Title: Leftovers
Author: A-Bomb (Feedback will be forwarded to A-Bomb by the webmistress: Starliner00gmx.net)
Website: http://www.avalon.cobweb.nl/bomb.html
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Leftovers 2
By A-Bomb
It was 4:30 a.m. when Remy woke up. This was a habit now. He figured Scott would be thrilled if he knew. Before, it was unheard of Remy making it out of bed before 10. But now, it just hurt too much to stay in bed that long. His body literally ached every morning. He needed to get a softer mattress or something. He actually had bruises on his hips.
Remy groaned slightly as he moved himself off the side of the bed, waiting for the black spots to stop flying across his vision. Actually, the morning was his reward. It was the only way he could think of to actually get himself out of bed anymore. He knew that when he would wake up, he could go down and eat an apple. It was the only thing he was allowed to keep down. He would cut it into one-inch pieces, and chew each piece several times before swallowing. He could stretch it out to 30 minutes before he finished the whole thing. He was already salivating.
Remy quickly grabbed his robe, shivering from the morning cold. As he opened his closet, a loud noise, almost like a growl, erupted from the other side of the room. He whipped around, crouching in a defensive stance. He half expected it to be Sabertooth with that growl. Instead, he saw the last thing he ever expected to see. Hank, curled up in the large recliner in what looked like a very uncomfortable position, snoring.
Suddenly, the events of last night came crashing back down on him. He had thought it was a dream, but apparently it wasn't. He started shaking again, but for an entirely different reason. He had to grab the doorframe to keep from losing his balance.
Hank knew his secret!
Remy quietly crept out of the room and down the stairs. What was he going to do? Why did he have to be so stupid!! His hand whipped out and punched the kitchen counter. He was such an idiot!! Tears reached his eyes but he blinked them away. There had to be some way he could play this off. He had complete control of the situation. Why should any of them care anyways?
He decided he would just eat breakfast and then go back to bed. Maybe if he just slept, Hank would leave. Hank was too addicted to his own work to waste much time on him if he didn't want help. He figured Hank might tell the professor, but both of them held to their professional ethics, and he knew they wouldn't say anything to the others. He could deal with that.
He finished his apple and cleaned up. As he walked out of the kitchen, a huge, furry blue mass stepped out in front of him. Hank took him by complete surprise, and Remy stumbled back several steps.
"Hank?... I..."
"Good morning, Remy." Hank grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around 180 degrees and started leading him back into the kitchen.
"I do so hope you planned on eating more than that one apple. Perhaps a nice stack of pancakes, or one of my world-famous omelets?"
It took Remy a few moments to react to that. What was Hank going to do? Force-feed him or something? Remy wretched his shoulders out of Hank's grasp, turning and trying to slip under Hank's left arm and out the door. Normally, this would be a simple maneuver for Remy. He forgot, of course, that Hank was super fast and agile. And for some reason, he himself seemed to be moving in slow motion compared to his own usual abilities. As Remy slid under Hank's arm, Hank twisted around and grabbed him around the waist with one arm, and the other wrapped around his upper arms, making it impossible for him to get out.
"Remy, just relax. I won't force you, but we need to talk."
Remy willed himself to relax. Why was he so jumpy? He was acting like a scared, little kid. Stupid idiot!! What's wrong wit you!?!
Hank released his hold when Remy relaxed. Remy took a deep breath and slowly walked over to the table. He pulled out a chair and sat down, wrapping his arms around himself and staring down at the floor. He tensed again, knowing Hank was probably going to lay into him about how he could be so stupid for doing this to himself.
Hank sighed as Remy grew tense again. He knew the Cajun would use his stubbornness to try and keep him away. Hank was not looking forward to this upcoming battle of wills.
He had woken earlier to an empty room and a loud sound from downstairs. He rose stiffly, knowing he would soon regret sleeping in that chair. He made his way down the stairs, and could hear a chopping noise coming from the kitchen. He stood quietly outside the door, curious as to what Remy was doing. He didn't know much about eating disorders, but he did know that the habits victims formed with eating behaviors were quite strange. He watched as Remy cut the apple into tiny, bite size pieces, then sat at the table, eating each piece slowly and methodically. It was a sad thing to watch. Remy had looked like a rabbit, nibbling small bits of food.
Hank shook his head, looking down at Remy, who was apparently waiting for him to say something.
Hank took a deep breath, and decided to jump right into it. He took a small bottle of pills out of his lab coat, and placed them on the table. Remy glanced at the bottle, and then looked at Hank.
"What's dat?"
Hank sighed and sat down. This should be interesting. "It's Zoloft, an anti-depressant." He watched Remy, waiting for a reaction. When he didn't get one, he decided to continue. "I want you to start taking this every morning. It will offset the chemical imbalance in your brain that is making you so depressed and causing you to..."
"Stop."
Hank looked confused. "What?"
Remy stood up, anger suddenly apparent on his face. "Hank, I ain't some charity case! I never asked for your help! Dere ain't not'ing you can do ta change me. I jus' want all of ya ta leave me alone!" Tears welled up in his eyes, and he continued in a quieter voice. "Trust me, Hank, I'm hopeless. An' I've accepted dat now." A tear began its path down his cheek. "So all of you need ta accept dat as well." With that, Remy ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room, locking the door.
Remy slid down to the floor, and the tears began to flow harder. Even Hank thought he was some kind of psycho freak now, not even able to control his feelings and emotions. Maybe he was depressed, but that's because he was beginning to see what a loser he actually was. He hated the sight of himself. He really did wish he were dead. But carrying through with that was too frightening. He was actually afraid to die. It was too definite. There was no turning back. But this way, he could live, albeit barely, and suffer as punishment for the stupid, stupid things he had done throughout his life. Those years and years of living on the streets, trying to survive. The bad decisions he made as a teenager. Killing Belle's brother. Meeting Sinister. Letting Sinister use him. Letting Sinister manipulate him. The Massacre. The list went on and on. It would be so much better for everyone if he didn't exist. He was the world's biggest fool.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became at himself. He was sobbing so hard he was about to hyperventilate. He stood up and made his way over to the bed. He was so tired. He just couldn't go on anymore. All he wanted to do was sleep. Forever.
***
Hank sat in the kitchen, slightly surprised by Remy's outburst, but not really shocked. He knew this wouldn't be easy. He listened to the choking sobs coming from upstairs. The desperation in those cries was heart wrenching. He looked around the kitchen, sighed, and stood up. He had to do something. Like his father had taught him, there's always something that needs to be done. Right now, he knew what needed to be done. He needed to save the life of his teammate.
But how? Remy was an adult. If he didn't want help, there wasn't much that could be done. Of course, Hank knew Remy wasn't in his right mind. That was just another symptom of the disorder. Remy was delusional from the starvation, and his view was most likely distorted. And to top it off, the Cajun could be as stubborn as hell.
But then again, so could he.
***
Hank quietly slipped up the stairs and stood outside Remy's bedroom. He figured it would be locked, and took out the knife and safety pin he had brought, quickly picking the lock. Yes, he knew how to lock pick. It was fairly simple, and he had the door open after two tries. He knew Remy was asleep inside. He had stopped crying about 30 minutes ago and his breathing had evened out. Hank walked in and stood at the side of the bed. Remy's eyes were red and puffy, and his face had tear streaks down both cheeks. He looked so utterly helpless and innocent, the complete opposite of how everyone seemed to always view him.
Hank reached out and brushed an auburn lock of hair away from Remy's face. He knelt down, studying the face in front of him. There was such contrast in that face. So many masks Remy hid behind. In the last 18 hours, Hank had seen more of the true Remy than he had in the past two years he had known the wily Cajun.
Remy was human, just like the rest of them. At what point had they decided to make him more? Or less, for that matter. Rogue and Warren, they blamed the entire mutant massacre on him. Many of the X-men had despised Remy in the past, shunning him because he could attract anything with two legs, and pretty much flirted with the same. Even Hank had to admit jealousy in the past, although as he had come to know Remy a little better, it didn't bother him as much. Remy had a lot more to him, and was quite interesting to talk to.
It was actually Remy who had taught him how to pick a lock. It had happened about a year ago when he lost the key to a file cabinet that had some important documents he needed right away. Storm was away, so he had sought out Remy's help. Remy had it opened in a matter of seconds, and then actually offered to teach him a few tricks! He had gladly accepted, and quickly picked up the useful skill. It had been an interesting afternoon. Remy had shown him the ins and outs of several different locks, and at some point they had found themselves in the kitchen, drinking a beer and discussing the finer points of Renaissance art. He was pleasantly surprised at how much Remy knew about such subjects. It was that day that Hank figured out just how much more Remy was than meets-the-eye. He had truly enjoyed that day, and hoped that Remy and he could become better friends. But recent developments had prevented that. Onslaught, his evil doppelganger from another universe that kidnapped him, and, of course, the trial in Antarctica. Everything had been put on a backburner, and at some point since all that, Remy decided to put himself on a path of self-destruction.
Remy was a loner like Wolverine, but on a whole different level. Wolverine treasured his independence, always stepping out of the picture if things became too hot and heavy, but he was just as content to be around everyone as well. Remy seemed to draw into himself when he was around the others. He was always hiding in that long trench coat, keeping everyone from getting too close. As soon as he could, he would split from the group, either heading to the roof or his room, or out to the bars. But he never seemed truly happy. And it seemed like such a lonely way to live.
Hank sighed and stood back up. He could spend all day thinking about these things. He needed to get Remy back to the mansion ASAP.
Hank reached down and rubbed a bony shoulder. "Remy, wake up."
The only reaction he got was a moan. Hank tried again, shaking him a little this time. "Come on, Remy. I need you to wake up."
Hank's brows furrowed slightly when Remy whispered a barely coherent response. "Please... can't."
Hank took Remy's wrist in between his large fingers, reading the pulse. By the end of one minute, Hank was pale. He was getting 40 beats per minute. He gave up trying to wake Remy up, and instead bent down and scooped the emaciated body into his arms. He wasn't going to play games anymore. He needed to get Remy to the MedLab now. He grabbed a blanket from the bed, getting Remy wrapped up tightly. Within minutes, they were outside on their way back.
Hank was getting nervous. Despite the eye-opening cold, Remy was still asleep, shivering against Hank's body. "Hang on, Remy. We're almost back. Don't shut down on me now."
***
Remy was having the strangest dream. He was dying. Finally near the end. He was so tired, and he was finally going to get some rest. He didn't have to worry about the hollowness in his soul any longer. Death was with him. Large strong arms held him, in a quiet promise to help him. To actually give a damn. He would never have to be alone again. If he would only accept Death. Give up and let Death take care of him. But suddenly, fear poured over him. Did Death really want to help him, or use him like everyone else always had? He began to struggle, and Death tightened its grasp. The harder he tried to get away, the tighter Death held on. He didn't want this! Not yet! He wanted a second chance! He began screaming, praying that someone could hear him, help him. He couldn't do this alone!
"Remy! Wake up!"
Remy shot straight up, immediately regretting it as the black spots invaded his vision and made him pass out again.
Hank looked over at the monitors, checking to make sure the hyperventilating hadn't worsened Remy's condition. At least some of the medicine was beginning to work. Remy's heart rate was up to 55. Despite being malnutritioned, Remy was also dehydrated. Hank had put him on nutrients and fluids, deciding against a feeding tube at the moment. Remy would hate him if he did that without his permission.
Hank sighed, checking to make sure everything was reading normal, then walked over and sat down at his computer. He needed more information on how to deal with this. Mental illness was not his forte, and he was worried if he was handling all this correctly. He was shocked to find the hundreds of websites devoted to this illness. He began going down the list.
He found loads of information, and tried to see how all those symptoms could fit Remy. Apparently, eating disorders seemed to stem from feeling a loss of control in one's life. It seemed that it was an easily hidden addiction, because dieting was so accepted in today's society. And often, the ones suffering had been victims of abuse in some form as a child.
Hank understood that Remy was feeling out of control. In the past months, most of Remy's control had been taken from him. He was told he couldn't come back to his family. How many times had that happened in the past? And how much choice had he actually had when it came to working for Sinister? Hank actually doubted he had had any. These were definitely questions he was going to have to bring up with Remy.
The next site looked interesting.
Why Are We This Way?
Hank clicked and waited for the page to load. He began scrolling down, slightly miffed that all he was seeing was a long, black screen with no words. Finally, about halfway down, he found in huge letters:
Stop!!!
It was a link, so he clicked on it. The next page loaded, and he began reading it.
Why are you trying to solve my problems by placing me in a group? Just stop. You are doing more harm by looking for statistics to place me under. Why am I acting this way? What can be done? How?
Please stop trying to find these answers in a book or on a web site. The only way to get through this is to show me you care. Do I really know you do? Trust me, I won't if you just keep me hooked up to I.V.'s and tell me to get better. The only thing I feel is the loss of control, and anger at you for taking it away.
Just be there for me. Talk things through. Provide support and let me know you want me better because you care. But give me the choice. Let me make the decision to live or to die.
Hank sat staring at the screen, reading it over and over. It was powerful. He found another link at the bottom of the page, and it took him to a bio of the girl who wrote it. The website was actually created by a girl who had suffered from the disorder. She built it as a tribute to her friend, who wrote the passage he had just read. To his dismay, the girl who wrote the passage passed away a few days after completing it.
He shut down the window and got up to take a break. He needed to think about what he had just learned.
Hank looked over at Remy. He was still asleep, and didn't seem to be suffering from any nightmares at the moment. Hank figured he could run upstairs for a few moments and grab a couple of Twinkies and some coffee.
***
As Hank stepped into the foyer, he heard several voices coming from the kitchen area. He walked in to find Jean, Scott, and Bobby all sitting around the table. Scott and Bobby appeared to be arguing about something, and Jean just looked slightly amused.
"Hank!" Bobby was the first to notice his friend step into the room. "Just the person to back me up."
"Oh please, Bobby," Scott threw his arms in the air, but had the faintest hint of a grin on his face. "This is a pointless argument to begin with. And Hank is way too biased anyways."
"Hey, this is a way important argument! And Hank's a doctor, so he's a very educated and trustworthy source."
Hank looked between them with amusement. "I can already assume I will regret asking this, but what on earth are you two arguing about?"
Jean spoke, shaking her head and trying not to laugh. "Are Twinkies part of the four major food groups?"
Hanks mouth hung open for a moment, too shocked to answer.
"See, Bobby, even Hank knows this is too stupid to answer."
Before Bobby could find a comeback, Hank broke out of his shock and jumped in instead.
"Scott!! How could you not know how important Twinkies are in a healthy daily meal plan? Stars and garters, man, I doubt it is possible for the human body to function without the sustenance of such an important nutritional fuel!"
Scott stood up, trying to appear stoic despite the grin on his face. "Fine, fine. I can tell I'm outnumbered now anyways." By this point, Jean had her head on the table shaking with laughter, and Bobby was high-fiving Hank.
"But I still think you have an unfair advantage, Bobby, so this doesn't mean I concede yet."
Bobby just shrugged and grinned. "Hey, you take what you can get."
Everyone started laughing and talking, and Hank sat down to catch up on how everyone's holidays had been. He was listening to Jean talk about her niece and nephew when Bobby got up to get a drink from the fridge.
"Where did all this food come from?" Hank, Scott and Jean looked up to see Bobby standing with the fridge wide open. "Sheesh, this is enough food to feed an army!"
Hank sighed. He was not sure how much he should say about Remy just yet. He had decided earlier to not even mention Remy until he could discuss his findings with the professor. But maybe they wouldn't ask anything further if he just casually mentioned Remy was in the house. "I believe that Remy made Thanksgiving dinner for the professor. And enough leftovers for everyone else." There, that was a simple explanation. He wasn't giving away anything important.
"Remy stayed here?!" Scott exclaimed. "I figured he was one of the first ones to split when he heard we were taking some vacation time."
Jean looked at Hank, somewhat concerned. "Hank, is everything okay? I didn't want to say anything earlier, but you do look kind of beat for someone who just had a vacation."
Hank cringed. Did he really look that bad? Of course, he had come straight from the boathouse this morning, hooked Remy up to tubes and I.V.s, and spent the rest of the day browsing sites on the Internet. He hadn't even looked in a mirror. Knowing his fur, it probably wasn't a pretty picture. If you thought 'bed head' was bad, you should see 'bed body'.
"Yes, my dear, it has just been a long day. That's all. I actually just came up to get a bite to eat. I really should get back to work downstairs."
"Aw, Hank, c'mon. We never get vacation time. Why don't we head out to city like we used to. Maybe that old coffee shop is still around," Bobby urged. He was going to milk this vacation for everything it was worth.
"Sorry, my frigid friend, but I have work to accomplish. I have, um, recent, intriguing developments in my research that require immediate response." There, he wasn't lying. That was true.
"Sure, Hank. Which translates to: 'I'm going to be up all night calculating formulas when I could be out having fun for a change.'" Bobby nonchalantly walked past Hank to leave the room, freezing the cup of coffee in Hank's hands. Used to that trick, Hank set the cup in the sink and picked up another cupful he had made in anticipation of the joke. Some things never changed.
"So, Hank, how is Remy doing?" Jean asked the last question Hank wanted to hear.
Hank stood there for a moment, thinking how he should phrase his answer so that Scott and Jean wouldn't suspect anything.
"He is... dealing, I suppose."
"What does that mean, Hank? Is there something wrong with him?" Scott asked, actually showing some genuine concern.
Hank sighed and looked down at his cup. "I know you are concerned, guys. But, I cannot talk about this with you. I'm sorry. If you are worried, you need to speak to Remy yourself. In fact..." he looked up and met their eyes, "I strongly urge it." Jean and Scott blinked and looked at each other, worry now apparent on both their faces.
"Now, if you will excuse me." Hank turned and headed back down to the lab.
Hank opened the door to the room he had left Remy in, hoping that Remy was close to waking up so that he could try and get some food into him.
Apparently, Remy had been a lot closer to waking up than he had previously thought, as he now stared into an empty room.
***
So cold! So cold! C'mon, ya idiot, you can make it up a flight of stairs. Jus' keep goin'. Almost dere!
Remy was relieved as he stepped inside his old room. Maybe he would be safe here for a while. It was the only place he could go right now.
Remy walked over to the window, and tremors rocked his body as he gazed out. There was so much snow out there. It was covering everything. It almost looked... infinite. Remy gasped and twisted away. He couldn't think about that right now. There was no way he would go out there to get back to the boathouse. And the lab, well that was totally out of the question. He looked down at his arms. He had ripped the I.V.s out, and there was a trail of blood flowing down his right hand. Well, so he didn't know how to remove I.V.s gently. He just shrugged his shoulders, not really caring. As long as he wasn't in a lab, he might be safe. He had almost had a heart attack when he woke up in there a few minutes ago. It was too much like...
Remy shook his head, trying to clear out those thoughts. He wouldn't think about that right now. He needed to concentrate on getting warm. He started digging through his closet, pulling out a couple pairs of sweatpants and sweatshirts. He turned on the shower as hot as he could stand it, and quickly stripped and got in. Oh, it was like Heaven! This felt better than anything he had experienced in a long time. Hot water. Heat. Warmth. He craved it more than anything right now.
He began washing himself, trying to get every part of himself under the steamy water at the same time. He glanced over at the shower mirror on the door, hating what stared back at him. Why did it look like he was gaining weight?! How could that be possible? Did Hank feed him something without him knowing it? How could Hank do that?! Destroy all his hard work! Well, he would have to work it off now. He had planned on sleeping, but he would never be able to rest knowing that food was sitting in him, slowly attaching itself to his body, making him fat and ugly.
With that thought on his mind, he turned off the shower, quickly getting into his clothes and grabbing a rag to help stop the bleeding coming from his arm. It was going to be a long next couple of hours while he worked off those damn calories.
***
Hank had gone straight over to the mansion security system after he found Remy missing from the room. He was not impressed. Remy had yanked out the I.V.s, and there was blood on the bed. He sighed inwardly. Why wouldn't Remy just let him help? Why did it always have to be a fight?
A quick sweep of the mansion told him that Remy was upstairs in his old room, actually in the shower. Hank shut down the screen and decided to grab some bandages, figuring that if he couldn't get Remy to come back down here, he might have to apply mobile first-aid. As Hank went over to the drawer to grab some bandages, the door to the lab opened.
"Hi Hank." Bobby ambled into the room, looking a bit puzzled.
"Hello Bobby." Hank nodded. Noticing the look on his friend's face, he added, "Is everything okay?"
Bobby hopped up onto the counter next to Hank. "I'm not sure." Hank waited as Bobby paused, knowing something was bothering his best friend.
"I was walking upstairs a few minutes ago, and saw Remy head into his room." Bobby looked up at Hank, and Hank could see sincere concern in his eyes. "Hank, he looked like... like... I don't know, just strange. Tired. Just not like Remy." Bobby looked Hank in the eyes. "He was all hunched over and out of breath. I only saw him as he was going into his room, but he looked so pale and weak. Is he sick or something?"
Hank hated this. He would uphold his professional ethics no matter what, but he felt like he was practically lying to his friends' faces. Why did this have to be so hard?
"Bobby, like I told Jean and Scott, I cannot answer that. You will have to talk to him yourself. I wish I could say more, but I cannot convey things that were told to me in confidentiality. You know I won't do that."
Bobby nodded. "Yeah, and you're right. I guess we need to talk to him. Everyone has been giving him the cold shoulder since he got back, and it's really starting to get old."
Hank nodded, smiling. "I concur completely, my friend."
Satisfied, Bobby hopped off the counter and headed to the door. "I'll be back here in 5 hours to drag you out, so be ready for a Twinkie run!"
Hank laughed loudly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world!"
***
As Remy exited the bathroom, he again came face-to-face with a blue, furry obstacle, and again, fell back a few steps, surprised.
"Ya know, mon ami, dis startin' ta get old." He quickly put his arm behind his back, hoping that Hank wouldn't see the blood and drag him back down to the medlab.
Hank just stood there, arms crossed, not moving. "You know, my friend, ripping I.V.s out of your arm to sneak out of the Med Lab is not a good way to try to keep me away."
Remy at least had the decency to look down and blush at that statement. How could he explain it to Hank anyways? He could never let anyone know what had happened. He would take it to his grave. And he deserved it.
Hank sighed, seeing that Remy wasn't going to respond. He walked over to the small dresser by the bed and laid out some bandages and tape. "Sit down on your bed, Remy."
Remy froze. Fear suddenly gripped him. Something about this situation felt... familiar...
"Sit down on the bed, Remy." The young eight-year-old did as he was told, despite knowing exactly what was about to happen. Why had he tried to escape? He shivered as he watched the metallic white hands cut a strip of gauze and wrap it around his wrist. But the hands never stopped there. He would close his eyes, not being able to bare the sight of the hands on his body. He would try to detach himself, as Dr. Essex 'examined' him. He always hated the end the most. It always hurt so bad. He cried as he felt his jeans being pulled off. Essex telling him to hush. But it hurt too much. And now his wrist hurt too.
Hank watched in shock as something in Remy snapped, and Remy started screaming, saying that his wrist was fine, to leave him alone. Remy backed into the corner and collapsed, just screaming.
Hank stood still for a few moments, trying to adjust his shields to the fear Remy was throwing at him. Remy was in a panic, and Hank needed to get him calmed down quickly before he passed out again.
***
In the kitchen, Scott and Jean were talking as Bobby walked in. "Hey guys, can we talk?"
"Sure, Bobby. What's wrong?" Scott was surprised by the determined look on Bobby's face. It didn't happen too often.
"Actually, I want to talk about Remy."
Scott and Jean looked at each other before Jean answered. "Actually, Scott and I were just discussing him and the current living arrangements. We were thinking it might be time to get him back in the house. None of us even see him anymore."
Bobby nodded. "Yeah, I was just talking to Hank, and I think something might be wrong with Remy."
Scott's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Well," Bobby continued, "when I was heading upstairs a minute ago, I saw Remy walking down the hall to his room. He looked different somehow. Like, I don't know, kind of hunched over and stumbling. I can't explain it, he just didn't look well."
Jean began to look concerned. "Hank wouldn't give us a straight answer when we spoke to him. He acted like it was confidential information."
Bobby nodded. "Yeah, well he actually said it was confidential to me. So something is wrong."
Jean stood up. "Why don't I go up and talk to Remy. Maybe I can..."
Jean dropped to her knees in mid-sentence, grabbing her head and gasping. Scott and Bobby felt an intense rush of pain and fear, but realized it was a projection of sorts, and instantly raised their shields against it. By then, Jean had done the same, and was getting to her feet.
"What the heck was that?" Bobby stood there, rubbing his temples.
"I-I'm not sure. It felt like a huge dam of emotions, mostly pain and fear, was suddenly released on the Astral Plane." Jean projected herself to the Plane for a moment to survey if any damage was done. It appeared the emotions were still present, though somewhat more under control. And it appeared to be coming from upstairs... in Remy's room.
"It's coming from Remy!" she replied as she came back to her surroundings.
"But how could he do something like that?" Scott asked. "He's not a telepath."
Jean shook her head. "I don't know. But this isn't telepathic. It feels more like..." Her eyes widened with realization. "Remy is an empath!"
Scott looked shocked. How could they not know something like this? "Jean, are you sure?"
Jean nodded. "Yes. His shields broke somehow, and he's pouring emotions into the Astral Plane. I have to go help him before too much damage is done."
Jean ran out of the kitchen, with Scott and Bobby right behind her.
***
After Hank had his groundings, he slowly made his way over to Remy. Remy looked like a cornered mouse, about to be captured, and Hank didn't want to aggravate him further.
Hank stopped about a foot away, and just started talking, hoping to draw Remy out of this panic attack.
"Remy? Can you hear me? C'mon, Remy, I need you to come back to me. I know you're scared. But I won't hurt you. You know I won't hurt you, Remy." Hank grimaced as another pang of fear hit him, and he had to draw back. But he kept on talking, hoping to pull Remy out of his nightmare.
"Come on, Remy. I know you are scared. But we need to talk about it. You need to come back to me." Hank attempted to draw nearer, as Remy seemed to be calming down a bit. "Remy, please, give me your hand. I know you are scared, but please trust me. I care about you, Remy, and I care what happens to you."
This seemed to finally get through to him, and Remy's hand came up. Hank slowly reached up and took it, emitting as many calming, kind thoughts as he could. The effect on Remy was remarkable. He suddenly came back to the present, staring blankly at Hank for a moment. Then he broke down into deep, painful sobs.
Hank wasted no time in gathering Remy in his arms. He meant what he said a second ago, and he was going to be here for Remy. He started rocking back and forth, knowing how much it soothed Remy. "Shhhh. It's going to be okay, kiddo. Just let it go. You're safe."
Hank was fascinated and devastated by what he had learned in just the past 24 hours alone. He was in too deep to look back now. And what was even stranger was that he found he was oddly enjoying this new relationship. It was nice to feel needed for strength and support, instead of simply because he was a doctor and fixed everyone's injuries.
At that moment, Jean burst into the room, with Scott and Bobby on her heels. Hank figured Jean, being a telepath, had been hit hard with that last empathic outburst.
Jean knelt down next to Hank. "Remy..." She placed a hand gently on his back. "Remy, I know these emotions are painful, but please, can I help you pull them back under control?"
Remy lay against Hank, not moving for a moment. Then he mumbled, his face still buried in Hank's fur.
"I'm sorry, Remy, I couldn't understand what you just said."
Remy turned his face slightly so that his mouth wasn't buried in fur. "Jus' you an' Hank."
Jean nodded and wasted no time in getting Scott and Bobby to leave. She came back over and settled down next to Hank on the floor, taking Gambit's hand in hers.
"Okay, Remy, your shields have become weak for some reason. We need to get them strong again. Come onto the Astral Plane and we'll begin."
Remy nodded. But what was he thinking? He couldn't let Jean see inside his head! She would see all the pain, his fears. What could he...
*It's okay Remy.*
*Jeanie?*
She floated towards him and he didn't know what to do now. He had never been fond of the Astral Plane. It was a strange place. He hoped this wouldn't take long.
Jean, sensing his apprehension, floated over to him and took his hand. She immediately felt some of the tension dissipate. *Follow me.*
They began floating on the outskirts of his mind, searching for the weak spot. At a certain point, the air around them began swirling. As they dove further into it, it became rougher and rougher. Jean knew they were near the damage. Remy's emotions were out of control, and the worst seemed to be centered in this particular area.
Suddenly, large bold words began flying passed them, coming from below.
STUPID IDIOT! FOOL! LOSER! JERK! I HATE YOU!
Down below them, Jean noticed a barren, snow-covered landscape. The words were coming from a certain plot in the snow, and she thought she could make out a person in the snowstorm.
*Let's go to the ground, Remy.*
As she changed her course, Remy tugged her back.
*Non, chere, dat... not a good idea.*
Jean looked back at him. His astral image was a pulsating dark purple. She had seen that many times before. It was fear.
*Why are you afraid, Remy? It's only an image, we can't be hurt by it.*
Jean was getting worried. Besides the pulsing purple light, she noticed that his image was growing weaker and dimmer.
*It ain' jus' an image, Jeanie. I been dere. Dat's me in that snow.* He turned away, hugging himself. *I can't go back dere. Jus' not strong enough.*
Jean looked back down. More images were melting into the scene, but with all the snow and wind, it was almost impossible to see what they were from this point. It was obvious that whatever those images down there were, they were the cause of a lot of these emotions being created. But Remy was going to have to be the one to deal with them.
As she turned back around to him, his image suddenly blinked out. He had passed out, and his astral form was now buried deeper in his mind. Jean didn't have the time to go on a wild goose chase, so she turned to go fix the wall on her own. It wouldn't be as strong as it would if Remy was building it, but it would do for the time being.
As she neared the damaged wall, pain suddenly hit her from behind. She was dazed for a moment, then turned around to see what had hit her. Her mouth dropped open with the image now in front of her.
It was a small, cold, metal room. A strong wind was blowing outside, and she figured they must be in Antarctica. This looked like one of Magneto's citadels. Remy was kneeling on the ground, with only some pants and boots on. Beside him was a pile of wires, with the plastic casing chewed off. And Remy had his hand down his throat, gagging himself until he vomited it back up. Jean stepped back in shock. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.
Suddenly the scene changed, and they were in the boathouse bathroom. Remy's position hadn't changed, but now he had on jeans, boots, and a sweater. And instead of a pile of chewed up wire next to him, he had a half-eaten cake, an empty box of cereal, and half a gallon of ice cream. Which was currently being thrown-up into the toilet.
Jean couldn't take it anymore. She jumped outside the image and flew outside the wall. She quickly erected a shield that would hold the emotions in for a while, until Remy could rebuild the wall. Then she jumped out of his mind, and quickly back to her own body.
***
Hank sighed with relief as he felt Remy's emotions dissipate. About a minute later, Jean came back to herself and opened her eyes. She looked at Remy and then up at Hank.
"He passed out."
Hank nodded. Remy's body had relaxed and he figured that was what happened.
"Are you okay, Jean?"
Jean closed her eyes and rubbed her temples and realized she was shaking. She looked down at Remy with tears forming in her eyes. "Hank, do you know what he's doing? He... he's..."
Hank sighed and finished. "He's trying to punish himself, Jean."
Jean reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of Remy's face, stroking his forehead a few times. "What have we done to him, Hank?" She shook her head slightly. "What have we done?"