A/N: Yeah, this is an X-Men Evolution FF. I had to do it. Seriously, plot bunnies are evil and they are eating my homework. Please enjoy and critique (nicely).
Assistance: Chapter One?
Germany. It was such a beautiful place. Especially this little corner of it, paradise. Lord Eric's miniature country was a rare sight, still preserved in a state of medieval benevolence. Sometimes, he missed New York. He just didn't like having to ride a horse everywhere. Monk garments were not designed to be hidden on a horse. At least it was better than walking.
Besides, Lord Eric took good care of his people. They were free to do whatever they wished under his rules, and he prevented every outside influence that he felt was unnecessary for their welfare. Medicine was allowed, of course; Cars and weapons, absolutely forbidden.
He smiled and leaned back in his chair next to the fire. His new study was his favorite place of all. A cozy room with thick, cream colored carpeting, wood panels on every wall, pictures of Christ on the mantle and the Pope on the back of the door. A huge fireplace to keep everyone warm while they sat around his gargantuan desk flickered with a constant blaze, adding a soft glow to the mahogany in the wood. A large couch and two "LazyBoy" chairs completed the scene. He sunk deeper into his own chair, a content grin growing on his face. It was all a tad extravagant, but Lord Eric had insisted that any who came to teach religion would be well taken care of and respected by the townsfolk.
And he had been taken care of. The first day he arrived he'd been swarmed with welcome gifts and celebration parties and barricaded with questions of every kind. It was a little overwhelming, at first, but he had adjusted quickly and learned to talk fast and simply. His predecessor had given them plenty to think about, apparently. He was always being asked about one thing or another, even six months into the job.
If he hadn't known better, he'd almost think they were his own faith. They were an active people, hard laborers all week and earnest studiers on the Sabbath. They would listen to anything they were told, and they would dissect it, reference it to the bible, and decide for themselves if it applied to the God they believed in. As a result, they had a very basic structure to their church, flexible and powerful testimonies, and a steadfast insistence that they always follow Christ. Sometimes that meant that they would disagree with him, but after a while both sides learned to simply discuss why and then move on. They didn't argue over it. Christ hadn't forced his religion on others.
And, OH! The monastery…Lord Eric had built it himself, though how was anyones' guess. The people wouldn't tell. The entire structure was metal, with sheets of it stretched just thin enough around it that it was almost transparent. Elaborate openings on the sides and ceiling let cool air seep into the rooms, and a great glass window, the likes of which he had never imagined, dominated the wall behind the pulpit.
The top of the window was covered in what appeared to be life-sized angels, wielding powers the likes of which he'd never seen. Each of then had a distinct shape, sometimes even strange colors or markings, and at their head was an angel in a red robe wearing a helmet of the same color. The angel of death, he'd been informed in hushed whispers. He was leading the charge against a host of human soldiers and civilians at the bottom, illustrated in honey and root beer colored glass, where garishly colored angels wearing shackles that bound them to the other humans around them were trying to keep the angels at bay. "The fallen ones are trying to protect the sinners, even though they are destined to be destroyed" he'd heard from a small child.
He frowned. Sometimes that window bothered him. He wasn't sure why. Lord Eric had told him that the window was a picture from another age…an age that hadn't come yet. He'd refused to speak any more about it, and he'd reluctantly let it drop.
Still. The picture seemed to haunt him, even when he had his back to it. It felt like the shadowed eyes of the Angel of Death were boring into the back of his mind…
He started. He must have dozed off. The fire did that sometimes. The sound that woke him came again. He hurriedly got to his feet, wrapping his habit around his nightclothes, and hobbled sleepily to the door.
"Hello?" He called, wearily. Another knock was his answer. The others were asleep, so he would have to open the heavy door alone.
With a sigh he flipped the catch on the door and pulled it open. After a moment of catching his breath he stepped around it to face his guest.
A small boy, probably no older than ten, surely, was shivering on the doorstep, swathed in so many shaggy layers of cloth that his features were undistinguishable. With a small sob that wracked his body, obviously small even under all the wrappings, he took a step forward. "Pleaz…Fatha..jou aff to alp me…"
Surprised, the priest stepped aside. "Of course, child! Come in, get out of the cold!" He ushered the boy in, frantically searching the darkness for a sign of any sort of parental figure. "Are you lost? Good grief boy, you're freezing! Take off that coat and I'll have Maria fetch us some food."
The boy wrapped his arms around himself, his quiet voice heavy with accent, as though he rarely spoke English but knew it well and so chose his words with care. (This in itself was odd, seeing as Lord Eric insisted that his people learn many languages so that they would be able to study in every form.) He didn't take off his coat. "Nein…zank jou Fazah…" He coughed. "I must speak vit jou…ahlone…"
Brother Pierson blinked in surprise as he finally managed to reset the door and lock it. The tiny stature was set firmly, as though he was a tad scared of coming here but was as determined as a martyr to see it through. "Very well…" Pierson said slowly. "Please, my office is down the hall on the left. Get comfortable. I'll be there in a moment."
The boy hobbled off. Soemthing about the way his legs moved under the cloak disturbed him, but he shook it off. The poor boy was probably just freezing.
Curiosity boiled in him. What could be so important that this boy would leave home without a guardian and visit the local priest in the dead of night? I wonder which family he's from. I've never heard his voice before…I'm sure I'd recognize him at church…
When he entered the study and locked it, to preserve the privacy according to his vows, the small boy was standing uncertainly in the middle of the room, as if he couldn't remember how to sit down.
"So." Pierson cleared his throat. The boy jumped a good two feet in the air. Pierson blinked. "I…I don't remember seeing you at church…"
"I kannot goh." The boy said unhappily, his shoulders drooping.
This threw Pierson off. He'd been told that everyone in the village came to the meetings. "Nonsense. You are free to come."
The boy shook his head solemnly. "No. I am not. Not yet."
Pierson blinked again and sat down in one of the chairs, choosing to avoid the large desk to avoid intimidating his small visitor. "What do you mean?"
The boy shifted, looking down at his hands. Pierson glanced at them, too, and was struck suddenly by how delicate they appeared beneath the traditional swathes of cloth wrapped around them, completely hiding his long fingers, and making his slightly large thumb stand out. After a moment, the boy slipped his hands back around his arms and looked at the floor. After a moment, he spoke.
Pierson blinked, sure he'd misheard.
"What?"
The boy clutched himself tighter. "I sayt…vhat do jou know abowt de…demonz?"
"Demons…" The priest repeated, startled.
The boy seemed to fold in on himself further, struggling to speak as clearly as he could. "Je…Yes. I…I ahm 'aving trahbles…vitz a demon."
If Pierson wasn't already sitting, he'd have sat down in shock. Relief seemed to flood him briefly, stifled only by the seriousness with which the boy spoke. How serious could he be? He'd seen very little superstition among these people, but the boy was young. "Really?"
"Yes, sir." The boy said calmly, straightening a little. Perhaps now that he'd said it he felt calmer. His English was improving already. "I 'ave the scarz to prove et."
An uncomfortable silence passed. Then Pierson asked before he could stop himself. "May I see them?"
The boy stiffened, hugging himself so tightly that he could almost hear something crack. His head almost jerked up to stare at the priest, but the boy managed to remain looking down.
Pierson put on his best comforting smile. "No need to be frightened, my boy." He said. "There is no sin against resisting a…demon."
The boy said nothing, digesting what the man had said. He turned towards the fire, his back to the priest for a moment. Pierson found himself studying the figure before him. Now that he was paying attention he realized that not even a centimeter of skin was showing, even his legs were heavily wrapped in the cloth, though only flashes of them could be seen beneath the hem. His back was arched forwards so far he suddenly wondered why he hadn't overbalanced. The back of the cloak flicked slightly in a nonexistent breeze, as if something underneath had moved it…
Before he could study that closer, or even begin to formulate some kind of reaction, the small boy turned back around. His hooded eyes glittered with a strange mix of resignation and fear. "Very vell…But I 'ave to show jou somezing else firzt…and you 'ave to promise me." He slowly let go of himself, placing his hands over each other instead.
"…Promise you what?" Why was he scared all of a sudden? It was just a boy. A boy with a big imagination. Nothing more.
With all the seriousness of a judge passing his own death senctence that boy spoke. "Jou must promise, in ze name ov Gott, that ju vill not run."
"Wh…" Pierson licked his lips, surprised by their sudden dryness. "Why would I run from you?"
"Promise." The boy repeated, his eyes glowing with that strange fear again. "Promise!" He said again, when Pierson was too startled to respond immediately. Every muscle in the boy's body was tensed and quivering, making the rags around him shiver loosely.
Pierson raised his hands in surprise. "All right, all right! Calm down, son!" Pierson fidgeted in his seat, rose, and walked to the desk, settling behind it and steepling his fingers, hoping that he appeared serious enough that the boy would believe his sincerity. "I swear that I will not run."
"By Gott." The boy added immediately, still stiff.
Good grief, what had made this boy so edgy? Pierson stared at him, his curiosity suddenly a need to see what was hidden under those too loose rags. "Very well, then." He stood. "I promise…I swear, in the name of God, our Father and our friend and mentor, that I will not run." He sat back down and waited for the reaction.
The boy didn't move for a moment. Then he seemed to relax. A heavy, almost broken sigh left his lips and he seemed to remember something that pained him greatly. "Father…our Father…" He sniffed once. Then he sat down on the floor, drew a knee up to his chin and buried his face in it. Pierson stared at him in shock. The respect in the little boy's voice, his obvious love for God, was so touching he almost looked away and didn't hear the boy mumbling. It was something German…Pierson blinked in surprise when he realized the boy was praying…the words were stunningly similar to the last rites! Before he could react, again, the boy suddenly straightened and slid to his feet, much calmer than before. "Here ve go, zen, Father." The boy said quietly. He spread his feet, spread his arms wide in supplication, and began his vow. The words were clear, and the boy clearly placed great effort into saying them as properly as he could. "I promise, in thee name of Gott, our Father…our closest friend…" He almost broke then, tiny body trembling and head bowed briefly. "Our protector in time of great need…zat I vill not harm you."
That…was not what Pierson expected to hear. The small boy slowly lowered his arms. One hand drifted over to his left and hovered above it, as though unsure how to proceed. A moment later his fingers found the knot holding it stiff on his hand, and he pulled. A layer of bandages fell away.
Blue fur the color of midnight glowed in the light of the fireplace like stars.
The boy's head jerked towards him, still holding the strip's end in his hand, ready to wrap it back up as quickly as he'd unveiled it. Pierson was too scared to move. Shock literally held him fast in his seat.
After a moment, the boy must have convinced himself that Pierson was waiting for him to continue. Shaking, he pushed up the sleeve of his coat, revealing more bandages, which covered more fur that glowed when it was unwrapped.
Silence so thick it literally pressed around them settled in the room. At long last, the boy reached towards the opening of his coat. One button slides from its place. The boy has it halfway open when Pierson suddenly bolts.
He ran so fast he didn't even remember leaving his chair. He stumbles, but his momentum carries him to the door and he scrabbles at the keys on his belt…they aren't there. He wheels, frantically. His peripheral vision spots the keys on the desk, where he placed them at the beginning of the interview. His full sight falls on the boy suddenly before him. He wished he hadn't looked. The boy's hood fell off as he rushed forward. He is kneeling before him, desperate golden eyes framed with short blue fur on a face so terribly beautiful and anguished Pierson freezes in place.
"NO FATHER!" The boy is babbling through his tears, his German accent and his own fear making his words blur themselves almost beyond recognition. "JOU PROMISED! Jou promised! Jou…you…" He gives up, his head falling forward onto the man's knees as his entire body begins to shake with sobs. "Please…don't tell them I am a demon…I don't vant to be a demon again…I am so scared…"
Pierson felt the carpet give way beneath his feet and he slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor. The boy wrapped his arms around himself and fell forward into Pierson's chest, still sobbing. Pierson, on instinct, placed his arms around the boy's shoulders. A prayer began to fall from his lips, he himself had no idea what he was saying, but the boy stopped trembling. He sat up, pulling away just far enough to sit up on his toes…on his toes… His hands raised to his coat again and he pulled rapidly, the coat began to slide from his shoulders. Pierson's eyes snapped shut on their own, the prayer became louder.
After a moment, he felt the coat settle to the ground between his legs.
A small, quivering voice…a child's, no older than ten, surely, spoke to him.
"Please…Father…look at me."
Pierson felt his eyes opening, as if magic or God himself were pulling them open against his will.
The boy is standing above him now, far enough back that the fire outlined his form. The last of the bandages wrapped around his chest fall to the floor and he opened his arms, letting him take it all in at once. The shadows couldn't hide the long, vicious scars tracing the tiny body, the fawn-shaped legs, or the three fingered hands. Nor did the shadows reassure him as the last of the prayer slid from his lips.
"…so help me God…"
And then he fainted.
When Pierson woke up, he was on the couch. One of the cushions was under his head and a blanket tucked carefully around him. He blinked, several times, before slowly sitting up and turning to look around the room.
There he was. The small boy…whatever he was, was by the fire warming himself. He was wearing a small, ragged shirt now. He'd probably brought it in the pocket of his coat. The coat itself rested in the chair across from him, folded neatly with the bandaged rolled and stacked on top. He definitely takes good care of what little he has. Pierson thought automatically.
Pierson's eyes turned back towards the figure by the flames. It looked like he was crying. His head tucked against his knees as he rocked on the toes of his oddle shaped legs, his black-blue hair spread across his shoulders. Something about the sight snapped inside Pierson. Instead of a tiny demon, all he saw was a small boy, terrified and lost and alone. I wonder how many times he tried to show people…how many times they ran, like I did…how many times they added to the collection of scars on his arms… Determined, he sat up, and turned to slide his legs over the side of his makeshift bed.
"Good…good morning." He finally managed, and waited.
The boy stiffened for a moment. Then a rapid hand rushed across his face and he turned to face him, tears still keeping the fur slick across his cheeks. "I…it's Kurt." He looked down for a moment, his voice cracking. "I…I vas so afraid you had been badly hurt…I'm glad you are not…If I 'ad tried to get help…" He trailed off for a moment. Then his face hardened into a wistful sarcastic grimace. "It vould not 'ave gone vell."
Pierson felt his face soften. Such and adult expression for such a small boy. He must have been terrified. "Thank goodness, then. I wouldn't want you to get hurt."
The boy's, Kurt's, eyes came up. Their golden eyes flickering with automatically with suspicion. Then they softened with surprise and his lips quivered. "Th…thank jou." He managed at last. Tears began to well and he bowed his head again. "I…I am so sorry, Brother…mine eyes…"
Pierson realized that he'd been staring at them. Kurt thought he was still scared? Pierson's mind was made up. He needed to change that.
He walked over to the boy and scooped him into his arms. Kurt stiffened in surprise as the priest held him close and whispered into his pointed ears. "They are eyes that God gave you. Do not be ashamed of being beautiful."
Kurt shivered. It was possible he had never been held this way before in his life. Then he gave in and the terror left him in a rush, relief flooding him instead as he broke, turning into the embrace and sobbing into the man's habit. Pierson rubbed his back, sitting on the couch and whispering to him in the way he had whispered to so many children. "Hush now, Kurt. No one here will hurt you, I promise. You are in the Lord's House, remember? He protects all his children, even the unique ones."
Kurt just cried even harder at the words, years of rejection and terror draining from a body so used to tension that it felt like wires. When Pierson looked closer, however, he saw a smile work its way across the fine featured face, the fur deepening the creases and making the smile a wonderful sight to behold. The pointed canines didn't even stir the priest. "You should smile more often." He said. Kurt turned his face towards him, tears slowing in surprise as the grin remained on his face. It was so wide now that it seemed like it would never leave.
Even after he calmed down and all the tears had purged his unhappiness, the smile still lingered on his solemn expression, as though all it would take was a word and it would leap back into view, as brilliant as before. Pierson had asked for food to be brought to the door and they now sat eating in the reclusive firelight of his office. Kurt sat cross-legged on the floor, admitting that chairs made him uncomfortable, and Pierson had decided to join him. The carpet was thick enough.
Kurt was open now. Stumbling along in almost fluent English that surprised Pierson the boy responded openly to the priest's questions. They talked for hours about his family, the Wagners, and his little sister Emily, who was often sick, and their little farm outside of town, and the gypsies that often came to visit his parents, usually to offer Kurt a place in their circus, and to visit his mother, once their best tightrope walker. He was thinking about going with them when he was a little older…but there was something he had wanted to do first. The reason he had come to see Brother Pierson.
"And?" Pierson asked when they reached that point. "Why did you come?"
Kurt didn't answer for a moment, using his tail to move his now empty plate to the side as he thought. "My muzza…my mother…says that curses are meant to stir za people up in remembrance of God." He looked at his hands, raising them so Pierson could see them clearly, and trace the faint scars under the fur in his mind. "If I am a curse, as I am often told zat I am…" He smiled at Pierson, as though thankful that for the first time he had been told otherwise by someone besides himself. "I thought hard about zis." He stood. "If I am a curse…zen it is my duty and my purpose to teach the people about God."
Pierson set the plate down in his lap. His eyes widened with surprise. "Kurt…are you saying…"
Kurt nodded firmly. "Vhen I come back, after I have enough money for my family to be taken care of, I vhant you to teach me." He knelt back down in front of Brother Pierson, eyes fixed on his. "I vant to be a priest."
-End Scene-
A/N: I think I should make this clear really fast, Brother Pierson isn't in love with Nightcrawler. He loves him like a son, yes. Nightcrawler is too freaking young for a love life and Brother Pierson isn't homosexual (sorry, some people just aren't). If you don't like it, to coin a phrase, don't read it.
And…that's it right now. If anyone has comments or just really liked the story, let me know. If you have ideas about what should happen next, then if you DON'T tell me, then I won't be able to continue the story! Bwahaha.
Seriously, though, I need incentive to continue. I have the perfect excuse for Kurt getting accepted into the church but I need more stuff to play with! Give me plot facts, give me rumors, send me some fun ideas or just flat out stupid notions that could make things interesting!
Yes, I am going to mix storylines here. In my version of this story, Mystique married the pompous (insert synonym for "jerk" here), may or may not have had a relationship with Azazelf [I might make that a different story], had Kurt, ran, was taken in by Magneto, ran from him, lost Kurt, and watched him drift down the stream through Magneto's realm (hey, it's gotta be his land, why else would he have a CASTLE?), let the people take him in, and left never expecting to find him again.
Um…I may need to make that a different chapter. There are a few things left out, just in case. :D
Also, for those of you waiting on my bionicle stories, they are almost finished. I moved, so I had trouble updating them. Right now, the files are in another state, but I'll have them soon and then I'll be able to finish. I AM SO SORRY I couldn't tell you earlier. Lots of Love! –Tera Hunter