February 20, 1967

Azazel hovered over his small son, his hands stuck deep in his pockets. Matthew was standing next to him, looking worried. It did nothing to quell Azazel's nerves.

"And when did this start?" he asked.

"Last night," Azazel replied, "He was sluggish, which is unusual in him. He is usually all about place."

Matthew nodded and took his temperature. Normally Azazel would not have teleported to the monastery and gotten him. If he or his son had been injured then Azazel would have been able to take care of it. He'd been on the battlefield and had seen grievous injury. As such he knew how to splint bones, apply tourniquets, and even do emergency blood transfusions. The last one had been courtesy of the Brotherhood, but the rest came from Shaw and his time as a soldier.

For a year now Matthew had been one of their only links to the outside world. Matthew had brought a few other monks to see him, some looking more nervous than others. It wasn't as though he could keep them a complete secret. Azazel had even seen the Abbot, who'd been a composed man. Despite his composure Azazel could see that he thought the situation was more than just a little strange.

It wasn't as though his opinion mattered further than letting them stay there though. Azazel did his job well, and in return he was finding safety for Kurt. That was the most important thing. He'd given up his original job in exchange for the chance to be a father, making it his new job. Azazel always did love to do well at his occupation.

"Anything else?" asked Matthew.

"Some coughing this morning," frowned Azazel, "Nose is running, but nose is almost always running."

Nodding again Matthew took away the thermometer and read the temperature. Matthew had told him he'd been in training to be a teacher at one point and had had to learn how to deal with some diseases along the way. He was the closest thing Azazel had to a doctor and hence the only person he could consult when he realized his son was sick.

"I think that Kurt has the flu," Matthew said, "It's not entirely unusual in children his age from what I've read."

Azazel took in Matthew's composure.

"But you are still worried," he noted.

"Unfortunately I am," Matthew sighed, putting the thermometer into a bag he'd brought with him, "Azazel, there's no good way to say this."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I'm trying to tell you that this could get worse very, very quickly indeed because of his age," Matthew said, looking away, "My sister's baby had the flu and the child's health went downhill very fast. From what I understand it was a close thing."

Something like fear flooded him at Matthew's words. He looked down at Kurt, his son's small hands pushing in the air to show his discomfort. Azazel picked him up and held him close, as if that would somehow warn away his sickness. His son's fingers splayed out before Kurt sank back into lethargy.

He'd managed to protect his son from many things since he'd been born. Together they'd run from countless cities and hidden in dark rooms. He even took up a job that he disliked for its servile tendencies, all to keep him safe. Now he was running the risk of losing him to something like the flu? He wasn't going to allow it.

"What did they end up doing?"

Matthew hesitated.

"It's not something that we can do."

"What did they end up doing?" demanded Azazel.

Looking defeated Matthew threw his hands into the air.

"They took the child to the hospital," he said.

Azazel's eyes grew big before narrowing.

"That is not option for us," he said.

"And I understand that, which is why I said-"

"You have no idea what they would do to him at hospital," Azazel said, his voice trembling with rage, "When he was born-!"

He stopped talking, his rage making him clench his jaw. Azazel could still remember the day Kurt was born, and not all of it was positive. Mystique had gone into the room as Raven Wagner, a falsehood for two reasons. First of all Mystique hadn't gone by Raven for years and second because they hadn't married. They had planned on it, but things had gotten too complicated and happened too fast.

They wouldn't have let him in if he wasn't her husband though, and even then they were reluctant. So they'd lied. He'd slathered his skin with peach make-up and hidden his tail so he could be there. He wasn't going to miss the birth of his son for the same reason that made it difficult to have one in the first place.

He'd covered up all his red skin in the end. It wasn't perfect, but it worked. Every time he'd touched Mystique she'd left a small streak of the make-up on her skin but it wasn't enough for anyone to notice. They'd managed for several hours together but things as the pain increased he saw flecks of yellow in her eyes.

Then, in the final minutes, she lost control completely. Most people didn't notice at first, they were too intent on the incoming baby. Others thought it had been a trick of the light. However, there was no such thing as a trick of the light for Kurt, no protecting illusions. When Kurt arrived the doctor had nearly dropped him. One of the nurses had screamed.

To his shock and horror Azazel saw that one of the doctors had gone for a scalpel. From the look on his face he could tell that it hadn't been for any medical purpose. Furious Azazel had stepped in and broken the hand that held the scalpel. He'd drawn a knife that he'd hidden and threatened the other doctors to continue their normal procedures. Once they were done he quickly teleported away with his family.

"I see," Matthew said.

Sighing he pushed his hair away from his face.

"We…we have a doctor at the monastery," he said, running a hand through her hair, "But…he's not someone I think I can trust with the two of you."

The fact that this was a consideration made Azazel snort in frustration.

"He's a good man but…" Matthew sighed, "He's rather…well, you'd think a doctor would be more open minded is all."

"What do you suggest then?" Azazel snapped, "Let my syn die?"

"No!" snapped Matthew back, "I'm just trying to think for a moment."

Matthew sat down, holding his head in his hands and closing his eyes. Kurt had fallen asleep in Azazel's arms, though he was loathe to put him back into his crib. If what Matthew was saying was true then he might not get more opportunities to hold his son. The thought made him angry, want to destroy something, but there was nothing in the remote mountains he could take out his anger on.

"I'll find out the proper antibiotics, say that there's a family down in the village with a prejudice against doctors and a sick baby," he sighed, "It's all I can think of, and I think that God will forgive the lie."

Azazel gave him a sharp look.

"Will it work?" he asked.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" Azazel demanded, "Maybe is not good enough!"

"It's all I have," snapped Matthew, "I'm sorry, but it's not like I could steal the appropriate antibiotics."

"Because you don't want to?" hissed Azazel.

"Because I don't know what they'd be!" Matthew shouted.

Kurt began crying, much softer than the sharp insistent cry that Azazel was used to. It broke his heart because it confirmed that something was indeed wrong. Immediately he went over to him and stroked his hair. He looked over at Matthew, at the worry lines that were crinkling his face. Azazel hesitated before speaking again.

"I am sorry," he said.

Matthew sighed.

"I can see that…this…this is a trying time for you," he said, "You must understand; I have no wish to see anything happen to the boy."

"I know this," Azazel said.

Matthew got up and headed towards the door. A few hours later he returned with a hastily scribbled on piece of paper and a bottle of medication. Azazel hadn't left Kurt since, moving the baby's box crib so that it rested next to him on the couch. The symptoms he had didn't get any worse, and Azazel fervently hoped that they improved.

"He says that the child should be placed in a room where the shower or bath tub is running. Something about the hot water," he said, reading from the piece of paper, "But keep him hydrated. And I got these fever reducers. Beyond that it just seems like he'll need around the clock care."

Azazel nodded and took the fever reducers and paper. He could see that Matthew wanted to stay and help, but he ended up leaving without a word. Azazel was glad on. If he'd tried Azazel would have told him to leave. Matthew had proven himself a useful ally and he couldn't afford to get too angry at him and say something he would regret. It was also nice to have someone around who could tell when you wanted to be left alone.

He went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the rickety old shower. It poured out but Azazel knew it would take a while for it to heat up. Many had been the night when he'd taken a freezing shower and considered himself lucky to get it. He left the room and got the medication out. Gently he opened his son's mouth and put the dosage in.

Kurt didn't like it. He cried out in protest, his tail thrashing around.

"Nasty, da," Azazel smiled weakly, "But have to eat up malchick moy. Come now, swallow."

He spooned some water in his mouth, forcing him to swallow it down. With relief he watched as Kurt swallowed. His gold eyes were slightly distrustful though and Azazel sighed.

"Ah, do not worry," he said, "No more for few hours."

With a slight frown Kurt shifted in his arms. Surprised at how calm he was being Azazel checked in on the bathroom. The room was filling up with steam. Azazel returned and brought Kurt in, checking the time. He didn't want Kurt to be in there for too long. There was such a thing as too much of a good thing.

"You and I," he said, "going to get through this. Because you and I are survivors syn moy, survivors."

He leaned back as he sat on the floor, his son in his arms.

"I know you do not understand, will not remember," Azazel said, "Too young."

Swallowing hard he continued;

"But you and I are all we have malchick moy. No grandparents for you, no cousins or uncles. No mother even. No big family to welcome with parade. Can not even get a doctor, this family. Can not even go outside in city."

In his arms Kurt silently shifted. Remembering what he'd been told about keeping him hydrated Azazel got some water from the tap. With great care he put it into his son's mouth drop by drop. It was the same care that he employed when cleaning his weapons, only this was infinitely more precious.

"So this is it," he said, "You are looking at it all. And so am I. I hope you somehow know this malchick, because this is where it begins and ends. Good for you to know so not disappointed later."

He swallowed thickly.

"But, do not dismiss this because it is two of us," he said, "Just means we must fight harder my syn. Some say we have less to try for. But I say it is more because one person can be taken so easily, and when that person is all you have…well…then they are more than if you had five people."

Kurt pushed at the air and his eyes began to close.

"So try," Azazel begged, "Try for me."

Azazel waited half an hour before taking him out. He fell asleep on the couch that night, Kurt beside him. At first he'd been terrified to go to sleep, thinking that he'd miss when it was time to give Kurt his medication. Instead he managed to take a few quick naps before the time in between medication ran out.

Slowly but surely Kurt recovered. Three days after he'd first worried and fretted that he might lose his son Kurt was back to crying enthusiastically and kicking. Azazel's worries that he would lose him had been buried. They hadn't fully gone away, they probably never would, but they were no longer in the forefront of his mind.

It was actually on the day that he recovered that Azazel first discovered a new layer of amazement about his son. This new layer simply cemented his belief that his son was his whole world. It happened when he was putting him to bed. Kurt reached for his face, as he always did before he went to bed. When his hand touched his cheek Azazel heard;

"Va..vatti."

As soon as the German word for 'papa' came from his son's lips the world turned upside down. Azazel smiled.

"Da, that is what I am," he said.