Work Text:
Turn Again Home
Remy hadn't expected to ever come back this way, to even be allowed this way.
But he'd been lured back down South under false pretenses, ostensibly to help his brother, and the Assassins had laid a clever trap for him. If he'd taken a moment to think, the sudden call might have given him pause. He would not have asked for reinforcements, but a few moments' consideration might have reminded him that nothing with the Guilds was simple. Nothing could be taken at face value.
But, he'd been too concerned for reflection, too worried that he would reach Robert too late. So, he'd walked straight into the trap, almost back into Bella's arms, though unwillingly.
Rogue, Logan, and Jean managed to find him and tug him free, and Remy had seen the momentary confusion on Rogue's face.
How could he explain the long history of the cursed prophecy that he carried on his shoulders, the eyes that plagued him from the moment of his birth? How could he fill in the blanks for her, make her understand that there were so many parts of the Guild that would always remain with him, just as many that he hoped to live the rest of his days without?
As he walked away from his people, his family, back to the jet that would carry him to his new home, he'd had an arm around Rogue's waist. He felt an odd sense of nostalgia, memories of the shenanigans of his childhood, of le canaille garçon, le petit chaoui. [the mischievous boy (not considered pejorative in CF); the little raccoon]
He wanted to share the good parts with her, to show her what had made him who he was, to point out the things he would always cherish. He wondered if she had anything like that herself.
"Careful with that right there," he nodded toward something on the ground—probably a log—nearby. "Them swamp puppies ain't too friendly."
"The what?"
"Les cocodrilles. Got real big jaws." [the alligators]
She gasped, jumping away.
"That mean gators?"
He snorted.
"You invulnerable, chere."
"Don't mean I want none'a them bitin' me."
He grinned.
"Probably just a log, mon amour. Won't bite you none."
She gave him a shove.
"Got half a mind to bite you for that myself."
"I get to pick where?"
She glared at him, but he just continued to smile.
He saw a small mound of mud in front of them and couldn't help himself.
"Mais, look at this here."
He knelt, nodding toward the mound.
"Was rainin' last night."
"Rain does that to the mud here?"
He gave her a look.
"You sure you grew up down South?"
She glared at him again.
"This a crawfish hole."
She looked cautiously into the small hole at the top, and he stood, brushing off his hands.
"Meanin' they're inside there?" she asked.
"Well, that one ain't, but usually."
"What one?"
He nodded toward her shoulder, and she furrowed her brow.
She looked, squealing and flinging her new friend—sneakily plunked onto her shoulder—into the dark.
"You asshole!" she snapped, swinging at Remy as he laughed.
"Desolée. Just havin' some fun."
"Well, don't," she said tartly.
He held out a hand.
"Truce?"
"If you got another one o' them hidin'-"
"I don't."
She gave him a warning look, finally taking his hand.
He gave her hand a squeeze as they continued to walk.
"Used to do that shit all the time when I was small."
"Funnily enough, that don't surprise me."
"You never got into trouble?"
"Punched a few boys in the nose," she said meaningfully.
"Always been a chaudette, hein?" [i.e., hot-headed; huh?/yeah?]
"I want to know what that means?"
He just grinned at that, though he pulled her closer, putting his arm back around her waist.
"Like you that way, ma chérie."
That made her snort.
"It's what you're gonna get regardless, sugar."
"Guess that means I'm a lucky man."
He was, too. In a way.
Can't be any closer'n this, sugar, she'd told him at one point. My powers ain't goin' away.
He'd gone along with it, because what else could he do?
They'd toed the line ever since, and he was grateful for anything of her that he could get. He was just as grateful for the moments when her mask fell, showing just how much she felt the same.
"You're a charmer, is what you are."
Not with you, he wanted to say.
Instead, he gave her a wink, kept it light. The way they always did.
For a while, they walked together in a comfortable silence, and when she spoke again, her voice was soft.
"You miss it, don't you?"
He nodded.
Like you have no idea.
"It's my home."
"You'll be back, sugar."
"Hope so." He shrugged. "Nice gettin' to show you a lil o' it, though."
"Yeah?"
"Oui. Think you'd ever want to see more?"
"More o' the bayou?"
He shrugged.
"Oui. Other parts o' Cajun Country. Could even take you to touristy shit."
"Meanin' Mardi Gras?"
"If that's what you want."
"Wouldn't be able to get any beads, sugar. You'd have to take your top off instead."
Remy had to bite down every filthy thing he wanted to say.
"Just say the word, chere."
She gave him another shove.
"You're a piece o' work."
"Your favorite piece o'work," he said, not one bit sorry.
Remy's return home, the trip that found him with one foot in the grave rather than two, was a very different sort of visit.
For a time, Apocalypse kept Remy in the dark, held the door cracked open only slightly. Remy seemed to experience his waking moments as though witnessing them through frosted glass, as though swimming in murky water. He was otherwise trapped in darkness, his psyche buried in the back of his mind.
But Remy now knew the true workings of Death's scythe, of the Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jekyll that tore through lives in front of him, scattering sorrow, taking the very last thing someone could give.
Apocalypse finally let the door swing open, showed Remy that Death remained steadily at work, even as Remy's consciousness was kept locked away. Though he had not known, Remy had always been this incarnation of Death, had committed atrocities, his body unleashing horrors while his mind remained in something like sleep.
Remy was aghast, disgusted with himself, could not comprehend what he had become. It seemed impossible, and yet, without knowing, he had committed terrible sins, his guilt was irrefutable, and there was undeniably blood on his hands.
Remy wondered only briefly why Apocalypse had revealed the truth, why he had not simply used Remy's body while keeping his psyche at bay.
Remy might never know. But it appeared that Apocalypse did not mean to keep Remy locked away forever, that he intended to break Remy, that he meant for Remy's consciousness and Death's to someday become one.
Since returning down South, Remy had witnessed other manifestations of his master's—no, Apocalypse's—puppet show, the next stage in Apocalypse's plan for him. Apocalypse could pull Remy's strings in another way altogether, and his first experience was just as harrowing as each other terrible truth.
Professor Xavier was alive somehow, had found Remy somehow, and Remy had tried to warn him.
Professor, run! he had tried to scream.
Mighty untoward, peekin' at another man's cards, Remy had said instead.
And then Remy's grey hand clamped itself over Xavier's mouth, and Xavier melted away to nothing.
It had been practical, Remy assumed. Apocalypse drawing a line in the sand, showing Xavier that he was not safe.
But it had also been another reminder for Remy.
He was Death, but that part of his mind was no longer in hiding. Remy would see more, would participate more. The pain he inflicted would be something Remy experienced and remembered, and if he dragged his heels, that harm would certainly come to those Remy cared about.
Do you think your beloved will know to be afraid? Apocalypse had once sneered.
Remy certainly did.
The bomber was no match for Remy and the Guilds—his newly enlisted soldiers—and as they easily took the plane down, Remy had to fight the protestations of his conscience. The teams would have to defend themselves, and he would have to find a way to acquire precious cargo without causing additional damage.
Apocalypse wanted Rogue to join them, though Remy did not know why, and he could only hope that—by collecting her himself—he would be able to keep her safe.
But because she was Rogue, even though she was in danger, though she likely knew the danger was Remy himself, she wanted to protect him, wanted to keep him safe as well.
Apocalypse poisoned your mind, said his favorite voice. I can help you.
Remy allowed himself a brief moment to take her in when he saw her, her beautiful face with its full lips and stunning green eyes, her petite yet strong frame, her auburn and white hair that no one else would ever have.
He wished he could warn her, but he could not control the movement of his lips, could not do anything but submit.
Remy seemed to be pounding against the inside of his skull as his body stood in front of her, saying words he might have said, sharing things he had wanted to share.
Life does flash before our eyes when we die.
When I died, all I saw was you.
He tried to scream when he and Rogue sat down to dinner, when Apocalypse once again used his mouth to reveal Remy's hopes for them, to use Remy's hand to hold hers, to stroke her face, to tuck her hair behind her ear.
But he could do nothing as Apocalypse spoke, could only watch in horror as Apocalypse once again pressed Remy's finger to her forehead.
Sleep, he told her for the second time. And she did.
Rogue floated down to him, a vision in red and black. A simple veil covered a face wearing a placid smile, an expression he had seen on it the last time someone tried to make her their queen.
She landed, the smile remaining on her face as she approached him and took his crooked arm, and when Remy looked into her soft eyes, he wondered how much of her was—for the moment—truly there.
There was a great deal that he couldn't remember after that, though he knew that he and his soldiers fought hard, that his own hand had shoved a crystal into Rogue's chest. He saw her lying prone on the ground, saw others injured, could feel additional minds that were not his own trying to break into a skull that had no room left.
Remy was an object of death in every sense, when he was awake, when he was not. He was hurting his family, the people who had become just as dear to him, the person he loved more than anyone else. And he could not stop, would keep going until they all were dead.
He saw Cable approach him, a gun in his hand like none Remy had ever seen.
Another time Remy might have chosen to dive away.
But when Cable pulled the trigger, this time, Remy didn't.
Remy felt himself gasping for air, and he tried to turn away from whatever rested on his face.
"You will breathe more easily if you keep that there, Mr. LeBeau," said a familiar voice.
"Non-"
He should be dead. He needed to be sure there was no chance-
Remy turned his head.
"Chere?" he rasped.
Was she safe? He had tried to attack her. Had tried to attack all of them, to kill all of them. Apocalypse had wanted to put her through unimaginable horrors, might still want to.
He had to keep her away.
"Chere?" he called out.
He heard a scrabbling sound, protests from team members that he couldn't quite make out.
"I'm fine. I'm fine," insisted a familiar voice.
"Non-" he groaned.
Remy sat up, the bindings from his wrists falling apart.
There were a few team members in front of him, including Professor Xavier, who was—apparently—not only alive in Remy's head.
They all gasped.
"Did the fucker really break free?" someone growled.
Remy heard a familiar set of claws popping out.
"At least he's still wearing-"
Remy yanked off the long-disabled suppression collar, charging and holding up the object.
"Stay back!" he warned, putting a finger on one of the bindings at his ankles.
"Of course," said the asshole, still brandishing his claws.
"Remy, hang on-" said Rogue, who sounded too fucking close.
She moved in front of the others, and Remy's eyes began to burn, even as his chest felt like it had been pierced with a knife.
She was so damn beautiful, and if she got any nearer, she might not fucking live.
"Non!" he cried more loudly. "Arréte!"
Remy finished freeing his ankles and dove away, his muscles screaming in protest, his bones feeling brittle enough to crack. He stood unsteadily by the far wall, continuing to hold up the glowing collar.
"Remy-"
Rogue took a step toward him, and he held out a hand.
"Don't! I'll hurt you."
"That is what we're concerned about-" Logan began.
"Non-" Remy shook his head.
They didn't understand.
"He can make me," Remy continued.
Rogue took another step toward him.
"Please, chere. Don't wanna hurt you."
He braced himself against the wall, his body exhausted even from that brief exertion.
He felt tears in his eyes.
"Don't wanna hurt you," he said again, his voice breaking.
He sank to the floor, even tried to scramble away as Rogue approached.
"Please."
He was vaguely aware that his body, though weak, followed his commands, and every time he spoke, though it was still a rasp, his voice came when called.
Maybe that meant that this was real. That he was real.
Rogue sat next to him, putting an arm around him and pulling him into her.
"Non-"
"I've got you, my love."
He finally leaned against her, shuddering and too spent to cry.
Someone handed her something that turned out to be a blanket, and she wrapped it around him, taking him back into her arms.
"Non," he choked out.
She kissed him repeatedly on the head.
"You're okay, baby."
"Ain't worried 'bout me!"
He tried to move again, but she held him in place.
"I'm okay, too."
He shook his head.
"Can't know that."
There was no way.
Rogue unexpectedly held her right hand to her mouth, tugging off the glove with her teeth.
Remy's eyes went wide.
It seemed as though her skin had been burned off, looked like it must have been agony, might still be.
"I hurt you," he rasped. "Chere-"
She shook her head.
"Was me takin' out the trash."
"Perhaps today is a day to be more direct, meine Sis," said a familiar voice.
Rogue turned to glare at Kurt, the way she always did when she thought someone was butting in unnecessarily.
She turned back to Remy.
"He's gone, love. Hurt like hell. And knocked myself out, but he's gone."
Remy wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"That ain't possible."
"We believe Rogue was successful because of the crystal that you implanted," Hank cut in. "It appears to have amplified her powers."
Rogue gave her burned fingers another wiggle, wincing.
"Shoulda given me a crystal that made me invincible, sugar. Invulnerability ain't cuttin' it."
Remy barked out a watery laugh, leaning into her, though it probably wasn't safe.
"Might be a good idea to use a little healing factor on that, kid," Logan said from somewhere.
Remy guessed he wouldn't kick the guy's ass just yet.
"I would like to do a more thorough scan of your mind to confirm that we are correct that Apocalypse is gone," said Professor Xavier.
Any other time, Remy would have refused.
He nodded.
"D'accord. Looks like you also ain't dead."
Xavier smiled.
"No, I am not."
Remy glanced around the room, realizing that he did not recognize it.
"I miss anythin' else?" Remy sniffled.
Rogue gave him a look.
Audio/Podfic Version
(read aloud by me!)
Length: 20:40
Listen: Turn Again Home mp3