Bobby had kept his hand on the wall after extinguishing the fire. It had turned blue at the palm, where ice had spread through the building’s structure. He was looking at John in open disbelief, not sure what he was more astonished at, that he was there in front him at all or how he had reappeared. The expression stayed on his face, unwavering, even as he thought John finally had caught up with reality, realizing who it was he was looking at.
With only seconds to decide what to do he was in conflict about what he knew he wanted to do and what he knew he shouldn’t, because it was the same thing. Bobby had always been great at second chances, even with people nobody else would ever have given one. He also had always been great at helping people, ignoring who it was. One day, maybe that would get him killed.
It had been a while since he had been worried this much or had been this confused or both at the same time. After he had broken up with Rogue it had taken him a while to readjust and just when he had thought his life was in order again, John had to come crashing into it. Quite literally.
His friend looked even smaller than usual, slumped against the wall, blood streaming down his face and coating his hands, drenching his shirt at the front enough that it made Bobby worry about how much blood the man had already lost.
Imagining that John hadn’t been wanting to see him of all people was easy. It was easy because that was something Bobby had made himself believe after his best friend had left him without being able to face him before he did.
He couldn’t say what they were to each other now; sure that friends was far too simple a word to describe them. It didn’t matter either. The moment he’d seen him, Bobby had decided to help, had decided to give him a chance to talk and explain. A chance to leave again, because he couldn’t imagine he’d want or be able to stay.
Talking, though, didn’t seem like anything he was capable of much in this moment.
”Anything else I can get you? Maybe some lemonade and a sandwich?” John didn’t appear to be able to have a conversation, much less banter, but Bobby was still angry at him. He had felt betrayed for a long while and it was only now that he saw John, that he realized he still did. But John wasn’t the only person he was angry at. John wasn’t even the person he blamed for what had happened the most. If only Bobby had realized John wanted to leave, maybe he could have changed his fate. But Bobby hadn’t and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself.
I need.. ..the Professor..
Bobby nodded, pressing his lips together instead of answering. Professor Xavier wasn’t someone who didn’t help if he thought it was the right thing to do, but Bobby was already nervous about his assessment of the situation. If Professor Xavier didn’t believe he should, Bobby would have to try and convince him to do it and that would probably not work well.
Bobby reached out in a reflex, trying to grab John’s hand before he could touch his head. He ended up keeping his hand in the air and looking down at the one that had found his shirt instead of John’s head. It felt warm, just like he always had. A little bit warmer than anyone else. It reminded him of simpler times he didn’t have the time to dwell in.
The Professor.. Bobby looked back up, only now realizing that John wasn’t asking for medical help, but Professor Xavier, what meant, he probably wasn’t ill. What it was, that was wrong with him, was impossible to say. Bobby had an idea the man John was looking for would know without having to be told. ”Alright, just stop talking.”
”John?!” Bobby grabbed him by the shirt as he suddenly slumped down, pulling his arm up around his own shoulder. ”I said stop talking, not stop breathing.” He wrapped his arm around John’s waist to hold him, thinking he’d probably be able to get him inside and somewhere safe like this. John wasn’t too heavy but heavy enough that it wouldn’t be a walk in the park.
The fact that he was also a whole lot smaller than Bobby, didn’t help either.
”Glad to know you’re still a piece of work.” John didn’t answer, but Bobby wasn’t sure if he had lost consciousness completely or if he just couldn’t. No matter what was true, he needed help anyway, so he started walking, half dragging, half carrying John along.
The floor at the threshold to the entrance door was slippery from the ice that had suffocated the fire and Bobby had to freeze the soles of his shoes not to slip while dragging John along.
Inside there were still students, looking at them with unconcealed irritation and curiosity. ”Go, get to your rooms, stay there.” They didn’t know who it was Bobby was carrying and for now he was glad about that. He would meet people who knew him soon enough and he couldn’t imagine anyone else being even slightly okay with him carrying John inside to help him. Maybe Hank would be, but even he would probably have told him not to.
It wasn’t wise to carry your enemies inside when they came knocking and none of them had to tell Bobby as much. He almost expected him to try and kill him the moment he was able to. Fighting with him was something he had been dreading for seven years, because he wasn’t ready for what he would eventually have to do in case John attacked him.
Bobby startled and tightened his grip on John when he regained consciousness. They were walking down the hallway as fast as Bobby could manage, a little faster when he felt John try to help him by using his feet for what he had them for. ”Infirmary. Just a few more steps. Try not to die on me in the next two minutes and we might get him there, too. What do you need the Professor for?”
What is wrong with you? was what Bobby wanted to know.
A few steps later, Bobby pushed his shoulder against the door to the infirmary, dragging John inside and sighing with relief when he saw nobody else was inside. ”Over to one of the beds, come on.”
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