[Log] Pyro and Bobby

[loluronfire.livejournal.com]

Who: Pyro (loluronfire ) and Bobby (freezetagging )
What: All-out fighting, then a make-up while drunk off of girl-hormones and pain. ♥
When: A day after this.
Where: Outside the castle.
Rating: PG13-R? I'm just saying, there is some pretty violent shizzle here.

Bobby knew this day was coming, he just kind of wished it would have waited until he was his proper gender. On the other hand, it was probably a good thing they were getting it out of the way.  At least Pyro had had the decency to move it outside.

Taking a deep breath, his face serious, he left the 16th floor.  He'd risk the elevator, if only to save the strength that he was certain he'd need.

He was right on time when he reached the designated meeting spot, keeping as calm as possible as he waited to catch view of John. Of course, he was also on his guard in case there were any ideas of a sneak attack. Getting barbecued before they even began was not sounding like such a good idea. He was almost certain he could still feel the boob punch and everything.  Hopefully, this would be over quick.

Pyro was standing where he'd set all the grass on fire, arms crossed under his chest, scowl in place. He was tempted to throw something before he got spotted, but he wanted bragging rights fair and square. Bobby had gotten too goddamn uppity since he'd won on Alcatraz, and Pyro was sick of hearing it.
 
Pyro was stronger, dammit. He was powerful, he was-- he was useful, and Bobby needed to get knocked down a peg.
 
At one point, it would have made him giddy to see his best friend picking fights. At one point, Bobby was the last person he'd ever think to set on fire. Times changed.
 
"This is your last chance to back out, Bobby," he said suddenly, eyes darkening as the flames spiked up around him, itching to be thrown, "you sure you're not scared?"

Naturally, Bobby would have begged to differ on which of them happened to be the strongest. Sure Pyro kept bragging about being a class 4, but he had to be somewhere around there too to even come close to trumping the jackass. That was good enough reasoning for him. Besides, his heart he felt was good, and, even when they were friends, Pyro had always been the misguided one.

With a 'tch'ing sound, he clenched his fists, already turning blue with frosty cold.  "I was never scared of you, John." he returned with a frown.  "Let's just get this over with before we make a scene and someone else has to get hurt over it."

Even before their feud, it was important that the fight stay entirely between the two of them.

Pyro's eyes trailed down to Bobby's fists, and he smirked.
 
He did miss that, though. The fear. He was powerful, and even when they held guns they were afraid of him.
 
Of him.
 
That feeling was intoxicating, like a drug (made it easy to forget that he was so terrified of them.) It was the same feeling that he got when he extended his fingers, thumb wrapped around the base of his lighter, and set fire rocketing out. Bobby wanted to start this, and Pyro was more than happy to oblige. "You're the only one that's gonna hurt."

Fear was not something Bobby looked for with his own abilities in the least.  He didn't want or need to know if John was afraid, he just needed to beat him.

"We'll see about that." he said, thrusting his hands forward to release a whirlwind of frost and ice, hoping to devour some of those flames up and push them back at Pyro before they got too close to his own side.  Granted it was always more difficult facing him directly than stopping fires he'd started elsewhere.

Either way, he was determined to win again. Keeping his feet steady in what used to be grass, he pressed forward to his opponent. If they were playing any other sort of game, he might have wryly said 'Hey, just like old times.'

Pyro swept his other hand low, gathering the flames at their feet and swinging them out like a rug from beneath Bobby's legs. He didn't just want to win this fight anymore, he wanted to knock the Iceman on his ass, he wanted to prove a point.
 
He was better.
 
Fire burned in the pit of his belly instead of butterflies, and he turned the wheel of his lighter again before sending out a second wave. The air was beginning to swelter, hot and thick and very nearly solid; Pyro was trying his damndest to scorch every last ounce of water out.
 
The task was significantly harder here than it had been on Alcatraz (or when indoors), but that only meant it would take a little longer. He would be patient.

Bobby braced himself, his knees attempting to buckle, but the rest of him determined not to fall so quick.  He was forced to abandon one hand to quelch the flames at his feet. It already felt like his shins were getting grilled.

He was very well aware of what John was trying to do, and he would be doing everything he could to make sure that it really did take as long as possible. If only the weather in this place weren't so absolutely perfect.  A little rain or fog would be nice, eh?

As soon as the second wave of fire was released, he pressed harder, the stream of ice pushing further, while that second hand froze the ground below him.

Pyro's eyes narrowed and he jerked his hands back before pushing forward again, a swirling bulb of fire multiplying between them and spinning out like a great whirlpool of heat and light.
 
This wasn't going to be like Alcatraz. He wouldn't let it.
 
Flames were laid out across the earth behind Bobby, and Pyro's lip curled as he concentrated to bring it spiking inward, folding together. It barreled forward like a battering ram, aimed to knock the boy in the side and stop him from leaking his ice.

Meanwhile Bobby was trying to get it to be like Alcatraz again. Maybe not play by play, but he was hoping he would step up and turn himself into ice anytime now. Then he could just run forward and pummel Pyro again before he got torched.

No luck just yet. Maybe his concentration was off? He gritted his teeth in frustration and pressed onward. There wasn't a whole lot of time to plan when flames were barreling at you.

Sure enough, the 'battering ram' would prove to be effective, for now, and hit Bobby rather painfully  in the side. With a hard 'oof', he tumbled to the ground, holding his arms out in front of him to break his fall. It sucked, true, but it sure the hell wouldn't be his end in this fight.

Pyro's eyes lit up and he laughed; a noise that was probably a bit too off-kilter to be anywhere near comforting. His blood seared from the tips of his toes all the way to the top of his head, and he was left to squirm with the sensation of being alive.
 
Playing with his lighter was never like this. He lit up all those police cars in Boston, and discovered for the first time what it meant to breathe. Xavier had taught him to stifle that; Magneto set him free.
 
He curled his fingers around the air as though seizing something solid, and from the unfrozen ground, spikes of fire rose. He was going to knock Bobby back up onto his feet, just to make him fall again.

Now Bobby was really hating himself for letting himself fall. One of those 'spikes' shot him right in the back, in that spot where, if hit just right, it would knock the wind right out of you.  He cried out and even almost actually felt like crying in his current female state, but he bit his tongue. There wasn't time for that.

No more time was wasted on the ground, he immediately jumped up, glaring fiercely across at Pyro. Rolling his shoulders back some as if that would get rid of the ache, he took a run for his opponent, the ground underneath him furling out as a path of ice while his hands thrust forward to belt out another blast of cold. "Dammit..." he muttered under his breath. It did hurt a hell of a lot, he wasn't going to deny Pyro that.

Come on, come on... he practically screamed at himself, concentrating hard on his hands, which flickered between flesh and ice.

Pyro stood his ground and grinned (a touch maniacally), before the fire rolling at his side was released with a broad sweep of his hand. It crashed over itself like a tidal wave as Bobby started forward, and devoured the ice in its wake. He didn't work to halt the Iceman, only to roast him from the back.
 
Usually, the burning wasn't about whoever was standing in the fire. Usually, Pyro could get high off of lighting up the air.
 
Bobby is different, though. Bobby's always been different, so Pyro lets him get close enough to touch and then sends a punch at his once best friend's face.

The punch sent Bobby reeling back with a screech, one of his hands reaching up to cover his eye. That was definitely going to bruise. At least his fingertips were borderline ice and helped soothed it a bit.

It still wasn't any excuse to let Pyro get away with it.

Panting for breath, Bobby kept one hand over his eye for a moment, sweeping his hand back to create a curved wall of ice several feet high to act as a shield and buy him a little bit of time. The air was slowly getting dryer and he knew it. He was also aware, however, of the familiar sensation of ice surging through his body, and getting ready to bleed through his flesh.

Pyro scowled, unappreciative. Damnit, he apparently wasn't trying hard enough.
 
Flames sparked powerfully again, another roll of the wheel in his zippo, and he opted to circumvent the wall by sending a pillar to snake around it in order to knock Bobby to the side, much like earlier.
 
He was just getting started, he could taste it in the back of his throat like he'd just guzzled a glass of gasoline. God, he'd needed this for so long; screaming through the journals didn't cut it.

Even Bobby had to admit it felt good letting everything all out. Just so long as they weren't hurting anyone else. He couldn't say much for himself at the moment, but if things went according to plan, that would change.

Once his breath was more or less caught back in his chest, he turned to face the direction that he could feel the heat coming. He wouldn't fall for the same trick twice.

Extending the wall to block out the snake of fire, he twisted around the other side and shot out a barrel of ice that way before ducking into his fort again. Just a little bit more, he could feel it...

Pyro faced the incoming ice with a great plume of fire, unaware of what Bobby was getting ready to do. What was sent at him crackled and wilted with hissing steam, devoured.
 
He rotated his unoccupied wrist and sent the fire that had gotten diverted into a great spiral, swirling and tripping around into a lopsided and mighty tornado. There was nothing graceful about the movement of flame.
 
He laughed because it burned to breathe, gulped in air like water, watched what he had created close in on the guy he used to call a friend. "What's the matter Bobby, are you too scared to come out and play?"

Bobby drowned everything out for a moment, his little makeshift sanctuary almost eerily quiet inside of it. Not to say that Pyro's taunt went ignored.

He closed his eyes tight, allowing the ice to course up his fingertips and across his arms. Finally he reached it. Just as the flames cracked through his walls, Bobby's entire body turned to solid ice and all at once, he turned to knock it down, walking right through Pyro's flame.

This is what he was waiting for. This was Bobby's version of intoxication.  "Are you kidding?" he smirked, but the expression was probably somewhat hard to see.  "I thought we just started."

Pyro scowled. His powers gave him that quiet sense peace and wholeness, but to achieve it he had to set himself on fire from the inside out, first. It would figure that Bobby worked the opposite way, secluding himself and calming down, before becoming the ice he could wield.
 
"Yeah," Pyro agreed through the sheet of flames and scorched perfection, "we'll see."
 
He ignited his zippo, rolled a hand over it, and sent the fire hurtling like a javelin towards the Iceman's face.

It was amazing how renewed you could feel after being torched a few times when your entire being was made of ice. Bobby stood his ground now easily, his concentration back in tact.

Knocking the spear of fire away somewhat haphazardly with a shield of ice, he charged forward. And no, he wasn't going to club Pyro with his face just yet. He opted to make a grab for his old 'friend''s arm, freezing it as he did so. He was intent on swinging him around to deck him right in the gut with a punch.

Payback for the black eye he was going to have when his face came back.

Pyro yelled, jerking as his arm was suddenly accosted and (or so it very much felt like) ripped in two. When he found it wasn't coming free and instead being very much frozen solid, he tried jerking harder, with his whole body.
 
That failed about the same time that Bobby's rock-hard fist landed in his stomach, knocking all of the breath from his lungs with the suddenness of a balloon popping. He wheezed, doubling over as well as he could with one arm in a vice grip, and the fire at his feet wavered sadly with his broken concentration.
 
Gasping pitifully, he reached up lamely in attempt to find some purchase and straighten, despite the fact that he couldn't see for the moment. The palm of his hand was hot with his fire he'd been holding moments ago, and it slipped on ice until he curled his fingers for a better grip and glanced up-
 
-to find himself holding quite firmly onto Bobby's left frozen breast. He blinked, and had the presence of mind to look fuzzily smug. "Huh. They're a little firmer than mine."

Bobby held fast to Pyro's arm, making sure it stayed frozen.  He was reserved about bringing harm to others, but to John? What did it matter anymore. He'd made it perfectly clear that he had no reserves on harming Bobby (or Rogue if only he'd remember that). 

And then he--- oh, what's this? Was Pyro actually holding on to his chest of all things?  True, he did have a point about them being firm and all, but he spat out a scoff.  "...Asshole!!"  The hand was quickly shoved away, its owner given a rather rough shove along with it.

That frozen arm was finally released, but he wasn't done yet. Though he'd shoved John away, he reached out to snatch him by the shirt again, keeping hold of him, the ground underneath them frosting over. "What do you think, John, should I knock you out with my face again?"

Pyro stumbled, staring at his frozen arm for a moment before getting grabbed suddenly again. His expression flickered with fear, but it was crushed quickly by an onslaught of anger, eyes flashing in bright, rash defiance as the emotion fueled all the heat in his blood.

"How about," he snarled back, raising his abused arm and pulling to the side, "no?"

Forgotten fire from the ground behind him swirled forward, swallowing up his frozen hand and making it blinding as he swung with all the weight he could throw around while being held still. It slammed loudly it into Bobby's (lethal) face.

John howled in pain when his fingers gave off a nasty crunching sound; it was like he'd punched a goddamn brick wall.

Just to make it even more biting toward John, Bobby sort of scrunched the side of his icy face that Pyro had managed to hit, as if it tickled or something of the sort.

The flames he'd called up around that arm weren't forgotten either, but he had less to worry about in his current state. Letting go of his opponent once more, he shoved him downward and sunk his fist into the other's side to give him another frosty hit.

Sure he couldn't stay an ice(wo)man forever, especially with the wounds of his own, but he'd do whatever he could get away with in the meantime. "If you would just learn to stay down, this would all be over you know." His fists clenched again, misty with excess chill.

"Yeah?" he wheezed, gasping and on his knees, holding onto his side while simultaneously cradling his shattered fingers, "same could be said for you."
 
God, that hurt. Probably more than getting stabbed. Pyro's ribs protested painfully, but he ignored them in his anger.
 
He launched up with a growl, piledriving his shoulder into Bobby's torso. With boys' bodies, this wouldn't have a snowflake's chance in hell of working, but balancing was hard with new, smaller ones. Even after the better part of a week.

"No way." Bobby returned, triumphant...

That is of course until Pyro shot up. He'd almost argue that he stole that move, except he'd been right in assuming the balance would be off with a smaller, more shapely little body. At least it didn't really seem possible to knock the wind out of an iceperson. 

In a mixture of tiredness and surprise, he stumbled back a bit and buckled to his knees. It didn't hurt, he'd grant it that.
With a frustrated grunt, he thrust his fist against the ground, releasing another path of solid ice that slithered toward Pyro's feet in an effort to freeze him right in place.

Pyro grunted, tugging when the ice wrapped around the soles of his shoes and stopped him from moving. He managed a growl, biting down on the cap of his lighter to pull it open before thumbing the wheel, only having one hand left to work with.
 
The fire blossomed out, swallowing up the air and rumbling with distinct animosity as it tumbled forward with the crashing power of a waterfall. Detached logic buried somewhere deep spun tales of how futile the effort would be, but anger egged him on.
 
His vision was dark around the edges, and pain squeezed at everywhere that he'd been hit. His arm hadn't been unfrozen yet, but he couldn't take the time to melt it because he knew that if he stopped to think he'd get derailed.
 
Bobby wasn't- they weren't supposed to be this way, but Pyro would too proud to take it back even if he could. He just needed to make something burn.

Pulling himself to his feet, Bobby braced himself for the  wave of fire to pass.  Sure it was easier to handle in his current shape, but it still didn't stop it from being irritatingly hot. 

Pushing through the flames, he merely skidded over to the stationary Pyro and fully intended to crash into him much as had happened vice versa, except that he was a good deal more solid.

Eventually he'd get enough air knocked out of him.  And if he wasn't giving up, than neither was Bobby. Even if he were starting to wonder just how long he'd be able to stay as he was.

Pyro screams.
 
Feet still stuck to the ground, he is bowled over with what feels like the force of a freight train, and is privy to the very distinct sensation of his ankle snapping in what is probably a billion pieces. He bucks, and the fire in the air explodes with his surprise, rocking the ground.
 
Everything feels broken. It's hard to see. He can't move, and he feels a little like he's going to die; that fuels him to grab whatever's left, any flame that's there, and throw it at Bobby from where he lays on the ground.

Bobby fell back from the last burst of flame, too tired to even try freezing the air around them to stop it.  He landed on his back a short distance away, the jolt giving his head a whiplash sort of effect against the ground.

It wouldn't have hurt so bad if he hadn't lost control of his ice and shifted back to his regular (and somewhat female) self. "Ugh..." he groaned, after his head snapped against the dirt, which had been more than abused with fire and ice.

It would be fun having to explain massive burns and frostbite from the same fight to the clinic.  "Should have learned your lesson, John..." he panted, pulling himself up on his elbows to keep the pressure off of his back.

Pyro was relatively busy going blind with the pain, but snapped out of it at Bobby's words. He shifted to glare, unable to sit up or move in any way without waking the screaming pain in his limbs.
 
"You're not looking so hot yourself," he wheezed, before closing his eyes and panting. Dammit. Dammit! All that anger was still bubbling beneath his skin, but he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn’t even flip Bobby off; he’d lost his ability to move his hand.
 
All the new frustration built up, distinctly burning beneath his eyelids. Hot tears that were lava like his blood, and he refused to acknowledge them, "you should have just burned on Alcatraz."

Bobby poked at his swollen eye. If he could, he would glare at Pyro, but then again, he did have a point.  In fact, if he could describe how he felt now that he was more or less 'human' again, he would say that it still felt like he was on fire. Yet his body jerked almost violently in a shiver.

His own words got caught right in the place where his adam's apple was supposed to be, and just gathered up there all together, threatening to blurt out.  "Alcatraz should have never happened." he returned, not so much frustrated as just kind of defeated.

Maybe he wouldn't have even been able to fight Pyro if he hadn't been so willing to strike him in the first place.

"You're right," Pyro growled, wondering vaguely if it was good or bad that his body was starting to get disturbingly numb, "You never should have been there. None of you should have gotten in our way."
 
He tried lifting his hand to look at it, and only succeeded in making himself choke down a terrifying bubble of nausea. The fingers looked crushed, and he was bleeding at the knuckles. He was just lucky none of the bone was poking out.
 
He refused to brave a glance at his ankle. "We were doing the right thing, but you just couldn't stand that, could you?"

Bobby managed a scowl, wincing as he shifted his weight to the side of his body that didn't happen to be burnt to a crisp. He was breathing out of his mouth just incase he actually smelled like he was cooking.

"You know that's not what I meant." he hissed out, keeping his good eye away from the injuries Pyro had. At the very least, he could say he brought that broken hand on himself.  "I meant we shouldn't have had to fight each other in the first place."  Might as well be honest since neither of them felt up to going anywhere.

The next thing out of John's mouth really got to him, however. To think he could even put it that way... "The right thing?! John, you hurt people! Innocent people! At my parents' house and even at that clinic! We could have had friends in there.."

Pyro's temper snapped like a twig and he flopped on his side so he could at least attempt to lift his head and glare. There were so many things wrong with those statements that it actually hurt.
 
"At- your parents' house?!" he wheezed, picking at random, and found himself livid that Bobby was even still considering them his family after what they'd done to him, "They shot Wolverine! In the face! And you just- you just dropped to the ground--"
 
He remembered the looks on their faces, that all-consuming fear present when he and Rogue kneeled (gods among insects, lowering themselves to the floor), and it still squeezed at the pit of his stomach. Made him sick.
 
Who were they to point their weapons at him? They were nothing.

If they weren't already looking as pathetic as they did, or if Bobby could even get over there, he would have smacked Pyro in the face.  "I know that." he snapped.  "What else was I supposed to do? We can't all squeeze bullets out of our heads and just walk away."  And he didn't want any trouble with those cops.

They could have dealt with it calmly and rationally. It had been a mistake. His brother was just scared. He didn't know how to act. Bobby kept trying to convince himself of this. They were his family, he still cared about them.

"Forgive me for not being selfish like you." he muttered half-heartedly.

"That's it, isn't it?" he gaped, angry and indignant, and- and-- so much at once it was confusing. His eyes started to burn again, and he rolled once more onto his back. He couldn't look at Boby without his throat running dry. "You think I did it all for me?"
 
The fire, it had been perfect. The anger, the fear- the way it made everything combust like a supernova; it was all there, it was all him, but...
 
The look on their faces when they got on the ground made his breath catch in his chest and squeeze there like something solid. Made the lighter heavy like lead in his palm and- "they were going to kill you, they were going to find out what we were and they were going to kill us all like they tried to do with Wolverine."
 
He shook with the effort it took to say such things out loud, and he found he finally knew why he'd never tried before; it hurt, "and those people," they didn't deserve the title of family, they gave it up when they stood in the window and stared at their own damn son like they'd been wronged, "they just- watched! You call me selfish, but- they just watched."

Bobby didn't want to hear that about his own family. Maybe, like how they couldn't accept he was a mutant, he wouldn't accept that they would just leave him like that. That wasn't how it was supposed to work. "Shut up!" he snapped, voice catching some against his words.  "This isn't about them, so just drop it!"

That thing with Wolverine, it was just an overreaction. Everyone was startled. The whole situation was a mess that he couldn't even think of a proper solution for.

"If you didn't do it all for you, then why did you leave us?" Better yet, why did he leave him? "We were friends, John.  What could you have possibly gained from Magneto? Power? Yeah right. You were a pawn from the beginning." No one saved him when he fell, after all.

Pyro's entire world lurched suddenly, and the stuff that had been scorching beneath his eyelids came spilling out. "Shut up!" he echoed, voice raw with the effort it took to be so angry? defensive? everything, "I was not a pawn!"
 
He wasn't. He couldn't have been. He and Mystique, they got to flank the King. They were- they meant more, they were useful. Mystique was sacrificed, but only in desperation, they had to move fast, it was a war-
 
"I- it wasn't about us, Bobby! I did it for Mutants!" He'd always thought he'd leak magma if he tried, but it turns out he just cries regular tears, "they used- they used the cure as weapons! They were going to wipe us out, turn us into them! You think you were safe? Why, because you stayed holed up in the Mansion and didn't fight back? They would have gotten to you too. Like Stryker."

"You were SO a pawn and you know it! You're just afraid of being useless!" Bobby shot back, curling his hand into a weak fist.  "I know it wasn't about us but you still betrayed us! You betrayed..."  He was surprised at the way his chest clenched when he tried to say the words. It really must have been pent up for a long time.  "You betrayed me..." he mumbled.

"I didn't just hide. I fought for the right thing.  I protected those kids, like you used to! I know what they were doing was wrong, but we were fighting to help them understand...without killing them.  Without sinking to their level."

And he felt that Pyro had not only sunk to their level, but hit the very bottom. He treated them like lesser beings, when they were all supposed to be equal. That was Xavier strived for and Bobby would have never felt important if he hadn't ever come there. He was certain of that.

Suddenly it's harder to breathe than it was to speak and Pyro's gasping with the effort it takes to keep from breaking down to unintelligible noises raked from the back of his throat.
 
He knows Bobby is wrong, that he wasn't fighting for the right thing at Xavier's, but that's not the part of his statement that makes Pyro feel like he's getting punched in the belly again.
 
"I didn't mean to," he wails miserably, delirious with the pain and the confusion at the onslaught of emotion, admitting to things that never even thought to acknowledge before, "I didn't want to be scared, and you were- you were-- I didn't mean to leave you behind."

Bobby had already resigned against his black eye and let it water like crazy. He couldn't even tell if he was crying or if it just hurt that bad.  And it frustrated him to no end the way that Pyro just wouldn't see that he was the one who was wrong.

Yet it was the very smallest, somewhat awkward sort of relief to hear the wailed confession. "You didn't leave me behind..." he said, trying to pull himself up so they didn't look like they were completely rotting on the spot.  "If you were getting scared-- I mean... you could have talked to me."

"We both wanted the same thing, anyway.." If they could just somehow push past the very different ways that they wanted that thing, that is.

Pyro really wants to say something about Rogue, always there and in the way to stop him, but he knows distinctly that Bobby won't remember. Something about her always unsettled him, and when she wrapped her fingers around his ankle and stole his fire, well-
 
He closes his mouth and takes hiccuping breaths instead, trying not to think about the weird deflated way he is no longer proud about turning half of Bobby's face into a mess. He wonders where all that anger very suddenly went.
 
"I'm sorry," he mutters digging the fingers of his still-working hand into his side where he's fairly sure his ribs have shattered, "I didn't-- I'm sorry."

"It's..." Bobby shivered again, ducking forward in a brief spurt of exhaustion.  "It's okay." he finally managed. Hearing those two words from Pyro surprised him to the point that his good eye widened, watering up a bit to match its battered partner.

He fell silent after that, for a little while anyway, the words playing over again as if he were afraid he'd forget them. He'd been waiting for that, and even if he wouldn't admit it, he'd been waiting for it longer than he was to 'finish' Pyro off.

"I'm sorry too." he managed to say. For what? Well, John would know well enough, he hoped. It may be the only chance he'd ever get to say it.

John nodded as best he could, giving what might have been a watery smile in response. It might also have been a pained grimace, but either way he was weirdly relieved.
 
He licked his lips and then reached up to palm away whatever had leaked from his eyes. He felt strangely like he'd doused the fire that always burned in the pit of his stomach, but it wasn't the same as the time Rogue had sucked it out. It was calming, in a way.
 
When he'd stopped long enough for his outburst to slow to the occasional sniffle, he fought to sit up and wheezed. "I- don't know if I can walk," he uttered, still wholly unwilling to take a gander at the state of his foot, "or move at all..."

And Bobby could have fainted in a mix of relief and being overwhelmed by the entire situation, but it would have been worth the faint.

He offered one of those tight lipped scrunches of a smile in return, before it actually spread into a full out grin.  For him, it was a moment that he just laughed himself silly until his eyes spilled over with the tears you only cried in utter heartbreak.

Luckily he didn't exactly have bones to break when he was made out of ice, so he knew he'd be able to walk. Maybe with a limp, considering the burns on his legs, but it was a start.  Wiping his own face, which was a mess of dirt and tears and probably more, he glanced toward the castle a distance away. "Let -- let me help you."