or FF.Net

Marcus heard the door to the bathroom open, but Tomas didn't reappear in the bedroom. Instead there were sounds of clinking coming from the kitchen. Frowning in puzzlement, Marcus followed the sounds, only to find Tomas rummaging through the cupboards and putting on a kettle. Marcus leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms, looking on, perplexed. "What on earth are you doing?" he asked after a moment, just as Tomas found what he was looking for. "Coffee. You want some too?" "At 3 in the morning?" "It's almost four. I usually go for a run by five," Tomas answered, holding out an empty cup questioningly. Seeing the look of reproach on Marcus' face, he just shrugged and focused on filling his own cup. "You slept for barely three hours and you are concussed. I don't think coffee and running is on your itinerary today," Marcus said, pushing himself away from the door. He crossed the space between them and pulled the cup of coffee away from Tomas. "What're you doing?" Tomas asked, flabbergasted and Marcus rolled his eyes before pouring the coffee down the drain. "Hey!" "Get a tea, for all I care. But I won't have you running around sleep deprived and hopped on caffeine." "What on earth are you talking about? I've slept all night." "Oh please," Marcus snorted at the ridiculous statement. "It is still the middle of the night." "Then go back to sleep and leave me the hell alone!" Tomas hissed and Marcus paused, only now noticing the slight shaking of the younger man's hands and the scrunched up forehead. He stayed silent, only his eyebrows rising in a mute challenge. Tomas looked at him, his own eyes clouded with shame and something that was very similar to fear. Finally he forced out a breath and shook his head. "I'm sorry. That was... uncalled for." "What are you afraid of seeing when you close your eyes, Tomas?" Marcus asked, his voice soft but the words clear and loud like a bullet piercing the air. "I'm not-" afraid, Tomas wanted to say, but realized it would be a lie. On suddenly shaky legs he made it to the couch and sat down, burying his head in his arms. Marcus sat down next to him, waiting in silence. After a moment, Tomas muttered something but Marcus didn't understand. "What was that?" "I'm afraid that I won't recognize the truth," Tomas repeated, straightening from his hunched position. "I'm afraid I'll be wrong again and someone will get killed." "You can't afford to trust these visions unreservedly," Marcus said in agreement. "But I can't afford to ignore them either," Tomas protested. "Whatever your opinion on that, the visions led me to you." Tomas paused, maybe waiting for Marcus to once again say that was a mistake, but Marcus just looked him straight in the eyes, unblinking. A little bit appeased, Tomas continued. "They helped us save the Rance family and Cindy as well. I don't know why I was wrong with Harper, maybe..." Tomas shook his head, frustrated. "Maybe I just interpreted the vision wrong." "Or maybe it didn't come from God." Marcus spoke softly and Tomas grit his teeth in frustration. "Don't you see, Marcus? I have to... I need to believe these visions are from Him. The alternative..." Tomas' voice broke and Marcus knew what he meant to say but couldn't. So he said it for him. "The alternative is that you're being manipulated by something much darker." "I can't stop them, Marcus." And wasn't that the biggest problem? "If these visions aren't from God, then I'm compromised. I don't know how to deal with that." There was such anguish in his voice that Marcus had to reach out and give Tomas' shoulder a supportive squeeze. "We'll figure it out, Tomas." 'God might've abandoned me, but I won't do the same to you,' Marcus thought silently. "Did you have a vision tonight, or was it just a nightmare?" he asked instead. Tomas sighed and shrugged. "I'm not sure anymore," he admitted. "Right now, my thoughts are all over the place. I saw Cindy's Church, then the girl without a face..." Tomas frowned, thinking about the dream and looking frustrated. "I can't put my finger on it. I was sure that girl was Harper, but now... I don't think it's her. And when I had the vision from Cindy, there was this woman rising from the mud... I don't recognize her either. It's like..." Tomas huffed, shaking his head then looking up at Marcus frustrated. "It's like pieces from several different puzzles got all mixed up. It's driving me mad, not knowing what the final picture is supposed to look like." "There's no guarantee you'll ever get the whole picture, Tomas. God works-" "-in mysterious ways, I know," Tomas finished the sentence, glad that Marcus didn't use the opportunity for another lecture. He wasn't sure he could take it right now. They sat in amenable silence for a while and Tomas's eyes started to close of their own volition. A fleeting image of a terrified Harper appeared in front of his eyes and Tomas's eyes snapped open, his body all tense. Marcus was watching him closely, hoping he might fall asleep. Seeing his reaction though he realized it wouldn't be that easy, so he changed tactics. "Ever since we met, I was wondering," Marcus started and Tomas looked up, curious. "How can you tell the difference between a dream and a vision? I know it's different when you... connect. But when you sleep?" Tomas noted the pause, but decided to ignore it in favor of answering the real question. "It just... feels different. More real." Biting his lip, Tomas gave a frustrated shake of head. "It's hard to explain." "Please, humor me," Marcus said with a grin and made himself more comfortable on the couch, reminding Tomas of a cat. Yet where a cat would ignore him, Tomas had all of the man's attention focused directly on him. Strangely, what would otherwise make him feel self-conscious and nervous, now just made him feel a little bit safer and less shaky. "When I saw you, in Mexico... I felt everything. The smell of that stuffy room, the rotting meat, felt the sweltering heat. All my senses worked and I could see every detail..." Tomas spoke, his accent getting thicker, breathing faster. Marcus tensed, not wanting to be reminded of his failings, not so soon after emerging from his own nightmares. He put a hand on Tomas's arm, pulling him back to reality. Tomas blinked and looked at him, his face paler than before. "S-sorry. I didn't think this through." "It's okay. Go on." "I was just trying to say... nightmares are different. They're more distorted; I can't really control what I am doing in them." And that was it, Tomas realized. "In visions I'm in full control of myself. It's like... in dreams, you're watching a movie. In visions, you're more of a director, but the only thing you can direct is yourself." Tomas was quiet for a moment, thinking about his answer. "Is there a difference when you wake up?" "What do you mean?" Marcus shrugged. "I don't know, you tell me. Do you feel different when you wake up from a vision instead of a dream?" It was Tomas' turn to shrug. "I don't think so. More anxious, maybe. Depends on how bad the vision is?" "And what about when you connect? What's the difference?" "Why all the questions?" Tomas asked, suddenly feeling like a bug under a microscope. It didn't help that Marcus kept looking at him as if he might sprout another head any moment. "I just want to know what to expect," Marcus said easily. "I want to know if I can let you get behind the wheel without you zoning out. I want to know if, after a vision, you're still 100 percent and ready to do the job, or if you need to regroup." Marcus changed position and was now leaning dangerously close to Tomas, giving him an intense look. "And I really want to know what letting a demon inside your mind does to you." Tomas froze as if hypnotized, then seemed to shake it off. He gave Marcus an unconvincing smile then stood up. "It does nothing to me. I'm fine. Well, except for the splitting headache, but... that's the hammer." Tomas rubbed the bridge of his nose and faked a yawn. "Think I'll try and go back to sleep." He started towards the room but Marcus grabbed his arm, trying to stop him. Normally Tomas would've just pulled away and gone to bed, but his head was already spinning and the sudden pull unbalanced him. He staggered and would've fallen but Marcus maneuvered him back down to the couch. "Sit," Marcus said commandingly, though unnecessarily. Tomas was already sitting; eyes clenched shut in an attempt to stave off the nausea. With a groan, he leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. "Sorry for that," Marcus muttered, one hand running soothingly over Tomas's neck. "Just wanted us to finish the conversation, but hadn't thought it through." "Think I'm about finished," Tomas mumbled pitifully and heard Marcus chuckle. "Far from it my lad. You're just a bit beaten up." With that, the hand left Tomas' neck, which he noted with some disappointment. It was helping him to stay grounded. Without the connection the world just became a dizzy mess. Opening his eyes didn't help either and when Marcus moved away it was Tomas who grabbed at him, trying to center himself. "Tomas? You alright?" A worried glance and a finger lifting up his chin and Tomas could only swallow in reply. Marcus realized the problem and put a steadying hand on Tomas' shoulder, giving him a minute. "Deep, slow breaths should help," he said and Tomas tried. "Hey, I said slow breaths, not to stop breathing altogether," Marcus reproached, earning a snort in reply and a whooshing sound of air. "You're bossy," Tomas muttered after a moment and Marcus chuckled. "As long as it works. Okay, why don't you lie back on the couch? Until you get back your sea legs." "I don't think moving is advisable," Tomas protested but Marcus was already pushing him down. Tomas wasn't really in a position to do anything about it. His balance was shot to hell and in the end he was glad to be lying down, blessedly still. "I'll remember this next time you get drunk," he muttered without much strength, getting an amused chuckle. "I doubt you'll remember it in the morning," Marcus replied cheekily. Tomas felt too tired to argue the point, he was right anyway. Marcus started rummaging through the kitchen just as Tomas had done earlier. Tomas wanted to look at what he was doing, or at least ask him to stop moving around so much because it was making his headache worse. That, however, would require moving from the comfortable position on the couch and risk further upset to his stomach. Knowing that curiosity killed the cat, Tomas instead tried to focus on the furniture of the motel, looking at the cracks on the table. "I doubt you're hungry, but you should eat something before taking the meds." Marcus was back and the reason for his previous movement was clear. He was holding a plate of toast and cheese in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Tomas frowned at the idea of food. "I'll pass thanks." Marcus shrugged and put the plate and the glass on the table, within Tomas' reach. Two pills appeared a minute later. "Do you feel like chatting or you want to try and sleep?" Frankly, none of the options sounded so good to Tomas. He wasn't planning on sleeping anytime soon, not if he had anything to say about it. While he knew he and Marcus needed to clear some things up and all the questions he asked were valid in their current situation, Tomas didn't feel up to answering them. Mostly because some of the answers scared him as well. "What about neither?" Tomas finally spoke and looked pleadingly at Marcus to let it go. Marcus raised an eyebrow at the look then made himself comfortable in the rather uncomfortable looking chair, facing Tomas. "Why, do you have anything better on your mind, Tomas?" Tomas groaned and said several choice words in Spanish, earning another chuckle. "Ah, tsk, tsk, Tomas," Marcus shook his head in amusement. "I've been called much worse in the first grade of school." "Somehow I doubt you let it slide then," Tomas retorted and turned to lie on his back, looking up at the ceiling. "Well, I was a scrawny kid back then," Marcus admitted, "but I quickly learned how to throw punches. So yeah, Billy Dickens really regretted learning those words from his older brother." Marcus remembered the short-lived feeling of victory when he managed to tackle the kid that was a head taller than him to the ground. He could still feel the sensation of his knuckles hitting Billy straight in the nose and seeing the impressed looks of the other kids. For a minute, Marcus felt really strong and fearless. That was until he got home and found out that the school called his parents. The hiding he got still made him cringe. "When I got home I regretted throwing that punch even more," Marcus said softly and Tomas wanted to say how sorry he was, for bringing up the memory, for the fact Marcus had such a shitty childhood, for everything. But instead he bit his lip, because he knew Marcus wouldn't appreciate the sentiment, not now. "What about you, Tomas?" Marcus spoke suddenly, trying to think about anything but his own past. "Me?" "Yes. We're on the road for more than six months and I still don't know whether you were a geek or a rebel at school." This time it was Tomas that raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me if I was acting out at school?" "Well, you refuse to talk about your 'gift', so yeah. I'd like to learn more about you." "I don't refuse to talk about 'it', just... not now." Tomas swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and gave Marcus a pleading look. The older man sighed. "So, were you a school president or were you a heartbreaker?" Tomas had to chuckle at the options. "I think... none?" "Now that's hard to believe," Marcus said with a grin and Tomas gave a small shrug. "I mostly kept to my studies. Had to keep good grades so I could get into the seminary. Though I loved to play soccer." "When did you know you wanted to become a priest?" Marcus asked with a frown. "I'm not sure..." Tomas said, his brow furrowed. "I think Abuelita was telling me about it ever since I went to live with her. You know how important faith is to us Mexicans," Tomas gave a slight shrug and a smile. "How old were you when you were sent to Mexico?" "Six. Our parents just divorced and mom couldn't take care of both Olivia and me. Abuelita offered to take care of me instead." "That must've been though," Marcus said, his voice soft."To leave your sister and mother at such a young age." Marcus knew how hard it was to have your life ripped away from you at such a tender age. He still had the scars that he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, never mind Tomas. "It wasn't bad," Tomas said, for a second catching the glimpse of a lost boy in Marcus' eyes and wishing to chase it away. "I got to talk with them every week on the phone and Olivia used to spend her summer holidays in Mexico with me and Abuelita. It was... it was the best mom could do." "Did you ever ask why it was you she sent you away?" Marcus knew he shouldn't ask, shouldn't stir up the pot, but he wanted to know. Wanted to make sure that Tomas knew the reasoning. "Oh, I asked that a lot of times." Tomas chuckled and Marcus was glad to hear no contempt in the sound, only amusement. "I was six, so you can imagine. I swear the first month I made Abuelita absolutely crazy with all my questions." "What, you being annoying? I can't even imagine," Marcus quipped, earning a lighthearted glare. "Mom didn't have a lot of money. She already worked two jobs when our father just up and left her. I still had a year 'til school and Olivia was already enrolled. There was no one to stay at home with me. For a while mom tried, but... it was hard and we were often without food, all the money going to rent." Tomas shrugged at the old history. He seemed to already have made his peace with it and Marcus was happy for that. "She got sick one day and couldn't get to work for several days. She called Abuelita for help and she came. When she saw how we were living... she offered to take me in." "Why didn't she take Olivia too?" "Mom wouldn't let her, really. And Olivia didn't want to leave Chicago either. She had her friends there, school. And I've always had a suspicion that Abuelita took me in so she could raise me as a proper Christian," Tomas said with a fond smile."Something about growing up to be a better man than my father could ever be." "Well, you might not become the next Mexican Pope, but I'm pretty sure you're already a better man than your father ever was," Marcus said and Tomas turned his head to look at him, taken aback by the statement. "You really think that?" There was surprise in his voice and Marcus frowned at the question, giving a slight nod. "Even after what happened with Harper?" Marcus sighed and shook his head, his eyes fixed on Tomas. "You acted brashly," Marcus admitted. "...and it could've had deadly repercussions, I'll admit that. But..." Marcus made sure he had Tomas' full attention, before he continued. "You did what you thought was right. In the end, we got her out of the house, which is the most important thing. I might've felt like whacking you over the head once or twice myself in the process, but I would've used rolled up newspaper instead," he finished with a grin and Tomas snorted, closing his eyes momentarily as the sound reverberated through his skull. "I'd have preferred the newspaper, it would've definitely hurt less," he admitted sheepishly and Marcus chuckled. "I'm hoping next time you will trust my gut instinct more than some nightmare." The levity was gone as quickly as it came and Tomas grimaced. "It was a vision... and it told me that Harper needed help. At least, that's what I thought." "And what are you thinking now, Tomas?" If that wasn't the million-dollar question. "Why would some demon want me there? We saved Harper... what good is that to a demon?" "You think the vision came from God? Why would He want you to exorcise Harper?" There was logic hidden in the design, logic Tomas was trying to figure out but it was early morning and his mind didn't work right yet. Marcus took pity on him. "How would you have felt if we did the exorcism and it caused irreparable damage to Harper? You are already feeling guilty... how do you think you would've felt if she'd died because you listened to your vision?" 'How do you think I feel every time I think about Gabriel?' Marcus thought to himself. Tomas looked at Marcus, his eyes suddenly misty and full of pain and doubt. "That... didn't happen." "No, it didn't. We were lucky. But we might not be lucky next time, Tomas. You need to be wary of the visions and letting demons inside your head," Marcus said, internally cringing at how much this sounded like a lecture. Seeing the stricken look on the younger man's face, he just had to ease the mood a bit. "Besides, I'd hate to be looking for a new exorcist to train. Got quite used to your quirks and strange fitness habits." "Going for a run at five in the morning isn't that strange," Tomas protested half-heartedly, but felt relieved that Marcus wasn't about to up and leave in search of a new partner. "And you're one to speak about strange habits... drawing birds in your bible and breaking into apartments." "You're just jealous that I can pick a lock so effortlessly." Marcus snorted with a shit eating grin and Tomas relaxed back on the couch. "As if that is something to be proud of." "You never know when you'll need to break through some doors," Marcus noted. "I was already planning to teach you lock picking, we can start after we get some good sleep." "So like... not in the near future?" Tomas thought he might never sleep well again, though maybe it was just the concussion speaking. "Smart-ass. I'll teach you tomorrow." "Can't wait," Tomas muttered, unsure how that lesson would go. "Where did you even learn how to pick a lock?" "One can learn a lot of things in a home for boys," Marcus said as he remembered the incident that led him to learn this particular skill. It was one of the more innocent ones and a soft smile played on his lips. "Pray tell," Tomas asked, barely holding in a yawn. Marcus noted his drooping eyes and with a shrug started recalling the story of how he and another boy got locked in a room during a midnight raid on the pantry and how he got his first lesson in lock picking. By the time he finished, Tomas was breathing softly, eyes closed and face relaxed. Marcus looked at him fondly, holding in a chuckle at the fact he just essentially put one Father Tomas Ortega to sleep with a bedtime story. Getting out of the chair, he stretched and winced when he heard several bones pop, but Tomas didn't notice. Marcus went into their room and grabbed a blanket, then threw it over the sleeping form on the couch. Looking out the window and seeing it was still dark outside, he decided that maybe getting more sleep wasn't such a bad idea after all.

#the exorcist #my fic #the price of vision #new chapter #tomas ortega #marcus keane #season 2 missing scene #renew the exorcist #hurt-comfort

8 notes · View notes