He woke up, because something was wrong. At first, he didn't know what. Not really. He reached beside him, fingers curling over the cool metal of his lighter, and he was somewhat comforted. He flipped it open, and struck a flame, and realized what was wrong.

Pyro stared at the fire, but there was no connection there. No pull. He knew, knew if he touched it, it would burn him. He had to find out, hoping he was wrong, knowing he wasn't. He ran his fingers through the flame, and a strangled cry left his throat as it did, indeed, burn him.

The one thing that had remained constant, the one comfort in life he could always count on, was gone. What was he, without his fire? Fire he could never create, but fire that always bent to his will. Fire that occupied his thoughts. His soul, his very being, was fire, and now...now?

He was useless to the Brotherhood. What was he now, but a skinny kid with an attitude, and nothing to back it? In a moment of weakness, that ironically made him burn with shame, he wanted Bobby. He wanted Bobby to be here, he wanted the comfort of his first friend, maybe his only friend, but Bobby wasn't here. Bobby was still at the school. For a moment, just a flicker of a flash of a second, he wished he was there, too. Someone there would know how to fix this, what to do. Hank, or Jean (but oh, God, Jean was dead, wasn't she? She wouldn't be there, anymore) or even the Professor.

Was it happening there, too? Was Rogue able to touch? Was Bobby without his ice? Did Kitty crash into a wall (the thought of that almost made him laugh, almost made him forget), or did Storm fall from the sky, or get them stuck in a torrential downpour? Was Kurt stuck in limbo, were Logan's hands bloodied when his claws retracted and the wounds didn't heal, was the Professor deaf to the thoughts around him?

Was he the only one? Was Magneto devoid of his mastery over metal? Was Mystique stuck in some form she didn't want to be in, or had she reverted? He would get no answers, just sitting in bed, but he was scared, oh God he was so scared, what if he was the only one? Why him? What would Magneto say? Would he throw him out?

Slowly, fingers still clutching the lighter, Pyro eased out of bed, creeping to the door. Opening it, he gazed out. It seemed quiet. Noises were distant, but what he did hear sounded normal. Normal?

"Lose something?"

He jerked, startled. His eyes shifted to Magneto, and he numbly shook his head.

"Are you so sure about that?"

He knew. Oh, God, he knew. Licking dry lips, Pyro (or was it just John, now?) swallowed a few times before he managed to croak out a pair of words. "My power."

"Indeed. Well, it's always the last place you look." He strode away, without a glance back.

Staring after him, he wondered what the hell that was supposed to mean. In the silence of the hall, he heard a hum, and a click, and just like that, he felt heat flooding him. Just like that, things were all right.

Chest heaving, gulping air, John (it was still Pyro, wasn't it?) flicked open his lighter. Swallowing, he struck a flame, and called it to him.

He closed his eyes, and he thought he was going to pass out, or die, or something, because the relief was tremendous. He held the flame, watching it dance along his skin. It didn't touch him, didn't burn him. It didn't disobey him, but moved as he willed it.

"Neat trick, don't you think?" Mystique was leaning against the wall, watching Pyro watch his fire. "He had to see if it worked, and the new guy's always the guinea pig."

"See if what worked?" He asked, but he didn't care about the answer. Not right now, not while he had his fire.

"His new toy." The device was complicated ... but it would come in handy in the future. The not-so-distant future. She watched Pyro a moment longer, before turning away. There was a lot still to be done.