Nightcrawler movie-verse origins fic based on XMFC. I sort of try to tie it in with the original movies, but I much prefer First Class, so…
This is based off a series of images that I drew http:/ /rhymeswithmonth .deviantart .com/#/d4yqba4 (without spaces) There were serveral people who asked if it was a fic, and I kept claiming that I had no time to write one but then I started thinking about it and it actually happened.
Azazel was used to scaring the hell out of people-humans and mutants alike. He scared the hell out of people, quite ironically because he looked like something straight out of hell himself. In fact, most of his childhood in Russia had been spent running from town to town from mobs of catholic fanatics bent on sending him "from whence he came." He had pointed ears and a fatally sharp devil's tail. He had skin that was redder than freshly spilled blood. He had adopted the name of Satan's scapegoat when he, nameless still at around ten years of age, had stumbled upon an ancient sketch of a monstrous man with ears just like his own. Scrawled at the corner of the page had read, Then he commands that ... be upreard, his mighty Standard; that proud honour claim'd AZAZEL as his right, a Cherube tall: Who forthwith from the glittering Staff unfurld th' Imperial Ensign' (1) He'd tried the unfamiliar name aloud and liked the way it sounded.
Yes, he became Azazel, the real life devil on earth. He was untamable, running wild through the world's wilderness. His powers back then were unbridled; he used them wantonly to steal whatever he desired in the moment, be it necessities like food and water, or passing fancies such as jewels and pieces of art that he would discard minutes later when he'd lost interest. He ran through those early years from place to place, not exactly avoiding human contact. He wasn't scared of them, the normal people; they were the ones who feared him. It was a great game to him, to watch the expression on their faces when they saw him, stepping naked and red out of thin air. He was Azazel the Devil, and he was invincible.
When Shaw found him all those years ago - back then the man had gone by the name Ivan Shostak (2), about half a decade before he switched to Schmidt- Azazel was a teenager. He wasn't sure exactly how old he was, as he had no idea what his actual birthday was, but looking back he would estimate that he'd been seventeen or eighteen. The Azazel of then was a wild thing, the monstrous result of a child who'd grown to think of himself as Satan incarnate. That demon child ran around naked, his crimson skin crisscrossed with scars, too many to count, his tangled black hair hanging around his waist.
Shaw hadn't tamed him. No, tame is too gentle a word. Young Azazel would not simply be tamed. No, Shaw had broken Azazel, like the animal that he was. Shaw had restrained him, tied him down with unbreakable chains driven deep into the earth; that was the only was to trap a teleporter. His powers took everything he touched with him when he phased, and despite his grade delusions, he had his limitations. Keeping him securely attached to the planet itself was a very effective way to prevent him escaping. And then Shaw was free to break him.
The breaking had been complete, and the chaining had been an essential part of it. Without his powers, Azazel was reduced to something agonizingly close to human. The emotional realization had been devastating, and he probably would never have recovered had the very man who had been the cause been there to rebuild his shattered world. Brutal his methods may have been, but by the time Shaw was done, Azazel was a new creature altogether.
He still believed himself a sort of demon, but now he knew the inner workings; he knew about the genes and the biologic causes that had given him his mutations. He had learned restraint, a concept that had been completely foreign to him for the first two decades of his life. It allowed him to hone the skills that he now realized had been sloppy and really fight with his full potential. Shaw educated him on the many, many things he hadn't even begun to know- math, the sciences, world history and politics, especially those of his home country Russia. Hell, Azazel couldn't even be certain that Russia was really his birth land; it was simply the one he had the most memories of, and therefore returned to the most.
He still believed that he was better than the others, those without power. In fact, he was even more inclined to glare down his nose at the pitiful humans who never failed, no matter how steadily awareness of mutants was spreading, to allow themselves to be overcome with terror at the mere sight of his face. He may have cropped and combed his hair and donned their expensive silks, but Azazel could never fit in, never be welcomed onto the ranks of societal normality. Even other mutants, his so-called "brothers" shrank from him, their invisible gifts allowing them to pretend in ways that he never could, that he'd never want to.
Because Azazel did not want to disappear into the world of man like they did, no, his gifts were just that, beautiful, glorious powers that he was proud of. Never, even when he was broken, did he regret what he was and what he could do. No matter how many loathing stares and pale faces that greeted him, he gazed coolly back, defiant and probably even reveling in their fear.
So yes, Azazel was used to scaring people. And it was completely reasonable that he would feel completely and utterly weirded out by the outright domesticness of the scene.
He watched the smooth glide of Raven's glorious skin over sleek muscles. The lamp at her side threw the gently textured scales into flickering relief and lights her copper hair like fire. Her exotic colour had been what had drawn him first, that there was someone, finally, who was like him. Albeit she could easily change form and appear to be one of them, one of the normal ones, she would always return to this shape, these beautiful colours. He'd never thought, before meeting Raven, that he could ever feel lonely. After she'd joined them, he recognized that he always had. Their shared physical oddities had brought them together, quickly and passionately, and now, months later, Azazel found himself living a life that the him of years before would have never thought possible.
Raven was currently strapping him into a navy blue infant carrier.
Azazel stared disgruntled at her slender blue fingers as they tugged at the overlapping straps, making sure that they were secure. "I must protest one more," he groused, rolling his shoulders backward uncomfortably, "this is stupid unusual torture."
A flash of amber eyes and an unladylike snort, "Torture? Please, if you're referring to the inevitable mockery you'll receive from Janos again, shut your mouth and grow a pair. That idiot has no right to talk because next time is his turn."
Azazel felt himself above pouting, but the expression plastered across his red features is not a happy one. He knew that further complaints were futile though, and settled for rolling his eyes and shifting his arms to give Raven easier excess to the damned contraption. Smirking in that self satisfied way of hers that he secretly reveled in each time he sees it because it means that she is growing more confident each day, Raven turned and stooped down to heft the baby into her arms and deposit him into the carrier.
Azazel stared down into his son's face as Raven secured the belts around his pajama-d behind. They infant stared back up at him cross-eyed. Azazel wrinkled his nose to keep a stupid grin from splitting his face, as it seems that he looses control of his facial muscles when confronted with his tiny offspring. Just because Azazel has been broken and domesticated doesn't mean that he can allow himself to melt into a pathetic puddle of emotion each time he sees this puny creature.
Wee purple fingers laid themselves against the charcoal fabric of his waistcoat and ball into fists. The baby has been up for a few hours, and therefore due to conk out any minute now, conveniently. Even now Azazel watched as the round head falls forward to nestle against his chest, plump plumb-coloured cheek flushed to the tips of his little pointed ears, miniatures of his father's. In sleep, the baby drew his limbs in and curled instinctively into a ball; even his short purple tail coiled enduringly around his mother's lingering wrist.
Raven paused to adjust the slim silver band around the child's plump wrist. It was a gift from Erik, a bracelet that the man had crafted for the boy weeks after his birth. Like everything that their leader created, it was utilitarian yet elegant, all curved silver twisting in on itself and around the small inlaid disk engraved with the letter 'K'.
It had been something of an apology, this bracelet. For the first days of the baby's life Erik had not visited the nursery where Raven rested with the newborn. It had all been over a disagreement that had occurred before, when he had found out what Raven planned to name the baby.
"I suppose he wouldn't like it if we named him Charles." Raven had said to him one night the week before her due date. They'd been lounging in her room, him in her desk chair and her sprawled over the bed. "Yeah, I can't imagine that flying, he's still so touchy about him."
She'd rubbed her massive abdomen with such a wistful expression that he'd rubbed at his chin and mused out loud. "Hmmm, Charles is a good name. Strong meaning "Free Man" I believe. Erik should like meaning no? In Russia the name is said Karl. Always have liked the name Karl."
Of course, Karl was the German form of Charles as well, so Erik had not been fooled for a moment. His face had gone eerily still under the curve of his helmet when Raven had presented the minutes old baby boy to him, proudly given his uncle's name. As always happened when Erik was reminded of his old friend, the very air around them had seemed to chill. Raven, however, refused to be guilted, despite Erik's angry protests that the name was an intentional slight. After two weeks though, the man had cooled down enough to see reason, and apologized with the gift.
Raven stroked their child's inky head once before stepping back and shoving Azazel's shoulder. "Now get a move on," she commanded, "you need to meet Riptide to get briefed before we can go ahead with the infiltration, so hurry along."
"Yes yes," Azazel grumbled under his breath, "do not tell me what these things I know already." He paused and meets her eyes, allowing his lips to twitch into the smallest of smiles. "See you after, lazurnyĭ(2)."
She scowled at the pet name, and he barked a quiet laugh as he paced into the centre of the room and phased away, reforming miles away almost on top of Janos Quested.
Janos hissed and shoved Azazel off his foot, scowling darkly and leaning down to brush away the scuff that had been left on his previously immaculate dress shoe. Azazel raised an unapologetic brow at the other man before dropping into the bar stool to his right, shifting uncomfortably to accommodate the bulky baby carrier.
Janos huffed his annoyance at the dismissal, but slid an unopened bottle of Estrella Damm at him. Azazel would have preferred something stronger, but Erik absolutely forbade them to get any semblance of drunk on mission nights. Popping the top with his tail, Azazel took a swig and scanned their surroundings.
The low wooden ceiling stained dark gave the bar a twilit lighting and the impression that it was late in the evening, but the clock on the wall stated that it wasn't yet four pm. They were in an empty bar just outside of York, England. He turned to look at his companion just in time to witness the Spaniard flick his own bottle cap at little Karl.
The metal cap hit the slumbering child on the ear, waking him with a shocked hiccup. Azazel bared his fangs and lashed out at Janos as the purple lips began to tremble. "Yebat' vashu mat'!(3)" He growled jiggling the distressed infant. "Look what you have done you Balvan!(3) this just great!" He punched at Janos again, even harder.
Janos evaded the blow and flicked his long hair over his shoulder sneering. Azazel cursed again under his breath as he attempted to quiet his son before the boy became worked up. If Karl became too distraught, he was likely to start teleporting until he was calm again, and that would mean Azazel would have to travel with the boy across who knows how many continents before the fit passed. It had happened before, and Azazel still recalled the first time it had with a shudder. Luckily, the baby's newborn powers had limited his range, and he'd only phased into the next room, but it had thrown his mother into a momentary whirlwind of panic. From then on, Raven had imposed a schedule of sorts upon the hapless mutants in the brotherhood. Hence the navy blue contraption currently strapped to Azazel's chest.
The schedule went something like this. Between the six brotherhood members, Raven trusted exactly three with the guaranteed safety of her child – herself, Erik, and Azazel (and in that order yes.)
But Erik was a very busy man, and although he'd shown a surprising paternal side since Karl's birth, he could only spare so much time and energy. Raven too was constantly needed for delicate, covert missions that would be impossible to carry out with an infant attached to her, so Azazel was the one who was burdened with the most babysitting shifts. When he'd tried to argue that he was just as indispensable to the mission as Raven, Erik had silenced him with withering glance like only he could, and left the blue shapeshifter to shout down any arguments he had.
Begrudgingly, Azazel had to admit that it only made sense for him to be the baby's primary caretaker. Karl was a good-natured little boy, but there had been a few occasions when he'd gotten upset enough to use his powers. Two times Janos had been the one holding him, and the Spanish man had not sounded happy when he'd at last managed to make his way to a phone and call them to pick him up. Emma had been even madder the one time she'd been deposited into a pond in a nearby city centre, ruining a very expensive pair of boots and forcing her to walk around sopping wet and mudsplattered. Needless to say the ensuing bitchfest had prompted Raven to take her name off the list altogether.
All the other times Azazel had been the one with Karl, thankfully. When it became apparent that the baby's abilities were on course to equal Azazel's own, it was decided that he would have to spend nearly every moment within his father's reach. So when the day came that Karl, spurred to hysterics when he'd bashed his head against a chair leg, zapped himself into the next state, Azazel had managed to grab him in time to go along for the ride and instantly teleport them back home again.
Instantaneous though Azazel's ability was, their signal could arrive at any moment, and he really didn't have time to deal with his out-of-control teleporter child. Desperate to avoid a tantrum, he brought his tail around and waved it in front of Karl's tear-filled eyes. Immediately, the tiny mutant ceased his whimpering and fixated on the crimson appendage. Letting out a small grunt, he stretched a hand out, his own miniature tail stretching unconsciously toward his father's. Satisfied that he'd averted the crisis, Azazel swigged his beer, carefully keeping the razor tip of his tail just out of reach.
"So," he snapped, still peeved at his companion, "what are orders?"
In his typical wordless manner, Janos tapped his finger against a slim packet on the counter motioning for Azazel to look for himself. Accustomed to the silent treatment, he retrieved the booklet and flipped through the pages skimming for the mission overview. Basic retrieval mission, Erik had drilled the procedure into the group countless times over the past months, and they'd put it into practice twice already, resulting in two new companions – Astra Kales, a middle-aged greek woman with the ability to summon small objects, and Fredrick Dukes, a mountain of a man from Texas with incredible strength and a temper to match. Both mutants had been incarcerated – Astra by the Greek government and Fred in a state prison, and both had been successfully broken out and swayed to the cause by Erik's contagious words. They and Angelo Unuscione, a forcefield generator who'd actually sought them out were so far the only new recruits they'd gained so far, much to Erik's frustration.
If this mission went as planned, they would gain another ally by nightfall.
Azazel studied the photograph on the page with mild curiosity. Mortimer Toynbee, age three, being held in a small government research lab just outside York. Regenerative healing abilities, psychoactive venom secretion from the epidermis causing a pale green skin tone, elongated prehensile tongue. Azazel read on with growing interest. Indeed, the photo showed a toddler with overly large, mud-brown eyes set in a sickly pale, moss coloured face. The mess of hair on the child's head was dull brown and tangled. He was a rather ugly child, Azazel decided, even ignoring the unusual colouring.
But he showed promise, with a list of physical mutations that long at such an early age, this Mortimer Toynbee would likely grow to be a formidable member of the group. Azazel couldn't help but glance down at his now pacified offspring was drowsing back to sleep; this new mutant would also be a potential playmate for Karl, something that Raven had been fretting about for quite a while. It appeared that either Erik had heard her concerns, or this was a happy coincidence indeed, to find such a young mutant with external physical traits. And he pretended to be so beyond caring…
Three short beeps came from Janos' coat pocket, and their eyes connected over raised beer bottles. Azazel breathed out through his nose and rested the half-empty bottle down with a dull clunk. Beside him Janos did the same and shrugged on his navy blue blazer.
"What is the message then?" Azazel grunted.
Janos fished his sleek black smart phone out of his breast pocket and held the glowing screen up for Azazel to read. Position acquired. Move forward to rendezvous immediately. Engage for as long as possible. Meet back at 1730. –Magneto.
"Fine," Azazel waved Janos out the door and into the cloudy afternoon, "Let us not linger."
Ten minutes later and Azazel and Janos were engaged, as per orders. Azazel ducked a wild swing from a security guard's baton and teleported a few metres away. That was too close for comfort, he thought, briefly resting a hand on Karl's little back. If he didn't have his son to worry about, he'd have no problem risking the closer contact, but as it was, he needed to show a little caution.
A little, but he still needed to do his job. There were over a dozen guards, and more were rushing to the scene. Six lay slumped unconscious or dead, hopefully the former but it was hard to be sure, while Janos had five of them engaged. Currently, Azazel was spreading his attention between the remaining three. One man charged foolishly toward him with a yell, only to be brought down with a timely blow to the temple with the end of his machete.
These guards were no small-time rent-a-cops, they were clearly trained agents. Already, Azazel could feel bruised forming on his back and shoulder where one particularly skilled man had caught him unawares.
Janos had taken out two more of the guards, and appeared to have the others under control. Azazel's two were obviously warn out, both sporting crippling injuries. He phased in behind them and swiped, felling one with a gash to the back of the thigh and whipping his tail around to block an attack from his enraged partner.
Raised voices from behind and a swarm of fresh agents rounded the far corner of the compound. Swearing, Azazel shouted a warning to Janos. With the new arrivals all twenty perimeter guards were accounted for. There would be a night guard inside the building and he'd surly called for reinforcements by now, but Erik's group would be in and out before they'd arrive. All they needed to do now was keep the agents busy while the others procured Mortimer Toynbee.
It should take no longer than ten minutes for them to accomplish this, but it felt much longer than that when fighting against ten-to-one odds. Whatever Raven and Erik might claim, having a six month old strapped to his chest really did pose a major handicap in battle.
Finally knocking down the last of the first batch, Azazel turned to face the fresh guards. The first to reach him leapt forward recklessly and was on the ground clutching at his bleeding stomach within seconds. The others, learning from his error, hung back and eyed him wearily. A mistake, that was, and he teleported behind them, taking out three before the rest clued in. Screams of outrage echoed off the cement walls of the compound.
Next they tried attacking in groups. They were getting smarter. He was forced to phase several times and only managed to get one down. Janos seemed to sense that he was struggling and the wind around them picked up, barraging the cluster of guards while he fought his own small pack of attackers. But the wind caught Azazel's hair, whipping it around and into his eyes. Snarling he batted the long black strands away, but one particularly skilled agent saw the brief lapse in concentration and darted forward.
This guard had a knife, and it bit into Azazel's side as he twisted managing to shelter Karl at the last minute. The metal sliced deep along his ribs and through the strap of the carrier like it was butter. The shock of the blow sent him reeling back, struggling to stay upright. As he fell, he hurled his machete over his shoulder and impaled the offending guard through the stomach, but the damage was done.
The wound Azazel could handle, he'd had much worse. What caused his heart to stutter in panic was the slight shift of weight as he crashed to the ground, the shift that signaled that the damage done to the carrier had been enough to dislodge the baby, sending him rolling away across the blood streaked pavement.
Azazel caught himself on his elbow as his son's terrified scream cut the air and he struggled to right himself. Behind him, the remaining guards were hesitating, frozen at the sound of the infant's wails and he could hear Janos taking advantage and knocking half of them over with a strong gust of wind. Azazel didn't care though, his attention was focused solely on his son, on the tiny bundle of lime green flannel pajaymas and smooth dark purple skin and ink black hair, and on the spot, just out of reach where his son had disappeared.
With a howl, Azazel surged to his feet, eyes wild with disbelief as the purple mist that he could have attached to, could have followed was swept away by Janos' wind. Curses streamed from his twisted mouth as he dropped to his knees on the spot that Karl had disappeared and ran his panicked hands over the grimy ground, searching desperately for any lingering particles.
Rapidly turning his despair to rage, Azazel twisted and had three men impaled upon his tail instantly. Cursing them in every language he knew how, he withdrew a moment later, with a spray of bloody mist, and killed the next closest guard he could get his hands on.
Vaguely he realized that all of the guards had been dispatched, and that his side hurt like a bitch. But none of that mattered and he ignored Janos who was hovering at his shoulder, saying something, actually speaking for perhaps the third time since Azazel had met he man. He paid no attention though, throwing off the hand that he placed on his shoulder and spun to scan the yard.
Blood, blood, more blood. Then purple shine of guts under his feet where he'd gotten carried away. Bodies strewn around them, twenty exactly, just as the reports had said. No baby.
He teleported outside the compound wall. Looked around and teleported again to a hundred feet north. Again to the west, the south, the east, then north again two-hundred feet. No infant son. Terror, raw and primal was rising in his throat and burst forth in a ragged cry of rage and fear.
He tried to calculate, how far could he have gotten? The last time Karl had teleported, it had been from their safehouse in Minnesota across three states to Illinois, and that had been two months ago. By the rate at which his powers had been increasing, Karl could probably have carried himself across the country is he'd been scared enough. He could be anywhere, and the longer it took to find him, the likelihood of him teleporting again multiple times increased. Azazel felt himself shaking violently, from the shock and the bloodloss but ignored it, forcing himself to teleport again, a mile to the east and found himself at the edge of a massive lake. No baby.
He phased at random to a few dozen more locations throughout Great Britain, and a couple in throughout the rest of Western Europe too before his phone buzzed. Freezing for a moment, he thought of Raven, and how she'd react when she found out he'd lost their child. A strangled sound escaped his lips at the thought, making a young French couple leaning against the railing near him stare, and then double take at the sight of him. He ignored them and pressed his cell to his ear and answering with a shakey "Da."
"Where you?" It took him a moment to recognize Janos' heavily accented voice, raspy from disuse. "Need come now, Erik thinks after you. I tell you coming in the minute."
Azazel ran his trembling hand through his disheveled hair. "Janos, I cannot return yet, I have not found Karl yet."
"And you no find him by your alone. Come now and Erik helping you seeing."
Before Janos had finished the sentence Azazel appeared by his side in a puff of crimson smoke. The Spanish man look relieved and put his phone away, holding out his hand silently to rest on Azazel's are and the two of them disappeared with a crack to rematerialize in the rendezvous.
Erik's group had already arrived, and their tall German leader looked annoyed at having been kept waiting. Beside him Angel lounged in a padded armchair, head lolling back and looking utterly bored. Raven was crouched on the floor in her blue form, facing away at the moment busy with the child, Mortimer who was even uglier in real life. Azazel felt a momentary flush of satisfaction to know that the mission had been a success, but then Raven turned to look at him, golden eyes immediately going to the loose carrier hanging empty and ripped against his thighs. The comprehension in her eyes was like lightning and she was on him in an instant with a fistful of his shirt, her teeth bared. Hysterical fury welled in her eyes, of course, and hatred directed at him. Grief like he'd never seen before, and guilt as well; some of that hatred was directed inward, she'd made him take him after all. Accusing eyes burned up at him, knowing without him having to say a word.
He expected the punch when it came, and could have blocked it if he'd chosen to. Instead, he welcomed the crunch of her fist against his jaw, and he stumbled back to sag against the wall.
"Where is the body you bastard!" She choked, coming at him again, "Don't tell be you just felt him there!"
Confusion flashed to comprehension and this time he blocked her arm when it lashed out. "Not dead, no Raven," He croaked, straightening and dragging her closer to stare into her golden eyes imploringly, "Lost, not dead never dead."
Around them, the other mutants stirred and a few let out exclamations at the news. Erik slid closer, tilting his head intently, "What happened?"
Azazel explained, allowing himself to slide down the wall all the way and sit on the ground with his head in his hands. He was starting to feel severely lightheaded from the gash in his side, and the emotional rollarcoster of the past hour was beginning to take its toll. "I looked." He said, voice breaking into something that sounded very close to a sob, "I tried to find him but there is no way to know where to begin."
"Then why'd you come back?" Raven whispered, her eyes dry still, boring into his own.
He flinched and tore his eyes away from her face, unable to answer. Raven stood then, and behind her legs he caught sight of young Mortimer, eyes bulging at him from where he'd curled against a couch. The image cut through him; the new mutant was hugging a bright yellow stuffed bear to his chest, a fuzzy, bright purple bear that belonged to Karl.
"I'll go." He whispered. He braced himself against the wall and heaved to his feet, swaying slightly. "Your're right, I'll keep looking."
"No you will not." Erik moved forward and grabs his arm tightly, "You are wounded quite badly and need medical attention," He waved Janos, who was the most apt at first aid, forward. The man did a quick job of cleaning the wound, then Erik stitched it shut, guiding the needle with his powers with far more accuracy than anyone else could have with their hands.
"Keep you phone on you at all times, as usual." Erik said coolly as Azazel prepared to depart, "You are invaluable to our plans, and I will likely need you again in the near future."
He nodded silently, eyes on the other man until Erik nodded, dismissing him at last. He took a deep breath and as his body started to phase, Raven called out.
"And Azazel, don't you dare face me without my son."
He nodded and was gone.
(1)From Milton's Paradise lost
(2) A little joke (Not very funny tho) Shostak means 'man with six fingers'. Referring to Shaw's ability's side affect of multiplying his body parts.
(3)Blue in Russian
(4) "Yebat' vashu mat" = "Fuck your mother!" in Russian, equivalent of "Damnit" as well.
"Balvan" = "Thick-headed fool" (According to a website I found, I speak no Russian.)
(5) Astra and Fredrick Dukes (the Blob), Angelo Unuscione and Mortimer Toynbee (Toad) are canon members of the brotherhood whose back stories I've adapted to fit the story.