Title: Fan the Flames
Paring: Alex Summers X Reader
Warnings: self loathing and stuff, mentions burning people and remorse and stuff.
Spoilers: none
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It was a warm May when you blew up the building that used to be your school. It was a stain you wore less than proudly; it was something that marked your daydreams and haunted your bed sheets in shadows and all you experienced. Even the most crazy of the mutations could have a reason to explain their coming to terms - but for you, there was no coming to terms.
You killed thirty of your classmates.
Thank whatever entity that it was Sunday school, and that if you were one room over closer to the science labs, the gas would have amplified your firepower.
But in the too-tight, scratchy uniform of the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, it was just the same. And sure, it had been six months since the incident, and you hadn't killed anyone since, but you were a time bomb. Ticking. You'd stubbed your toe last week leaving the dining hall and lit the wallpaper up like a damn display in a New Year's Eve game. Miss Munroe had saved the room from too much damage, but you were still the freak in a freak school.
"_______!" the knocking on the door doesn't cease, and you know who it is. Alex Summers. There's exactly three people in the world who cared for you, and one of them lived in the room beside yours at the school. Unfortunately for you, on bad days like today, he wouldn't leave you alone. "________, you better open up, you're going to be late for class!"
A pillow is thrown at the door, and you furrow deeper under your duvet. "Go away Alex, I don't want to go to class today," you grumble.
If you were a normal, everyday average human being, no mutation, there would be a doctor right about now diagnosing you with a mild case of depression and prescribing pills to numb the sadness. But there was no ordinary about you. What you did, what you did to those people, that made sure it wasn't ordinary. You were a fr-
"I was told if you miss another day - what's that?" Alex's voice fades away, and interrupted by:
"_______, it's Mr. Howlett," the scratchy voice of the infamous Wolverine clears his throat. "The Professor says if you don't attend class today, you're going to have to face some consequences. You're not even on the same chapter as the other kids," he warns you.
You groan. "I don't care, I'm staying here where I'm alone and safe - everyone is safe."
You hear the doorknob rattle, but before you can process it, you sit up to see Alex has picked the lock to your room. He stands tall and proud just like he always does. Oh, if you could trade mutations, you would take Alex's in a heartbeat. To have energy pulsating under your skin, to feel it, to expel it at will; what a dream. Rather than being a monster of fire.
"Please leave me alone," you frown.
But he doesn't.
It's almost too fast to realise it's happening, but before you know it, before Alex has taken another step toward you or you've taken another breath, there's a burst of flame from your arm, and the duvet you're under goes up, and spreads toward where Alex is standing. Your heart is racing and your mind is still, but luckily, Logan is not in a similar disposition. The Wolverine rushes into the melee, and knocking Alex out of the way, he grabs your flaming arm and yanks you from under the burning blanket. And out of your stupor.
You blink.
"Oh my go-gosh," you howl.
Ripping your arm from Logan's grip, you feel the pit of your stomach sink lower. His flesh is charred where he touched you, but within seconds, it's back to it's usual appearance. But you see Alex from the corner of your eye, hands wrapped around the bare skin where his jeans don't meet his socks because of his recent growth spurt. If anyone else was observing this scene, they would think nothing was wrong at all, and he was clutching there because of a cramp or something or another. But you were not anyone else.
"You're hurt," you gasp.
"No, no, I'm not hurt," Alex looks to you. His eyes are glassy, like he's trying his hardest to hold in tears. The smile on his face is tight, forced. Fake. "I'm fine, _______. Don't worry."
You shake your head. "I hurt you." He goes to deny it once again, but you interrupt. "I hurt you, and you're not showing me because you think you're protecting me from knowing I'm a freak monster who hurts my friends!" you fume, and hands clutching your face, the back of your palms begin to smoke.
"__________ that's not -," Logan begins.
You shake your head, embers flying from your arms. "Yeah. It is. Why couldn't you just leave me alone?" And at this, you run out the door, leaving the scene you've caused.
Alex moves his hand from his leg. The wound hasn't healed as fast as Logan's, but the skin is pink, and marbled like a painting from preschool. His tears have dried before falling, and his words have died without having been spoken. At that moment, watching ________ flee, his skin prickled. He knew what she was going to do - leave. Because that's what she always did when she felt at blame. And maybe for once, she needed to know that someone cared for her enough for her to stay.
"Okay there, kid?" Logan asked him.
Alex nodded. "I'm fine. But ________ -,"
Logan sighed. "She's a tough one, that girl. But I don't think she'll ever learn that it's not her fault for what she's done." he ran a hand through his hair, and cleared his throat. "She's still learning, Summers."
"I need to tell her," Alex shook his thoughts from his mind, and getting to his feet, rushed past Logan. His feet sped ahead, trying to track ________ by the singed carpet, the darkened wooden floor from her fiery footsteps. The path you had taken led to the main yard, and seeing as it was class time, it was barren. Except for - ,"_________!"
Standing there, at the bottom of the stairs, you turn. Alex's heart wrenches, seeing the tears that evaporate from your eyes, leaving a plume of steam. Slowly, he descends, cautious as if he's a animal wrangler, and you are a wild animal. But wild as you are, Alex cannot help that even if you bark is not as bad as your bite, he loves you for all that you are and even though that's an incomprehensible fact to face as a sixteen year old, it's true. He loves you. All of you.
"I have to leave," you whisper.
He shakes his head. "You barely touched me. It's okay, ______. You can't leave every time you hurt someone, you'll never find a place to settle in."
Your eyes widen. "Are you calling me volatile?"
Alex shakes his head, and reaching out, his hand brushes against your shoulder. Your pyjamas are sleeveless, holes littering the material across the neckline. Just like you. For a moment, he is still, and you are still, and finally, he manages to get the words from his throat.
"You can't leave every time you hurt me, because I've been hurt plenty of times," Alex murmurs. "You can't leave because I really, really like you, ______. Like, a lot," he adds.
You seem to come back to life at this, and relax into his touch. "Oh gosh, I thought it was just me." you whisper. A beat passes between you, and somewhere in the playing area, a bird caws. "Aren't you going to do something mushy now?"
For a moment, Alex considers it. Kissing you on the steps of the school. Stopping you from running away from your true home. Making something worth remembering with him. But just as he leans in, he changes his mind. "Why don't I take you back to my room, and instead of going to class, we..." he whispers in your ear. "I have a snow cone machine and Netflix."
You peck his cheek, and grab his hand. "What's the wait? Let's go!"