Title: All Fun and Games
Warning: Lots and lots of graphic gore festing. Plus cursing and death all around!
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters in this story or the TV show.
A/N: I felt like writing gore. I felt like writing Kurt. I felt like making him...connect more with his roots. Thus, this came about. I warn you once more, this is not for people who like love stories or want Kurt to be his fun loving fuzzy self. And, truthfully, I don't care if you flame me or not. I enjoy the hate. Especially when it comes to killing people.
All Fun and Games
Chapter One:
Just a Thought
That's all it, or they, were at first. Thoughts. And who didn't have them, right? Especially since he was, after all, a mutant. It was a gift (curse) that came to only a few of them, and every one of them had to have some of these thoughts, if only once, right? That's why some of the mutants were even classified as evil, right?
So, at first, he didn't worry about them. He just let them come and go as he pleased, swearing it was because he was watching too many horror movies with Rogue late at night. It was fine, normal.
Until the thoughts soon came with pictures. Images, really. Each time they were getting clearer, and he sometimes swore the heavy scent was actually there. He was actually standing over them, panting, breathing hard and just watched.
That's when they turned into little clips, like he was remembering a movie or TV show he watched. Letting the characters and actions play out in his head, over and over again, slowly going from a silent film, to having voices and words. And those words always seemed like they were being preached from the bible. Heavy and true, seeming almost too persuasive to be called just thoughts.
And it wasn't bothering him in the least.
The first time these thoughts came about, it was in school. He was ignoring the teacher's lecture on something about atoms and partials or whatever. His gazed was half lidded, turned to the window and his hand was propped to support his head. He'd gotten up late and still felt tired;
sleep seemed like a good idea at that time. Just sleep through chemistry and get the notes from Evan later. No one would really care if he took a little snooze...
In the back of his mind, something flicked on as he stared at the dead autumn leaves falling to the ground from the high up trees. He recalled it as the news channel Ororo had on that morning as he passed by the living room with his pop tarts, leaving for school.
"There is no clear trace as to who the killer was..."
The flashes of the news crew, and the little bits and pieces they would allow to be shown on tv went into his head. The ambulance carrying off the body (two different bags) and even the place they found her. He could still see the little details that were with the scene. Drops of blood dried on the ground, the little nicks that could be evidence of a struggle on the bricks, and the blank sheet trying to hide all the leftovers.
And he couldn't really tell why he was remembering it. The victim was...
He didn't know that. And it didn't really matter, because the news woman didn't seem to mind that behind her someone's wife was just murdered. Her voice was still monotone. Maybe even cold. He knew that it was probably something that came with the job. That you couldn't react to things like this, yet it still seemed so...
He still couldn't place the right word to it. Over time, he didn't need the word. He could feel it. He could feel something that was the victim and the killer. There were these...that's it. Thoughts running over and over and over, giving him these ideas and these different situations.
What if?
That's what it was.
What if.
And it always came back to the same things, with him in different positions with different people (friends) for different things. Different scripts that always had him saying something that was just too...
He wondered sometimes if Jean or the Professor was listening a little too closely when he got these thoughts. And if they were, what they were thinking about them. About what was running through his head. The images and movies and voices. Though, he knew the two telepaths normally stood clear of everyone's thoughts. Only reading them if it was truly necessary, and if they had permission. Then again, Professor X had lied to them before...
It made everything more clear.
Made the line of thinking and acting a little less solid. Because he could, that was the point. He could do it, all of it, and he knew he could feel that there would be nothing in it afterward. One after the other and he wouldn't feel anything.
It was unholy and inhuman.
But then again, so was he.
And there were just so many reasons to think them. To do them. But he'd never do that. They were just thoughts, after all. Simple little shocks that made reality seem a little less real. Made him seem a little less real. Like what he was thinking was right, and they were all wrong.
The one thing that started to make it all real, made it all come together, was when he started to write it out on paper. A few little flicks of pencil in the corner of his notes, spelling out words that seemed like gibberish to anyone else looking on (German). And it seemed normal enough, because he sometimes wrote between his languages. Who would ever notice the words 'tod' (death) 'blut' (blood) 'auf wiedersehen' (goodbye) 'freunde' (...)? No one would take a second glance.
Then the little words grew out into sentences, long lists of things that almost made no sense even to his eyes. Then came details with little sketches. He wasn't that good of an artist, but with this you didn't need to be one.
He'd burn them all afterward, making sure that no one in the house would find them. They could always translate the writing, and the pictures would just give it away. What would he tell them? That they were just thoughts. Thoughts that seemed to make more sense on paper, made him want to act because he knew what they meant to him. He knew exactly what they were.
It took him another month of thoughts to actually...act.
Because the thoughts never hurt anyone. The thoughts were pathetic because they didn't mean anything to anyone who couldn't hear them. And as they always say...
Actions speak louder than words.
And it was just a thought.
A/N: And the scene is set. A short first chapter, but it will get better. I promise the gore will come soon.