Two Princes
by Alicia McKenzie
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Marvel, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. This story is a what-if spinning off #4 of the Adventures of Cyclops and Phoenix limited series. Dedicated to Diamonde and Persephone, as a belated birthday present. :)
This is how it began.
In the lavish palace of En Sabah Nur, Son of the Morning Fire, ruler of the world, strongest of the Strong, a Paladin stands, his tall figure slumped with exhausted disbelief. In his arms he holds an unconscious boy, cradling him with more care than he would ever admit. Beside him, standing over the corpse of the aforementioned god, another boy, twin to the one Ch'vayre holds save for the metal arm and scars, lifts a dead guard's weapon from the floor and examines it closely, but without anything even close to fascination. His face is pale, barren of all expression save a faint tightness around his mouth, his gray eyes blank with shock.
The Paladin blinks, shifting uneasily as the sound of shouting and distant klaxons intrudes on the stunned silence. "Where will you go?" he asks the boy beside him. The child has just informed him, calmly, almost numbly, that he intends to destroy what Apocalypse wrought, to erase his legacy.
"Don't know. Away from here." The boy looks up at him, face still emotionless. Not at HIM, Ch'vayre realizes with a cold surge of something that feels uncannily like fear, but at the boy he holds. At his 'twin', however inexplicable the resemblance is. "I don't think it should just be me, either," he says. Flatly, as if trying to discourage any argument.
Ch'vayre's eyes narrow as he stares down at the boy. There is no trace of the anguish that was there when the man and the woman vanished into thin air. Not even a flicker of loneliness. The shock is still there, but fading, receding into the background. . .or being pushed. The boy is thinking, Ch'vayre realizes. Not just thinking, but planning, with a sort of calm logic that seems out of place in such a youngster. "I told you, boy, I can protect him. . ."
"Maybe you CAN protect him," the boy says bluntly. "But if you don't mind me saying so, just protecting him isn't going to do him any good."
"What do you mean?" But Ch'vayre already begins to understand, and while part of him rejects the idea violently, part of him knows the boy is correct. And yet. . .
"I was inside his mind, you know." The boy's eyes are hard, uncompromising. "You take him away, make sure he's safe, he's just going to keep on right like he started. Might even be worse than Apocalypse, in the end. . ."
"And you think you can do better?" Presumptuous boy. But determined, Ch'vayre can see. . .
The boy smiles, a faint cold smile that seems far too adult. "There's a whole world out there he doesn't know anything about," he says. "Don't you think it's time he learned?" Those gray eyes go distant, saddening. "He's me, somehow. . .I don't know how, but he is. And Redd and Slym. . ." His voice breaks a little, but he continues, stubbornly. "They'd want it this way."
Ch'vayre holds the boy's gaze with his own. "He's very dangerous," he says crisply. "Very powerful. He might. . ."
"He won't kill me," the boy says, bitterly. "Otherwise, he'll be alone. And he won't want that. We're not THAT different, you know."
"Wake up."
With an enormous effort, Stryfe managed to open his eyes. . .only to shut them again immediately as the light seemed to stab like twin knifes into his brain. He moaned involuntarily, hating the sound but unable to stop himself. His whole body hurt, from head to toe. What was wrong with him? And where were the flonqing healers?
And why was he lying on something hard and uncomfortable, with something that felt like a rock sticking into his back, rather than in his own bed? It was so hot. . .it shouldn't be this hot in the palace, there must be something wrong with the environmental systems.
"You're not IN the palace, pipehead."
That voice. . .he knew that voice. It was his own voice, wasn't it? What was he doing talking to himself? There was something very wrong here. . .
"Open your eyes already. I'm not carrying you any more. You're too flonqing heavy."
Stryfe opened his eyes, more carefully this time, and a stream of profanity he'd picked up from the dog soldiers erupted from him as he saw who was sitting beside him on the sand. "YOU!" His voice came out all rough and broken, as if he'd been screaming.
It was him. The boy he'd met a couple of years ago during that rebel attack, the one who was so unbelievably, unacceptably like him. The one he'd felt inside his mind when, when. . .
His whole body stiffened involuntarily as the memories came flooding back. The palace. His father, trying to. . .take his body. . .to destroy him, Stryfe, and keep his body for himself. The pain. . .this huge weight, crushing his mind. . .it had hurt so much. . .
Why? Feeling the sting of humiliating tears, Stryfe closed his eyes again, trying not to tremble. Why had his father done that? HOW could he have done that? Hadn't he. . .
"Loved you?" The strange boy's tone was cold and contemptuous, but Stryfe could hear something else beneath it, something the other boy was trying to hide. "Are you that slow, you dumb son of a flonq? He USED you. He used you, and he was going to throw you away. . ."
"Shut up," Stryfe rasped, his eyes flying open. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, ignoring the pain, glaring at the other boy. "Remember who you're talking to, peasant!" he spat, hating himself for being unable to put the right amount of venom into his voice. And why couldn't he stop crying? Only the weak cried, and he wasn't weak. . ."I'm the heir of Apocalypse. . ."
The boy's expression tightened. "I guess you inherited, then. Apocalypse is dead," he almost snarled. "And I'm glad."
Stryfe blinked at him for a moment. "He's not dead," he said, his voice rising with something that was NOT hysteria, no matter what it sounded like. "My father's not dead. . ."
"He is, too. You should be happy. I bet the rest of the world will be, when they find out. . ."
"No!" Stryfe reached out, intending to slam the other boy away telekinetically, or reach into his mind and tear out the lie. . .it had to be a lie, it HAD to be. . .
Nothing happened.
He gaped at the other boy in shock, meeting the gray eyes that were a mirror of his. His powers. . .what had happened to his POWERS? His mind babbled away frantically, trying to remember what had happened more clearly. If he didn't have his powers, what did that make him? Nothing. Just an animal, like this stupid flonq of a peasant who was sitting here lying to him. . .
The boy looked around at him for the first time. Stryfe stared blankly at the scars, one of the only differences between them. He didn't notice the gray eyes that were a mirror of his own narrowing in anger, and all he saw of the metal fist before it slammed into his jaw was a blur.
The blow knocked him to the ground, and he pushed himself back up to a sitting position, spitting blood. He stared in shock as the other boy leaned back, picking up the dropped waterskin and handing it over silently.
"My name's Nate. Not 'stupid flonq of a peasant', or anything else like that," he said very quietly. "And I don't know what happened to your powers. Probably something Apocalypse did. . .they'll probably come back. I mean, you're sure thinking at me loudly enough."
Stryfe's hands were shaking so badly he could hardly hold on to the waterskin, but he managed to lift it and take a mouthful of water without spilling too much. He spat it out, red-tinged, and set the waterskin back down as carefully as he could.
"You killed him." His voice was still hoarse, but at least his inside of his mouth didn't feel like the desert anymore. Blood still seeped from his bitten lip, but at least the taste of it was something he could feel, something he could focus on. "You killed my father. . ."
Nate looked away, but not before the tiny part of Stryfe's brain still working properly noted that, from all appearances, the other boy had been crying. His eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks still damp, even in the blazing desert sun. . .
"Your father tried to kill you," Nate muttered. "Get it through your head, would you? Besides, you're not the only one who l-lost someone today. . ."
Stryfe blinked, trying to remember. There'd been others there. . .a woman with red hair, a tall man. With him, this Nate. He jumped to the obvious conclusion. "I'm glad," he mimicked, his voice still rough but getting stronger. "I'm glad my father killed them. . ."
"Shut up!" Before Stryfe could do anything, Nate had launched himself at him. The next thing he knew, his head was being slammed into the sand, repeatedly. "Stab your eyes!" Nate shouted down at him furiously. "You think your father killed them? Your father was a withered old selfish monster, you stupid flonq, it was hardly a fight! He couldn't kill them, he was busy trying to steal YOUR body! They just. . .they left. . ."
Nate slid off him, his voice trailing away into a sob. Stryfe laid there for a moment, his head spinning, and then very cautiously pushed himself back up. He touched the back of his head tentatively, wincing, and his fingers came away bloody.
"Fine," he said, more petulantly than he intended. Nate was still turned away from him, huddled in on himself as if he were cold. "You didn't have to hit me."
"Shut up." Nate's voice was choked with tears. "I don't know why I even bothered bringing you with me. I should have left you. . ."
"Maybe you should have," Stryfe said hotly. "Maybe you should now. I didn't ask for your help, PEASANT. I didn't ask for it, and I don't want it, stab your eyes!"
"Fine!" Nate almost spat, scrambling to his feet. Tears were pouring down his face. "Do what you want, I don't care!" Before Stryfe could say anything, he was walking away, scrambling up the side of the dune without even a look back.
"Go on!" Stryfe shouted after him. "Go back and live with the humans, it's where you belong!"
Nate vanished over the dune. Stryfe swore to himself again and started to get up. . .only to find out his legs wouldn't hold him. He sank back to the ground, trembling with fatigue.
If he couldn't even walk, how. . .
There was a distant rumble of thunder in the distance, and Stryfe looked fearfully towards the western sky, where dark clouds were starting to gather.
Dark clouds. A storm?
An acid storm. . .?
He bit his already-bitten lip, hard enough to start the blood flowing again. He couldn't stay here, not if it was going to storm. He had to find cover, somewhere. He HAD to. . .
Stryfe glanced in the direction Nate had gone, and swallowed, rage flashing through him like a firestorm but not lending him any strength. He WASN'T going to sit here and call out for help. He didn't need that peasant's help. . .
He tried to get up again, and couldn't.
The wind turned cold.
***
Nate lost his footing and tumbled helplessly down the side of the dune, landing in a crumpled heap in the hollow between. His heart was pounding so loud he could hear it thundering in his ears, and no matter how hard he tried, how often he repeated Slym's warning about wasting water when traveling in the desert to himself, he couldn't stop the tears from leaking down his cheeks.
Why had they left? They hadn't wanted to go, he'd seen it in their faces, sensed it. . .but something had just pulled them away. Something he couldn't stop, couldn't fight. . .something stronger than Slym and Redd put together. They'd vanished into thin air, and now he was all alone. . .
You'll never be alone, Nate.
Slym had told him that. PROMISED him that. But he WAS alone, now and maybe forever. The only two people in the world who cared about him were gone, and he didn't even know why. . .
A rumble of thunder intruded on his desolation, and he looked up, blinking rapidly at the sky. It had been cloudless, not long ago. . .but it sure wasn't now. He swallowed, trying frantically to remember exactly where he was, how far it was until the next shelter. Slym. . .Slym had always told him to remember things like that. You never know when a storm might blow up, he'd said, more times than Nate could remember. There are ways to survive one, even if you get caught out in the open, but it's much safer to get under cover.
Nate scrambled to his feet, biting his lip as he felt how cold the wind had gotten, a definite sign that it was an acid storm on the way. You didn't live most of your life travelling around without learning how to tell the difference.
West. . .I don't think it's far. We came this way to get to the palace. . . Swallowing, he started to climb the face of the dune in front of him. Far or not, he had to get back to Stryfe as quickly as he could. They didn't dare waste any time. . .
He'd run farther than he'd thought. Panic lent him extra speed as the wind started to blow even colder, stirring the sand up and blowing it around violently. He'd been in sandstorms before, more times than he could remember, some a lot worse than this, but knowing what was coming made this one even more terrifying. He tried to stay calm, to remember everything Redd had taught him about keeping a cool head in bad situations, but by the time he got back to where he'd left Stryfe, every bit of exposed skin was raw and stinging, and his heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest.
Stryfe was hunched over in the sand, trying to shield his head. He swore when Nate reached down and hauled him to his feet. "Leave me alone!"
"Stab your eyes, I'm trying to help you!"
"I don't WANT your help!" Stryfe couldn't seem to stand up under his own power, and Nate spat a curse that would have had Redd threatening to wash his mouth out. "Just leave me here!"
"Don't tempt me!" Nate pulled Stryfe's arm around his shoulders and half-dragged, half-carried the other boy up the face of the dune. "We have to hurry!" he shouted over the steadily increasing shriek of the wind. "This feels like an acid storm!"
A moan was Stryfe's only answer. Nate could sense his pain and frustration and fear as if it was his own. Just like he'd been able to the first time they'd met, Nate remembered, pulling Stryfe along with him and hoping he was right about what direction to go to reach the little stone shelter he'd seen with Slym on their way to Apocalypse's palace. It seemed like ages ago, instead of less than a day.
Their progress was slow, and it wasn't long until Nate was gasping for breath, a stitch stabbing painfully into his side. Stryfe was really heavy, which was why he'd stopped in the first place. . .
The wind quieted, the heat returning in a sudden rush, but the clouds were right above them now, black as night, and Nate felt himself shaking with a cold that was entirely due to fear. He reached out, flipping Stryfe's cloak up to cover his head, and did the same for himself.
And the rain came. Hissing, making the sand boil where it touched and leaving scars on the rocks. Nate flinched, biting back a cry as a drop slid down a crease in his cloak and fell on his bare arm, burning where it touched.
He heard a strangled cry from Stryfe, and suddenly the other boy was managing to stagger forward on his own, panic giving him the strength he hadn't had before. Nate grasped his arm firmly and pulled him along faster. He could see the shelter, a dark shape in the rain. They were almost there. . .
Stryfe tripped and fell. Nate didn't stop for even a moment. Using both arms, even the one he'd been using to hold his cloak over his head, he reached down and pulled Stryfe up again. A sudden gust of wind blew the cloak out behind him, and if there'd been a moment to spare, he would have groaned. Nate took one quick look at the shelter and then squeezed his eyes shut and ran, all but carrying Stryfe, and biting his lip until he tasted blood as the acid rain fell on his bare arm, shoulder and head.
Then they were in the shelter, and he let Stryfe fall to the ground, barely managing to hold back a moan as he collapsed.
***
He really didn't like waking up like this, Stryfe thought fretfully, trying to open eyes that felt gummed shut, as if he'd been asleep for many hours. He barely managed to raise a hand to wipe them clear. The pain wasn't nearly as bad now, but he felt exhausted, as if he'd been sick for weeks and had no energy at all.
His surroundings were dark and blurry. He blinked a few times, scowling weakly as they came into focus. Where was he NOW? The walls were plain stone, windowless, the only light coming from a opening that seemed to be the doorway. Beyond that, he could see sand and blue sky. Still in the desert, then?
Memory came back slowly. The storm. . .the peasant had come back for him? With an enormous effort, he raised his head, and saw Nate huddled in the corner, in the shadows.
"You should have left me there," he rasped.
"I will, next time." The other boy's voice sounded strange, strained. Stryfe squinted, trying to focus even further and wishing his flonqing telepathy would come back. Nate shifted forward, and Stryfe's eyes widened involuntarily at the red, angry-looking patches of blistered skin on his face and arm. "That's the first and last flonqing time I get acid-burned for your sake, believe me."
Stryfe stared at him, fighting back a strange mixture of emotions. "I didn't ask for your help," he muttered, far less vehemently than he'd intended.
"I couldn't leave you there," Nate said almost defiantly, leaning back into the corner and dabbing at the blistered patches with a cloth, wincing. "You would probably have left ME, though. Right?" Stryfe opened his mouth to say something along the lines of 'in a heartbeat', but hesitated, warily. Nate smirked. "Nice to see you've got some common sense underneath all the arrogance."
"Common? Look who's talking, peasant!"
Nate sighed. "It's an expression, stupid. R-Redd used to say it." If Stryfe hadn't been listening carefully, he would have missed the faint stammer. "Look, you've got to stop acting like a pampered alpha all the time," Nate continued, more harshly. "People are going to notice, and when you're not inside the walls of that palace, they're NOT going to put up with it."
"I don't care if they do or don't!" Stryfe gathered his strength and pushed himself up to a sitting position. "As soon as I can walk, I'm going back to the palace."
"Why?" Nate asked bluntly.
"To take my rightful place!" Stryfe wished he could stop trembling at the thought of the palace. . .and his father. But if Apocalypse was dead, maybe he could. . .but how would he. . .
"Your rightful place as what?" Nate shifted, wincing again. "You were only useful to Apocalypse, you know. All the rest hated you. All his soldiers. . .well, except maybe Ch'vayre, but he was the one who let me take you."
Stryfe's heart, which had soared at the mention of Ch'vayre's loyalty, sank to somewhere in the vicinity of his feet as Nate continued. "Ch'vayre LET you take me?" he shouted in outrage. . .or tried to shout, rather. His voice cracked and swooped, and he swallowed hard. "Why? Why would he do that?" he demanded, struggling to hold back tears. Was everyone against him? It felt like the world he knew had been turned upside down, and he didn't know what way to turn. . .
"How the flonq should I know? Maybe he thought I made sense." Nate pulled himself to his feet, swaying a little. "I have to go find us a place to hide for a while, so stay here until I get back. Dog soldiers would be as likely to kill you as look at you, you know, now that you don't have Apocalypse protecting you anymore," he said. Callously, Stryfe thought. "Especially since your powers are gone."
"They wouldn't. . ."
"They would. So try to stay quiet and out of sight. I won't be long. There's got to be an abandoned steading around here somewhere, maybe with hydroponics I can fix up. . ." Nate walked out of the shelter without a backward glance.
"Wait!" Stryfe said, desperation slipping into his tone. "You can't just leave me here! What if. . ."
"You'll be fine, I left you half the water," Nate tossed back casually over his shoulder, and was gone.
Stryfe dragged himself to the door of the shelter, staring in disbelief at the other boy's retreating figure. He was just going to walk off and LEAVE him?
#Make up your flonqing mind,# a disgusted voice said in his head. #I'll see you in a while.#
***
It was nearly night again by the time Nate got back to the shelter, tired but satisfied. He'd found an abandoned steading about an hour's walk from here, with salvageable hydroponics and an underground bunker they could hide in if dog soldiers happened on the place. It would do, at least until Stryfe got back on his feet and they could find someplace better.
Nate grimaced faintly at the thought of the other boy. I really wasn't thinking very clearly when I talked to Ch'vayre, he thought awkwardly. What happens when his powers come back? He could swat me like a flyby. His own powers had gone strange, and he wasn't sure why. He'd been able to use them when he'd been fighting beside Slym and Redd against Apocalypse, but all he seemed to be able to do now was hear and talk to Stryfe telepathically, and a little bit of telekinesis. He'd barely been able to 'lift' the cover off the bunker access, back at the steading.
Well, the only answer he could think of was to make sure that Stryfe didn't WANT to swat him like a flyby by the time his powers came back. I don't think he's much of a one for gratitude, though. Nate laughed, despite his weariness and the whole impossible situation.
A head poked out of the door of the shelter. "You came back," Stryfe said weakly. Nate walked into the shelter, keeping his expression carefully neutral as he saw Stryfe had been crying. Pointing that out'd probably just make him mad.
"Course I did," Nate said, as casually as he could. "I found us a place for a few days. Can you walk?"
"I'm not sure." The combination of frustration and resentment and embarrassment hit Nate like a slap in the face, and he blinked, trying to keep his face straight. "I tried, just here in the shelter, but. . ."
He'd tried? That was encouraging to hear, for some reason. "We'll get down there," Nate said, trying to sound reassuring, reaching down and pulling Stryfe up. At least he seemed to be able to stand on his own, now, but he was obviously going to need help walking. "It's not a bad place, really." I think I won't mention I found the previous owners. . . There'd been ten of them, ten bodies withered and desiccated by the desert. He hadn't dared build a pyre for them, not when he'd see dog soldier patrols off in the distance four times during the course of the day, so he'd had to make do with piling some rocks over them in a makeshift cairn. Better than burying them in the sand to be uncovered in the next storm. . .
No, he didn't think Stryfe needed to know about that.
The stars were out, the sky clear as plasglass. Nate had been relieved to see no sign of another storm. They had far enough to go without having to run from the weather. #I haven't seen any patrols for a while,# he said telepathically to Stryfe. #But we should still be quiet.#
Stryfe didn't have any kind of a comeback, which surprised Nate. I suppose I should be glad he's quiet. Then again, what if there was something wrong with him? There might be, after what Apocalypse had done to him. Maybe it was just happening now, too, like a delayed reaction or something. Redd would have been able to tell, Nate thought, disgusted with his inability.
They made the rest of the trip in total silence, but Nate's head whipped around at a strange, stifled noise from Stryfe at the sight of the steading. "What?" he muttered, shifting restlessly. Stryfe had been leaning on him more and more heavily, the last quarter-hour or so.
"Nothing," Stryfe muttered back. Nate, half-expecting to find some ridiculous objection to the place itself, reached into Stryfe's mind. . .
And pushed him away, ignoring Stryfe's choked cry as he fell heavily to the sand. "You were here!" Nate cried, chest heaving and heart racing, forgetting his own caution to be quiet. "You and the dog soldiers. . .YOU killed these people!" He could see it in his mind, see the morning that Stryfe had come out with a patrol of dog soldiers and killed everyone in the steading.
The High Lord doesn't permit squatters on his land, the Stryfe-in-his-mind said with a faint smile.
Stryfe pushed himself up to a sitting position, staring at the sand, not meeting Nate's eyes. "I was doing as I was told," he muttered. "They weren't supposed to be there. . ."
"So you just killed them?" Nate had seen a lot of death, traveling around with Slym and Redd, but standing here and SEEING what Stryfe had done, remembering how small a few of the bodies he'd buried had been. . .Oath, I can't do this, he's not even SORRY for what he did. . . Nate wrenched his mind clear of Stryfe, and swallowed hard as he focused on the impressions he'd gotten, and realized something.
Stryfe honestly didn't know that what he'd done was WRONG. There'd even been a little bit of puzzlement there, and disgust, at Nate's reaction.
Disgust. Anger flared deep inside Nate, and he glared down at Stryfe, barely noticing the other boy flinch away from him. "You make me sick," he spat, reaching down and dragging Stryfe back to his feet and down towards the steading. "Does it feel good, to know that the people you killed are going to end up saving your life? That you'll be eating food that the babies you had those dog soldiers kill don't need anymore?"
"Shut up," Stryfe protested feebly, struggling vainly in Nate's grip. "You don't know what you're talking about. . .an example had to be made."
"That's Apocalypse talking," Nate snarled, pushing Stryfe ahead of him. "Maybe you don't know any better, but you'll learn. . .even if I have to beat it into your thick skull every day from now until next Winternight!"
Stryfe somehow managed to find the strength to break free, falling to his knees. "Why do you care?" he demanded exhaustedly. "And who the flonq do you think you are?"
"I'm a Dayspring," Nate said defiantly, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at Stryfe. "Just like Slym and Redd. And I don't know what we are to each other, you rock-headed flonq, but I'm not letting you kill anyone else, or turn out like Apocalypse. So deal with it," He reached down and pulled Stryfe back up, "because I'm not giving you any other choice." He started back down to the steading, half-dragging Stryfe, who didn't seem to be resisting.
He doesn't know any better, Nate repeated to himself harshly, over and over. It's because of what Apocalypse taught him, so you're just going to have to teach him the right way. He was starting to get a little scared, though. If that was a sample of what Stryfe had done. . .what ELSE had he done? Maybe there were worse things, in his mind. . .
But he couldn't give up. Slym and Redd wouldn't. They'd always taught him there was good in everyone. . .
"If you think I'm so. . .e-evil, why are you bothering?" Stryfe sounded afraid. Good, Nate thought almost savagely. Maybe if Stryfe was a little afraid, he'd listen to him.
"Because I'm a mas. . .masochist," he said aggressively, remembering Redd laughing and calling Slym that.
"A what?"
"A masochist! So shut up!"
They went the rest of the way down to the steading in an uncomfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts, both wondering what the morning would bring for their vastly altered lives.
fin