A/N: Azazel one-shot.
I am not the most knowledgeable on X-men canon outside the movies, so any mistakes are due to my own ignorance toward this universe. XD Most of my basis just comes from First Class. I like to imagine random points in my favorite characters' lives, so this is a glimpse into young Azazel's. Hope any readers enjoy~! ^^
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One would expect a creature like him to crawl through dark windows and silently take lives. One would expect that. But Andre Kirelov was still a man, underneath his blood red skinned exterior. He had taken on the name of Azazel, only because he wanted anonymity for his family. The last thing he wanted was "Family Exposed: Devil Child in St. Petersburg" on the Moscow headlines. He hadn't been to mother Russia in years. Sure, he could go back any time he wanted, but for the very reason of his family, he stayed away.
A freezing, rainy night in Prague. Azazel had adapted to a life of complete silence and stealth. He had zero need to speak Czech or German, living above people's heads. Crouched on the edge of a two story building, Azazel was balanced comfortably in warm, lightweight clothes. His hands and feet were wrapped in cloth, highly promoting his stealth. He would not wear a mask however. His young scarlet face was darkened enough by the hood he wore.
A man was below on the sidewalk, looking to be of high status. Azazel's brilliant blue eyes lit up. He ran along the edge of the rooftop, then jumped into the air. He knew the area so well, he had found ways down the buildings no one would ever think to traverse. Using poles and window sills, he slipped down dark areas of buildings. He still managed to keep speed with the fast walking man. Finally, he vaulted himself down to land in an alleyway right before the man passed. Azazel walked through the puddles and collided into the man. The rich man was politely speaking in Polish but frazzled when he bumped into the homeless looking teen. Azazel simply straightened his outfit and retreated back to the alley.
Not long after walking away, the man found his watch and gift for his wife gone, and even his briefcase felt lighter. By the time he could yell "thief," Azazel was long gone.
Balancing again with just the balls and toes of his feet on the top of a street lamp, Azazel looked through the small haul he had. There were things he could definitely use for trading, and one bag of sweetments. He counted them up then ate one gratefully. Their flavor was dry, but he was so thankful, he didn't have time to notice.
A wind picked up and rocked his balance. His arrow pointed tail slid out from under his shirt involuntarily to help him keep his balance. He wrapped up the sweetments and valuables in separate bundles and attached them under his this coat. Tired of being in the rain, he thought of the few places in the area that he could go for shelter. It was an upscale area, but he knew of one unfinished apartment. Climbing up to the roofs again, he dashed over to the dry building.
A bit over four stories higher than him, Azazel found ways of flinging his body up higher. He grabbed the upper framing of the sheet covered window and swung himself in. He landed quietly, sending dust away with the slight wind he took. He was finally able to relax and stood normally.
Walking over to a carpentry desk, he made himself comfortable. He unbuttoned his wet coat and put it on the edge of the table to dry before sitting. He was tired, but he got stronger every day. He arched his back and stretched out his arms, groaning slightly in a relieved yawn. He scratched his messy, uncut black hair, pushing it behind his ears.
"You are hard to find, young comrade," spoke an unknown voice suddenly in the dark.
Azazel immediately disappeared in a black and molten cloud of smoke. He ended up on the sill outside the right of the window, flailing his arms. He shouted in confused panic. He managed to lean back against the brick. His legs and tail shook. Pressing his head to the wall, he hated it when he transported like that. That power was one he couldn't control at all.
A hand came out of the open window, holding his coat. Azazel saw it in the corner of his eye, hitting his head against the bricks for taking it off. He needed that...
"You can't stand there forever, no matter how good your acrobatics are. You will freeze," said the voice he'd heard in Russian.
Azazel glared at the hand, thinking about just taking it and jumping off. But there wasn't much room for error on this building. It was taller than most and surviving a fall was not likely. Who was this who'd found him? How did he know Azazel would come to this building?
"Azazel... come on now. You aren't going to be in any trouble if you come back in," repeated the man.
The demon-like young man fully looked at the hand. He knew his name? Azazel had never told anyone his pseudonym! He looked for a way down. He didn't trust this strange person. He would have to find another coat.
He saw a flagpole off to the right, a story and a half down on another building. If he angled himself just right...
A footstep drew his attention. Azazel looked to see the man with his jacket, holding onto the inside of the window. Azazel had the instinct to hide his face but didn't dare move. His toes could barely grip the small ledge under him.
The man had a pleading look on his face. He beckoned the young Azazel. "Please... just let us speak. Don't run away."
Azazel was an inch away from jumping. This man was older, perhaps in his later thirties. There was no way he'd follow.
"Listen to me. Do you think that you are the only one? The only one who is incredibly different?" insisted the sandy haired man.
Azazel tensed, looking him up and down skeptically.
The man chuckled nervously. "Not me, but I have another with me. Wouldn't you like to meet her? Someone different like you?"
Azazel bristled. He strongly disliked humans in general, and he really didn't know what to think of this one. He slid a wrapped foot away.
"Phedra!" called the man behind him.
A strangely blonde, African girl stuck her head out the window behind the man's legs. She couldn't have been more than six. She looked out at Azazel, and her brown eyes widened.
"Phedra..." The man looked back to Azazel then said something in English.
The girl stared down at the long drop nervously, but she looked back up at Azazel. Then she did something that Azazel really didn't expect. Her skin transmuted into a fine, blond fur that grew longer, eventually becoming feathers. In fact, her entire being changed into something like a large sparrow.
Azazel stared, unable to believe the incredibly bizarre thing he'd just seen.
"See?" said the man. He was smiling wide, hopeful. "You are not alone, young comrade."
Azazel was more repulsed than anything. He knew he couldn't have been the only one of his kind, but this was ridiculous. He scowled at the sandy haired man then jumped.
"No!" shouted the man behind him.
Azazel fell through the rain, angling himself just right. He grabbed the flagpole, praying that it would hold up under his weight. It bowed drastically, but it held. Relief washed over him. That was too close. He swung off the pole and was able to run efficiently over the streets again. He glanced back mid-leap, to see the sandy haired man and sparrow girl gone from the building. They were probably trying to follow him. Fools, thought Azazel. No one could catch him.
He neared some shipping docks on the Danube river, hopping onto a wood shipping crane. He saw a small boat heading across. He hopped off the top of the crane and swung on the crane's hook to get on the top of the boat. He landed on some crates quietly.
Another look back at the way he'd came verified that he lost them or beat them there. He sat back on the crate, panting. He was cold, wet, and getting more of both, but he'd gotten away from the freak-show. Azazel may have only been 17, but he wasn't stupid. He had a gut feeling that man somehow wanted him for something. Well, Azazel wasn't going to be of any part of it. Damn creep...
The boat reached halfway across, and Azazel felt cold chills grate on his spine. He wrapped his arms and tail around him. He definitely wished he'd stolen that coat back or at least pretended to go inside to get it and his haul from that night. It was too cold to just rough it. Now he was wet, without food, and with an oddball on his case. Yeah, life was great.
The boat reached the other side. Azazel needed to find a hooded coat again. He couldn't effectively go about without some way to hide his red face. He took some solace in the fact that at least he didn't have pointy ears and sharp teeth. He hopped off the crate away from the driver's side. He sprinted down the dock, his barely covered feet slapping the puddles. He had to keep his warmth up. Running down some alleyways, he watched for bystanders. It was getting later though. Not as many people were out. His skin felt more and more numb, soaked to the bone. Come on, come on...
Finally someone of the same height and build was passing one of the alleys he was in. Azazel skidded to a stop and and ran to him, stopping just before the edge of the light coming into the alley. Azazel knocked over a pile of refuse purposely and collapsed with his back to the man.
The bystander exclaimed in surprise. Azazel could hear him come closer and ask some concerned words in Polish. Azazel looked quickly at the man so he could properly latch his tail around the man's mouth and drag him out of the street lights. The man struggled violently, pulling at Azazel's tail. The red boy had to adjust his grip to keep the man from escaping. Once far enough in, Azazel put the man up against the wall. The man's eyes widened in fear when his eyes adjusted to see Azazel.
Azazel looked at the man, trying to visually communicate that he just needed a coat. That didn't work too well as the man fought his grip even more frantically. He had a hard time deciding whether to just knock the man out or take the coat right there. Azazel barely spoke any Polish, let alone spoke at all, and he didn't want the man to be scared or get the entire wrong impression.
Finally, he decided on the peace card. Holding his hands up in defense, Azazel tried to look as non-threatening as possible.
The man stopped thrashing as hard.
Happy at the response, Azazel rubbed his upper arms briefly then grabbed part of the man's lapel. He understood, his eyes changing drastically. He frowned. Azazel couldn't tell why, but all he was concerned about was that his point had been communicated. He quickly availed the man of his coat, feeling some heaviness to the pockets. Once he put the coat on, Azazel nodded in thanks to the man.
The man sighed through his nose, accepting the fact that his coat was being stolen by a red mutant person. He gestured to the way he'd come.
Azazel walked him to the light, making sure to stay completely in the man's shadow. Once he let him go, he scaled the uneven stone building immediately. The man turned to look at him but was consequently confused at the now empty alley.
Azazel swung his legs up onto the roof then stood. Rubbing himself under the new coat, Azazel had feeling come back to his skin. The coat had a hood but was without lightness. He would have to work a little harder until he found another, better replacement.
Standing atop the building he looked out over the darkening city. More plans of how to survive for the next day rolled around in his mind. Yet he could not just forget about what had happened to him tonight. That man... Azazel didn't consider doing any of the man's bidding, but it scared the boy that someone had found him. He made a deal with himself to change up his routine and hunting grounds. He'd go for early mornings in another part of town. Then change again. He may have been paranoid, but Azazel was practical. He hated making the same mistake twice. He began searching for another abandoned place to rest.
**
Down on the ground across the river, Sebastian Shaw jogged to a stop on the wet Prague streets. They'd completely lost the boy. He slammed his hand on a wall.
Phedra caught up to him, her tired breath flutey and high pitched. "Where'd he go, Mr. Shaw?"
Shaw pushed his hair back roughly. Kindness hardly ever worked when picking up new mutants. He was going to have to be more methodical about this. He'd had enough of losing. "I don't know, my dear, but we will find him again. You found out his name..." Shaw looked down at the little South African girl. "...Can you see what he's thinking now?"
Phedra closed her eyes. She looked back up at him after a while. "He isn't coming back here."
Shaw rubbed his face, letting his hand drop slack.
"But... He is going to be out in the morning now instead," she said after trying again.
Shaw's hopes rose. He knelt down to her and lightly grabbed her shoulders. "Good job, Phedra!" he whispered.
She smiled wide, her teeth showing off brilliantly against her near black skin.
They retreated to their hotel until the boy was thinking about going out again. Shaw would get to him eventually. No mutant deserved to live hiding among humans.
***
Azazel woke up under a ventilation duct early the next morning. His back and hands were sore from last night and he felt stiff everywhere. Sleeping on roofs was not his favorite thing. Nor was it comfortable, but by the time he couldn't hunt anymore, he was so exhausted he didn't care.
Uncurling himself, he stretched out, his joints cracking. Thankfully it had stopped raining, but it was colder this morning. He only had a little time before sunrise to hunt, then he needed to find a place to spend the day quickly. It was impossible for him to go about roofs in sunlight.
Standing shakily up, he bounced on the balls of his feet to get his circulation going again. In the dim moon-lit reflection of a puddle in front of him, he saw his face was a sickly looking pink. He almost looked human again. Almost. He paused at that. He didn't feel that terrible...
He unbuttoned two down on his coat so he could move better then jogged down the pebble covered roof. He looked at the Clocktower across the river, trying to tell what time it was. It was almost too far to see, but he saw he had an hour and a half before dawn began.
He really was not looking forward to being extra careful for the foreseeable future. He'd more than likely have to relocate again. He cursed his next to nil fortune, and silently asked the fates why he had to be this way. If there were others like him, he would find them on his own terms. He wouldn't let anyone even have the chance of controlling him. He was free and staying that way...