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Johnny isn't sure how long he's been flying. That's the thing about space, there aren't any reference points to mark the passage of time, or the speed he's flying. He thinks he must be going pretty damn fast, considering the clump of stars he's headed towards look bigger than they had an hour ago. Or what he assumes was an hour ago. Again, it's kind of hard to tell, and his wrist comm is broken to the point that it's trying to tell him it's been three days. As if. He's not even thirsty!
…he is kind of hungry though.
Hopefully there will be civilization in whatever star system he ends up. At least something edible. Man, he'd kill for a box of cereal right now.
Formless currents shift around him, kind of like how the cosmos shifted around the ship when they went faster than light. If he reaches out a hand he can touch it, metallic fingers alight with pale flames drifting through the shifting web of the universe. It doesn't feel like anything physical, oddly enough. Just the slightest internal pressure that doesn't touch his nerves, the impression of a cool river that doesn't match any temperature at all.
He thinks if he had done this before, it would have ripped his fingers right off, if he had been able to reach these speeds in the first place. It's kind of funny, right? The Human Torch, flying faster than light.
He might be losing it.
At any rate, the high speeds have molded the metal stuck to him somewhat, jagged spikes of precious metals stretching inches away from his face and shoulders and limbs. He thinks he's got some in his hair too, which is…fine. Hell, maybe he looks awesome, like some kind of human comet, but shinier.
He could live with being covered completely if it meant he had a chance at making it home.
Right, so, good news and bad news. The good news; he's very, very close to reaching the nearest solar system. The bad news; his stomach is cramping to hell and back and he wants to take a nap. Screw cereal, he could eat an entire horse or nine, and then sleep for a week.
The star is close, close enough that it's rapidly growing in his field of vision. Rapidly growing too close. Johnny squeaks involuntarily as he flails to a stop, spinning through space in an effort to not throw himself into a sun. He breathes out a sigh of relief as he stabilizes, just outside of the reach of the sun's gravity well that would pull him into it's depths. Or try, at least. If he was able to outrun a black hole, he might actually have a solid chance at outrunning the gravity of a star.
He almost wants to test it, but he knows he's flagging. As much as the remains of Galactus have sustained him, it feels like his energy is finally waning. Exhaustion pulls at the edges of his mind, the lure to sleep more enticing every second that passes. It would be stupid, right, to fall asleep in space, not an anchor to be found?
But, well, the sun is right there, and it's kind of like an anchor, if the two desolate planetoids orbiting it are any indication. Plus, the light feels safe, like a warm blanket after traveling through a snowstorm in his underwear.
He gets the feeling he should be more concerned about the lethargy, about the way his stomach aches that tells him it's not really his stomach hurting. He should be worried about the deep, gnawing void hiding behind his ribs, and the way his flames are reacting to the presence of the sun.
But the bright sun doesn't hurt to look at, doesn't burn him, and it reminds him of home. He's tired, so, so tired. What harm is there, in closing his eyes and hoping when he opens them next, the star will be his sun, and his planet will be orbiting around it, with his family waiting to welcome him home.
So he gives in. Johnny closes his eyes and drifts into the waiting embrace of a star.
When he opens them next, it's not to the Sun, or Earth, or his family. It's to darkness. Even as panic has him whipping around in search of the star, he can't help the disappointment that curdles behind his lungs. As if his problems could be solved so easily.
New problem, the star is decidedly gone, along with the lethargy and the ache behind his ribs. In place of it, his fire burns bright, and two planetoids drift aimlessly into the black.
Alright, so he wasn't hallucinating the sun, not if the planets are here.
Where the hell did it go? Johnny thinks, and resolutely ignores the growing, wild terror that tells him he knows exactly where it went.
Mentally, Reed Richards is giving him a disappointed look, the one where his faith in Johnny's intelligence is being tried, exasperated by the raised brow. Shut up, he mentally tells Reed. Mental-Reed pinches the bridge of his nose.
Alright maybe he is going crazy.
Here are the facts; the star is gone, it was here when he fell asleep, and he is no longer hungry or tired or wanting for anything but home. Last he checked, sleeping does not make you less hungry. Last he checked, there was an entire star here.
Therefore, something must have happened to it. It did not explode or implode or any variant of it, because if it had, he would have a) noticed, and b) there would be an entire fucking supernova here. There isn't. So it must have been an outside factor.
The only new variable is Johnny.
Johnny, who has pyrokinetic abilities that let him absorb fire. Johnny, who was very hungry before he fell asleep and was now decidedly not. Johnny, who accidentally absorbed some of the power of a god who had a self-proclaimed eternal hunger, which he satisfied by eating planets.
Good news! He knows where the star is. Hooray scientific method. Bad news, he's pretty sure he ate it.
Well shit.