5284FIC: Some Friends Aren't Friends
- Aug 19, 2003The Love Letters Series, Part 1: Friendship�s
Sacrifice, Part 2: One of Those Dreams. Part 3 is
where a plot actually develops, and John actually gets
to be involved in the action of the story.
Title: Some Friends Aren�t Friends
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am getting no money, I am
no threat, please don�t sue me.
Summary: Captured by the anti-mutant Friends of
Humanity, John writes to Marie so he can die with his
A/N: I used the challenge �St. John Allerdyce-
Ecstatic- Pencil� this time. The random set once
again generated by http://www.dymphna.net/challenge/ .
John Allerdyce walked along the street, carrying his
grocery bag. Mutant terrorists or not the Brotherhood
still needed milk, eggs and bread. The brown paper
bag balanced against his hip John flicked his lighter
on and flipped it shut in his usual manner.
Floosh�click, Floosh�click, Floosh �click.
�Dirty Mutie� was a snarled comment behind him. Some
kid, about John�s own age had a teenage girl with
green hair and a spiked collar trapped between his
arms and the wall of a house. Tears streamed down her
face. Her eyes caught his, pleading with him to help
her. John was not heartless; he couldn�t let this go
on. He put down his bag and made big strides across
�I�m not a mutant. It�s hair dye.� whimpered the girl.
�Not a mutant� The boy only smiled coldly. He wasn�t
going to stop, it didn�t matter if it was because he
didn�t believe her or if he did but didn�t care.
�You want a mutant? You got one� Pyro pushed the boy
against the ribs knocking him off the girl. The kid
looked up at his attacker and found him holding a
large ball of fire, the flame danced around his
fingers, not harming him in the slightest. He raised
the fire, ready to throw it at the delinquent. The
girl screamed and bolted. The hoodlum took off in the
John smiled a little to himself and clapped his hands
to put out the fire. Then he calmly went to retrieve
his groceries. He continued on his way to the latest
hideout. Passing a house on a corner that sported a
sign about something he heard the same jerk he had
earlier, �There�s the mutie!� John rolled his eyes
and turned in the direction of the voice. There were
four guys, the one from earlier the youngest. Without
saying anything they all charged at John. Dropping
the groceries Pyro pulled out the lighter and sent out
a wave of fie, driving three of them back. But the
fourth ducked, rolled forward and came up directly in
front of the mutant. �F***ing freak� he tried to
wrestle the lighter away. Pyro kicked up and knocked
the thug back. Then he let loose more fire. It sent
that attacker back but two of the others made their
way up. Pyro saw them approaching, noted the young
hoodlum from earlier trying to hide behind a nearby
tree. The mutant whirled around and threw an arm up
to block the man who�d tried to stab him in the back.
The knife cut cleanly into the flesh of his forearm
and made him take a step back. The approaching two
had reached him and he had to twist hard and conjure
up fire fast to send them back yet again. Blood
flowing freely Pyro�s vision darkened around the
edges. Fighting was getting hard. Then he felt the
worst thing, his lighter being ripped away. He
blinked and focused to see the young guy with his
lighter. Pryo growled and felt the attackers clamping
around his arms.
�You are messing with the Friends of Humanity, Mutie.
You don�t stand a chance.�
Pyro growled and struggled as hard as he could. �Let
go of me!� He could see where they were leading him
as they made their way through the house�s basement.
There was a corner tiled with a tub atop it. Pyro
hated the idea of drowning more than any other method
of death. He struggled even more.
�Shut up mutie� was the response harsh in John�s ear
before he felt the pain of having the back of his
knees kicked and the tiled floor rush up to meet him.
Then he felt something worse, the edge of the big tub
hitting him in the chest and sliding forward. The
next thing he was aware of was being under the cold
water. He bucked as hard as he could, struggling with
all he had against the three men who held him. His
lungs burned, his eyes burned, his head was getting
Then the pressure let up and his head broke free of
the water. He greedily gulped for air until they
pushed him back down. He pulled up as hard as he
could but it was useless. They let him fill his lungs
again and re-dunked the young mutant. This continued
until the struggling lessened and it was obvious
they�d drowned a lot of the fight out of the kid.
Incoherent, stumbling, and breathing heavily they
easily slammed him against the white wall next to the
tub. One of the Friends appeared with a camera and
snapped a couple of pictures of the pathetic wretch
they�d reduced the mutant to. They�d add this to
their �guest� book. A black book used to bolster
moral of the small minded and intolerant FoH by
showcasing how many and how badly the group had stuck
it to the muties.
Once he�d been defeated and photographed there really
was no more use for the wet, bleeding, shaking thing.
They pulled him roughly from the wall and into one of
their containment chambers. The chambers were the
modern equivalent of a dungeon. The mutie could rot
down there and no one would even realize it.
He lay on the cold floor, thinking. They�d gotten
him. It made him so mad, stupid humans! Breathing
had become easy again; the stunning effects of nearly
drowning had passed. But, his arm still throbbed.
John sat up and tried to examine the wound in the dim
light. It was still bleeding. He knew was going to
have to stop the bleeding or bleed to death. Not
quite prepared for that slow fatalistic death he
committed to cauterizing the wound on his forearm. It
was going to be a nasty scar, but hey, chicks dig
scars. He�d been striped of his jacket but still had
the rest of his clothes. In his boot was a spare
lighter, a cheap blue Bic that would serve his
purposes. He�d need metal. Luckily, living with
Magneto had taught him that metal was everywhere. The
room was bare stone, nothing there. He used his good
hand to dig through his pockets and came up with a
multiply folded Chinese food menu, his wallet, and a
ticket stub. He looked at what he had in his hands,
no metal. Discouraged he noticed his watch. Dropping
the other items he unbuckled the watch and turned it
over. It was just a cheap-o Timex thing, tiny
engraving under the claim to be water resistant to 50
meters and the mention of www.timex.com said,
�stainless steel back�.
Heating the metal until it was red-hot he pressed it
to the leaking wound. It would probably never tell
time again. Well, it didn�t look like he was in a
position to be making future plans anyway. His
screams echoed off the walls and it took every ounce
of will power to finish the job, burning the skin
closed along the entire jagged cut, before collapsing
into the dark bliss.
Mark opened the cell door a crack and
peered inside. That dirty mutant who�d shown up the
previous afternoon was lying motionless on the floor.
It was about his own age and had put on quite a show
before they�d taken him down. It was a dangerous
animal; he couldn�t believe those government bleeding
hearts didn�t see that. Luckily he did. Luckily he
also had found this group. In the Friends of Humanity
he could meet with others and find ways to silence the
mutant threat. Mark turned back to his friend, Regis,
Regis hoisted the mutant to his feet and Mark slapped
him across the face. It moaned a little but made no
attempt at standing or defending itself.
�Wake up Mutie� the �Mutie� still didn�t come to.
Regis pressed smelling salts into his friend�s hand.
Mark wafted them under the mutant nose, causing an
intense shudder through their victim. That display of
life was all Mark needed. He slammed his fist into
the mutant�s face as hard as he could. It made Regis
stumble back. Mark smiled to himself. A bruise was
already forming and his ring had caught the lip making
it leak blood down the firebug�s chin. Mark looked at
that crimson dribble and used his thumb to wipe it
�God, I love to see you bleed Mutie.� Regis shifted
John�s weight so Mark could line up another shot. The
mutant was boneless; the shift had flopped his head
forward but made no effort to lift it.
�Wake up damn you!� cursed Regis, giving John another
jostle. Mark took a fistful of dark hair and twisted
his enemy�s face towards him. He brought a knee up
into the mutant�s stomach, then chest, then face. The
brutality was rewarded by a moan slipping past the
mutant�s lips. Regis smiled. �He�s got a little life
left in him.�
Pain filled brown eyes drifted open. He was still
alive and he had never been in such pain. He�d had
the stuffing knocked out of him before. Before
Xavier�s he�d been a homeless runaway. He�d been
young, and alone. This dangerous combination ensured
he usually wound up with the short end of the stick
and in the dirtiest, roughest places. But previous
beatings weren�t like this; there were whole areas of
his body that were just numb with pain. He couldn�t
see straight, everything was blurry and dark. All he
wanted to do was curl up and sleep, even though he was
pretty sure he�d never wake up. John wanted to live,
he really did. But it just didn�t seem like that was
in the cards.
Regis dropped him roughly onto the ground. The
Friends of Humanity kicked the still form, it didn�t
try to defend itself, didn�t try to protect itself.
They jabbed their boots into the tense body of their
victim until they were satisfied with the amount of
blood on the floor and the mutant�s pale skin was
appropriately purple and black.
�Damn Mutie that showed him.�
�Yeah� Mark laughed. �He knows who�s in charge around
here now. The humans!�
He didn�t know how long he slept, hours or days.
Since it didn�t really matter he didn�t waste time
wondering. Eventually Magneto might notice that he
hadn�t seen young Pyro around in a while and start to
look for him. It was an idea but John didn�t have
much hope for rescue. His head hurt, his arm throbbed
painfully, and he was thirsty. John listened to the
silence around him and groaned. He hated it when
things were too quiet. John theorized that at least 3
hours passed as he lay on the floor, looking at the
ceiling and listening. He hated the silence. He
strained to hear even the slightest sound. But the
walls were thick and there wasn�t so much as a
scurrying rat. Eventually his ears picked up on
footsteps. Someone was coming!
He thought about getting up and made an
attempt to do so. He got to his feet but his center
of gravity did a complete shift and he found himself
on the floor again. He couldn�t stop the moan that
slipped past his lips. He hated how weak they�d make
him. He refused to let them see him lying, unable to
move, because of their hands. John carefully rolled
onto his front. From there it was a slow push to his
knees a deliberate crawl to the wall outcropping by
the door. He pulled himself to his feet just as the
When the guard, an ape-like man that smelled like
he�d slept in a bar ashtray, brought in his little
bowl of cold broth John immediately noticed the
glorious yellow tool in the pocket of his shirt. It
shone like a beacon to the distraction starved young
man. He needed that pencil. Reacting immediately
with a �plan� Pyro punched the man in the face. The
man punched him back. He watched the pencil fall and
roll into the corner. The Friend of Humanity
continued to pummel Pyro a little longer, then left,
leaving the precious writing implement behind. There
never was someone so ecstatic to get a dull, chewed
on, yellow pencil in his hand.
When John got his head together again he sat up with a
low groan. The goon had done damage to his already
damaged body. The cold broth that had been left in
the corner and had miraculously not been knocked over
in the scuffle would be his only sustenance for quite
some time. He was sure after the stunt he had just
pulled it was unlikely they�d come back into the cell
for any reason other than hurting him further. John
crawled over to the fallen pencil and smiled to
himself in triumph. They wouldn�t be able to deny him
a last hand hold on sanity.
He searched his pockets for something he could write
on. In his pocket was a Chinese food menu, his only
source of paper. He silently praised the higher power
that made him never empty his jeans pockets, even to
do the wash. The paper was fuzzy around the edges
from its journey and creased crookedly since he�d
folded it up and shoved it in his pocket fast when
Magneto called. A weak attempt at a smirk crossed
John�s face. He�d never gotten around to getting that
General Tso�s chicken. It was Rogue�s favorite and
he�d never tried it. This menu had General Tso�s
chicken circled because he was finally going to order
He was prepared. They might be able to destroy his
body, but he was going to die with his right mind.
Needing strength for his plan he crawled to the bowl
and with great restraint, drank the cold, salty broth
slowly. He set down the empty bowl and picked up his
He hated silence. It was driving him crazy. Silence
made his mind wander to unhappy places, the times in
his life, years ago, when the silence was a warning
that curses, threats and violence were imminent. He
desperately needed to break the silence, to distract
his mind. Writing was something he had done a lot as
a kid. It was a quiet solitary activity, sometimes
just being quiet and out of sight could spare you a
beating. Writing was also a way to get stuff out.
He�d needed to do that a lot growing up.
So, brandishing his dilapidated writing tool he
attacked the rumpled, folded menu and wrote.
You�re no doubt wondering why I�m writing
you a letter. Sure we were friends, but friends come
and go, I left you all and joined the enemy. But
Marie, you�re not a friend I could just let go. I�m
writing to you because I�m dying. They have me locked
in this little cell, it�s dark, I�m so thirsty, and
I�m too dizzy to stand. But, worse than these pains
is the silence. Alone in the quiet with my thoughts
they plague me more than any physical wound or
ailment. I am writing to you because I need to make
peace with this world before I enter the next. I�ve
never let you know just how important you were to me;
how important you still are. Marie, the friendship we
had was one of the closest I�ve ever experienced. Our
fun times, the talks we shared late at night, sitting
in the game room after everyone was in bed, you let me
be just how I wanted and never looked down on me or
treated me like a child. I�ve kept my feelings for
you secret. I would never want to hurt Bobby, another
important friend, but as I�ll be dead by the time your
eyes follow these words I think I can be honest.
I care about you more deeply then I�ve let you know.
I�d have waited for you. I�d have found a way around
your powers. A creative mind is an amazing tool
against any problem. They�re a part of you so I even
love the gift you hate. But I never acted on these
feelings. The reasons for my secrecy are complex. I
fear giving them will only make me seem like a coward
giving excuses. Still, even though my vision has gone
blurry, I can see I am dying and will be cold and gone
by the time you read this. So, there is no reason to
fear the repercussions of my declaration. I stepped
away, hid my true feelings for you.
The relationships in my life had never been
successful. My true parents weren�t good for me, the
families after them really just temporary
acquaintances. My friendships with you and Bobby were
the only proof I was even capable of caring for people
and having them care for me. I couldn�t risk the
friendships by sharing how special you make me feel
Marie. I couldn�t tell you about the feelings that
just being near you invoked in me.
I love you Marie. I�ve never said that to anyone in
my life. But I mean it, what I feel for you must be
love because it is wonderful, exquisite, and
beautiful. I can�t imagine anything better than the
way I feel when I see your smile, when your shoulder
brushed against mine as we walked down the hall, when
you shared your excitement over your latest training
success. You were a bright spot in my life while I
was at the institute and have remained one even now
that we are far apart and on different sides of a war.
I don�t begrudge Bobby for acting when I was
tentative. While I was being cautious he made his
decision to act. I did nothing to challenge him and
even now hope he is making you happy. As my vision is
getting worse and I can actually feel the end of my
life within an arm length I suppose I can make my that
my dying wish. I want you to be happy Marie. Even
though it wasn�t meant to be that I be the one to
bring you that happiness, I sincerely hope you find
it. You deserve to be happy. I�ve seen doubt in you
that breaks my heart. Your mutation keeps you
separate, never lets you too close to others. But you
are an amazing, beautiful individual that deserves to
be happy. Do whatever makes you happy Marie.
You will always have my love,
John smiled at his work. At least he had
done something. His vision was swimming now; it was
so hard to focus. It was getting dark as well;
everything was gray and turning black. He felt his
face hit the floor, he�d collapsed. As he slipped
into unconsciousness, expecting to never return, he
thought about Marie.
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