Categories > Movies > X-Men: The Movie > I'm Not Like Everybody Else
The containment alarms blared across the complex. Storm guided the younger team members to evacuation points while Xavier’s voice crackled through her comm; “The core is destabilizing. You must reach the control room immediately.”
Inside, the heat was unbearable. Panels warped, metal groaned.
John stood over the console, trying to channel the excess heat upward, forcing it through the venting systems. Bobby froze coolant pipes as fast as Rogue could redirect power. The air shimmered between them, ice and fire working together, barely holding the balance.
“Come on, come on,” Bobby growled, frost forming over his arms.
“Pressure’s too high!” Rogue shouted. “It’s not enough!”
John clenched his teeth.
“Then maybe it takes more.”
Before either could stop him, he slammed both hands onto the conduit, channeling every ounce of heat into himself. The pain was immediate, searing, endless.
“John, no!” Rogue screamed.
Flames erupted around John, circling his body like a living storm. He threw his head back, eyes blazing gold. The heat pushed Bobby back against the wall, forced Rogue to shield her face.
“John, stop!” She cried again. “You’ll kill yourself!”
John met her eyes through the fire and smiled, small and sad. “Maybe this is the only way I can stop.”
The explosion hit like thunder.
Light, blinding and white-hot swallowed everything.
Silence followed.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
When Rogue came to, the alarms were silent and the air was cool again. The control room was wrecked, walls scorched and frozen in equal measure. Bobby sat slumped nearby, burned but breathing.
“John…” Rogue croaked, forcing herself up.
He was on the floor, motionless, the lighter still in his hand, but the flame was gone.
She crawled to him, pressed her gloved fingers to his face. “Come on, don’t do this,” she whispered. “Not like this.”
For a moment, nothing.
Then...a breath.
Weak, but there.
She let out a trembling laugh through her tears.
“You stupid, stubborn—”
His eyes opened, barely. “Rogue…”
“Yeah,” she said, brushing hair from his forehead. “I’m here.”
He smiled faintly.
“Told you…you didn’t know what I was capable of.”
Her throat tightened.
“Guess I do now.”
He tried to laugh, but it turned into a cough. “Did we…?”
She nodded. “You stopped it.”
“Good.”
And then, softer: “Guess…I didn’t need the fire after all.”
His hand loosened. The lighter fell from his grasp, its casing cracked, the flame finally dead. Outside, the first light of morning broke through the clouds, painting the wreckage in gold.
Rogue held him close, her voice barely a whisper.
“No, you didn’t.”
Behind her, Bobby stood watching, his face was pale, and eyes were wet. He stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“He saved us,” Bobby said quietly.
Rogue nodded, her gaze fixed on the broken lighter in her hand.
“No,” she said. “He saved himself.”
___________________________________________________________________________________________
The mansion was quiet again.
It always felt too quiet after a mission. That strange, hollow calm that came after chaos, when the adrenaline drained away and everyone tried to pretend things were normal. The halls smelled faintly of disinfectant and rain. The younger students whispered in corners, glancing toward the med wing and then away again.
Because that’s where he was.
Rogue stood outside the infirmary window, and through the glass, she could see John hooked up to monitors, wrapped in gauze, half-buried beneath white sheets. The burns had been bad, but Hank said he’d live.
She wasn’t sure if that counted as good news.
Bobby stood beside her, his reflection faint in the glass. “They said his vitals are stable,” he said quietly. “He’s healing.”
She nodded.
“Yeah.”
Neither of them said the word miracle, but it hung there anyway. Because for John, Pyro, survival wasn’t supposed to mean mercy. It wasn’t supposed to mean coming home. Bobby broke the silence first.
“You think he’s gonna stay?”
“I don’t know," Rogue exhaled, long and shaky. "He’s alive, but I don’t know if he’s him.”
Bobby leaned a shoulder against the wall.
“You think the Professor’s gonna let him just…walk back in after all this?”
She shot him a look.
“He let Logan in. Twice.”
He almost smiled at that. Almost. Then he sighed. “Yeah, but Logan didn’t try to melt a government facility.”
“Not yet,” she said, and the corner of her mouth twitched. For a second, the tension between them lifted, just enough to remember what it felt like before all this. Before sides. Before fire.
Then the light above the infirmary door blinked green. Hank stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel. “He’s awake,” he said. “A little disoriented, but lucid.”
Rogue hesitated.
“Can we-?”
“One at a time," Hank nodded. "He’s…still himself, I think.”
Inside the infirmary
John looked small in the bed, pale against the white, tubes running from his arms like roots trying to hold him down. His hair was longer now, burned uneven at the ends. The lighter sat on the table beside him, cracked and blackened, its surface warped from the heat.
He noticed her before she spoke.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough as gravel.
“Hey,” she answered, stepping closer.
For a moment, neither of them knew what to do with their hands. Or their eyes. Rogue finally sat down in the chair beside him.
“You look like hell,” she said softly.
He gave a weak laugh.
“You should see the other guy.”
She smiled, but her eyes stayed wet. “You scared the hell outta us.”
He looked away.
“Scared myself, too.”
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. Outside, rain started again, soft and steady.
Finally, Rogue asked,
“Why’d you do it?”
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted to the lighter on the table. “Because I had to see if I could stop. If I could choose not to burn everything.”
“You did.”
He shook his head slightly. “Did I? The place still went up.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But it didn’t take us with it.”
That made him smile, faint and tired. “Guess I finally did something right.”
“Guess you did,” she said. Then, quieter, “you could stay, you know. The Professor, he’ll give you another chance.”
He turned his head toward her, eyes half-closed.
“You really think I belong here? After all the shit I pulled?”
“I think you belong somewhere,” she said. “And this place… it forgives better than most.”
He looked at her for a long moment, searching her face. “You still believe in all that, huh? Peace. Second chances.”
“Someone has to,” she said. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”
He huffed a laugh that was almost a sob. “You haven’t changed.”
“Neither have you,” she said. “You just forgot who you were for a while.”
He reached toward the lighter, slow, shaky, and picked it up. Turned it over in his hand. The metal was scorched, unrecognizable.
“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” he murmured. “Starting over.”
“Maybe,” she said.
John glanced at her again, eyes softening. “You ever think about what comes after? If any of this ever ends?”
“No." Rogue sadly smiled. "I just try to make it to tomorrow.”
He nodded, looking down at the ruined lighter.
“Tomorrow, then.” When she stood to leave, John caught Rogue's wrist, gentle, hesitant. “Hey, Rogue?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For not giving up.”
Rogue gave him that half-smile that always looked a little like heartbreak. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Later that night
Bobby found her on the balcony outside her room. The rain had stopped, the air thick with mist. She was leaning against the railing, watching the lights from the lake.
“He’s sleeping,” Bobby said, coming up beside her.
“Good.”
They stood there for a while, listening to the quiet.
“Do you think he’s really done with Magneto?” Bobby asked.
“I think he’s done with pretending,” she said. “That’s a start.”
Bobby leaned against the rail. “You know, back at the mall when I saw him, I thought I hated him. For leaving. For choosing that side.”
“And now?”
He exhaled.
“Now I just feel sorry for him. And...a little proud.”
“Yeah," Rogue gave a slight smile. "Me too.”
They watched the horizon, the faintest trace of light breaking through the clouds. The kind of dawn that didn’t promise much, but at least it was something.
Rogue whispered, almost to herself,
“Guess every fire leaves a little ember.”
Bobby glanced at her.
“You think he’ll ever be the same?”
“No," she shook her head. "But maybe he’ll be better.”
Inside, the heat was unbearable. Panels warped, metal groaned.
John stood over the console, trying to channel the excess heat upward, forcing it through the venting systems. Bobby froze coolant pipes as fast as Rogue could redirect power. The air shimmered between them, ice and fire working together, barely holding the balance.
“Come on, come on,” Bobby growled, frost forming over his arms.
“Pressure’s too high!” Rogue shouted. “It’s not enough!”
John clenched his teeth.
“Then maybe it takes more.”
Before either could stop him, he slammed both hands onto the conduit, channeling every ounce of heat into himself. The pain was immediate, searing, endless.
“John, no!” Rogue screamed.
Flames erupted around John, circling his body like a living storm. He threw his head back, eyes blazing gold. The heat pushed Bobby back against the wall, forced Rogue to shield her face.
“John, stop!” She cried again. “You’ll kill yourself!”
John met her eyes through the fire and smiled, small and sad. “Maybe this is the only way I can stop.”
The explosion hit like thunder.
Light, blinding and white-hot swallowed everything.
Silence followed.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
When Rogue came to, the alarms were silent and the air was cool again. The control room was wrecked, walls scorched and frozen in equal measure. Bobby sat slumped nearby, burned but breathing.
“John…” Rogue croaked, forcing herself up.
He was on the floor, motionless, the lighter still in his hand, but the flame was gone.
She crawled to him, pressed her gloved fingers to his face. “Come on, don’t do this,” she whispered. “Not like this.”
For a moment, nothing.
Then...a breath.
Weak, but there.
She let out a trembling laugh through her tears.
“You stupid, stubborn—”
His eyes opened, barely. “Rogue…”
“Yeah,” she said, brushing hair from his forehead. “I’m here.”
He smiled faintly.
“Told you…you didn’t know what I was capable of.”
Her throat tightened.
“Guess I do now.”
He tried to laugh, but it turned into a cough. “Did we…?”
She nodded. “You stopped it.”
“Good.”
And then, softer: “Guess…I didn’t need the fire after all.”
His hand loosened. The lighter fell from his grasp, its casing cracked, the flame finally dead. Outside, the first light of morning broke through the clouds, painting the wreckage in gold.
Rogue held him close, her voice barely a whisper.
“No, you didn’t.”
Behind her, Bobby stood watching, his face was pale, and eyes were wet. He stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“He saved us,” Bobby said quietly.
Rogue nodded, her gaze fixed on the broken lighter in her hand.
“No,” she said. “He saved himself.”
___________________________________________________________________________________________
The mansion was quiet again.
It always felt too quiet after a mission. That strange, hollow calm that came after chaos, when the adrenaline drained away and everyone tried to pretend things were normal. The halls smelled faintly of disinfectant and rain. The younger students whispered in corners, glancing toward the med wing and then away again.
Because that’s where he was.
Rogue stood outside the infirmary window, and through the glass, she could see John hooked up to monitors, wrapped in gauze, half-buried beneath white sheets. The burns had been bad, but Hank said he’d live.
She wasn’t sure if that counted as good news.
Bobby stood beside her, his reflection faint in the glass. “They said his vitals are stable,” he said quietly. “He’s healing.”
She nodded.
“Yeah.”
Neither of them said the word miracle, but it hung there anyway. Because for John, Pyro, survival wasn’t supposed to mean mercy. It wasn’t supposed to mean coming home. Bobby broke the silence first.
“You think he’s gonna stay?”
“I don’t know," Rogue exhaled, long and shaky. "He’s alive, but I don’t know if he’s him.”
Bobby leaned a shoulder against the wall.
“You think the Professor’s gonna let him just…walk back in after all this?”
She shot him a look.
“He let Logan in. Twice.”
He almost smiled at that. Almost. Then he sighed. “Yeah, but Logan didn’t try to melt a government facility.”
“Not yet,” she said, and the corner of her mouth twitched. For a second, the tension between them lifted, just enough to remember what it felt like before all this. Before sides. Before fire.
Then the light above the infirmary door blinked green. Hank stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel. “He’s awake,” he said. “A little disoriented, but lucid.”
Rogue hesitated.
“Can we-?”
“One at a time," Hank nodded. "He’s…still himself, I think.”
Inside the infirmary
John looked small in the bed, pale against the white, tubes running from his arms like roots trying to hold him down. His hair was longer now, burned uneven at the ends. The lighter sat on the table beside him, cracked and blackened, its surface warped from the heat.
He noticed her before she spoke.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough as gravel.
“Hey,” she answered, stepping closer.
For a moment, neither of them knew what to do with their hands. Or their eyes. Rogue finally sat down in the chair beside him.
“You look like hell,” she said softly.
He gave a weak laugh.
“You should see the other guy.”
She smiled, but her eyes stayed wet. “You scared the hell outta us.”
He looked away.
“Scared myself, too.”
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. Outside, rain started again, soft and steady.
Finally, Rogue asked,
“Why’d you do it?”
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted to the lighter on the table. “Because I had to see if I could stop. If I could choose not to burn everything.”
“You did.”
He shook his head slightly. “Did I? The place still went up.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But it didn’t take us with it.”
That made him smile, faint and tired. “Guess I finally did something right.”
“Guess you did,” she said. Then, quieter, “you could stay, you know. The Professor, he’ll give you another chance.”
He turned his head toward her, eyes half-closed.
“You really think I belong here? After all the shit I pulled?”
“I think you belong somewhere,” she said. “And this place… it forgives better than most.”
He looked at her for a long moment, searching her face. “You still believe in all that, huh? Peace. Second chances.”
“Someone has to,” she said. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”
He huffed a laugh that was almost a sob. “You haven’t changed.”
“Neither have you,” she said. “You just forgot who you were for a while.”
He reached toward the lighter, slow, shaky, and picked it up. Turned it over in his hand. The metal was scorched, unrecognizable.
“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” he murmured. “Starting over.”
“Maybe,” she said.
John glanced at her again, eyes softening. “You ever think about what comes after? If any of this ever ends?”
“No." Rogue sadly smiled. "I just try to make it to tomorrow.”
He nodded, looking down at the ruined lighter.
“Tomorrow, then.” When she stood to leave, John caught Rogue's wrist, gentle, hesitant. “Hey, Rogue?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For not giving up.”
Rogue gave him that half-smile that always looked a little like heartbreak. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Later that night
Bobby found her on the balcony outside her room. The rain had stopped, the air thick with mist. She was leaning against the railing, watching the lights from the lake.
“He’s sleeping,” Bobby said, coming up beside her.
“Good.”
They stood there for a while, listening to the quiet.
“Do you think he’s really done with Magneto?” Bobby asked.
“I think he’s done with pretending,” she said. “That’s a start.”
Bobby leaned against the rail. “You know, back at the mall when I saw him, I thought I hated him. For leaving. For choosing that side.”
“And now?”
He exhaled.
“Now I just feel sorry for him. And...a little proud.”
“Yeah," Rogue gave a slight smile. "Me too.”
They watched the horizon, the faintest trace of light breaking through the clouds. The kind of dawn that didn’t promise much, but at least it was something.
Rogue whispered, almost to herself,
“Guess every fire leaves a little ember.”
Bobby glanced at her.
“You think he’ll ever be the same?”
“No," she shook her head. "But maybe he’ll be better.”
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