Once upon a time, an innocent young child watched Sesame Street in German. The mouths didn't move in time with the words and the polka music in the background was entirely anti-contemporary, but there was something that was very contemporary and very important and . . .
Kurt was suddenly awake, as abruptly as if someone stuck a finger in his eye, and groaned. He had hated waking up mid-dream since sixth grade, when he'd had a vision of the last episode of Big Samurai in Lederhosen and, because of his alarm clock, never got to see the end.
It took a moment to get past his dream-less angst and put together the events previous to his nap.
"Oh."
He didn't know where he was. The room was very white, very sterile, and very large. It rather resembled a hospital.
"Oh."
And then, although he wasn't quite sure how he didn't notice it before, there was a heavily banged face with giant red glasses hovering over him.
"AAAAAAAAAUGH!" he cried in terror and swung up at the face, which promptly yelled back at him and vanished.
Kurt was on the other side of the bed and had his thick fingers positioned in the basic shape of a machine gun, waiting for the reappearance of the scary-glasses-demon, before you could mumble Sprecken-ze-doitze.
Slowly, a hand found its away onto the mattress and dragged a shoulder-connected-to-a-neck-connected-to-a-head-connected to my goodness, glasses! and Kurt lurched forward, one vicious finger (representing the business end of the gun, in case you weren't sure) heading straight for one of the lenses.
"AAAAAUGH!" Glasses-man shrieked and grabbed both the finger and a finger on the adjoining hand. "STOP THAT!"
Kurt bore his teeth and tried to tug free, but the glasses-man was too powerful. "I vill keeeelll you slowly vith my povers of darkness eef you do not let go."
"I'm not going to let go until you stop trying to break my nose!"
"Zhen you vill DIE!" Kurt screamed, his fangs white and glistening and vicious . . . but glasses didn't let him go, so he huffed and deflated. "Fine, I vill stop tryink to break your nose."
"Promise?" the glasses asked warily.
"No, vait, I don't promise!" Kurt recanted, remembering something. "I do not promise if zees is hospital, because last time I vas een hospital, I turn into zees and I fear that if I turn any more, I vill not be able to get driver's liscence, is zees clear?"
"This isn't a hospital," glasses said firmly. "It's the infirmary of the Xavier Institute. We haven't done anything to you, I promise."
"Xavier . . . ach, yes, you knocked me out, I see now. You feel responsible for my recovery, then?"
"Yes, actually." The glasses' expression was bemused. "I thought Rogue's action, knocking you out, that is, was a little over-kill. I honestly don't understand why the Professor wanted you in custody, for that matter. So you could say I feel responsible, which is why I was next to your bed."
"Oh, all right. In zat case, I vill not break your nose."
"Thanks." The glasses let him go. Kurt squatted, massaging his fingers. "My name's Scott, in case you forgot."
"Ach, I did. Hello. I am Kurt, eef you likevise forgot."
"I didn't.
"You are talented." Kurt tried to stretch out of his squat, but his spine was still not co-operating. He sighed. "Zees is ze peeeets, no offense."
"None taken. So . . . " Scott leaned on the other side of the bed. "You just woke up like this?"
"No. I vas avake vhen zees happen."
"Painful."
"Ja, very. Like bacon."
"What?"
"You know, like bacon. Haf you ever vonder how a piece of bacon feel when it is dropped in pan?"
"Oh, I get it."
"Gut. Zat pain, however, ees nothink to pain of lookink in mirror."
"Oh, it's not that bad."
"You tink not?"
"At least you still have a face. That looks human. And I know a couple of girls who would probably be whole-heartedly for your look."
"Tink I could be rock star?"
"Maybe. Why not? People'd probably assume it was a costume. I mean, that's what they assumed about Orlando Bloom in Lord of the Rings."
"Zat vasn't a costume?"
"Nah, he's a mutant. Really useless power, so useless, I forgot what it was. But those naturally pointed ears came in handy. And, by the way, Elijah Wood really is that short . . . "
Kurt's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You aure pullink my leg."
Scott paused, then nodded. "Yeah, pretty much."
"But you aure mutants."
"Yeah. If I took off my glasses," he tapped a lens, "I could blow a hole through the wall. No, I would blow a hole through the wall. No control at all."
"I can see how zat vould be inconvenient."
"You have no idea. Try out for the football team? No way, man, I get tackled and there goes the field."
Kurt snickered and decided Scott was okay, even if he was a member of a fascist commune of anti-Kurts. "Who are ze others? Vhat do zhey do?"
"Jean's a telepath . . . like the Professor, but she's also telekinetic -- can move things with her mind. There's Rogue -- she sucks life force through skin contact. That pretty much translates to knocking people out. Oh yeah, and she gets powers -- she'd be able to teleport for a short while from touching you."
Kurt scowled. Teleportation was so his personal thing.
"Um, there's Kitty, and she can walk through walls and stuff. Storm controls the weather. Wolverine slices things and then Evan can shoot bones out of his body. That's about it."
"Shoot bones out of hees body? Vouldn't that hurt?"
"Well, between you and me, he does make these odd sounds when he's doing it. But it sounds more like, say, constipation than pain."
(A/N: Well, it is.)
Kurt stared, then considered. "Oh, I tink I know how he feel."
The intercom buzzed on and Kurt politely shut up.
"Scott. Is Kurt awake?" It was the bald man's voice.
"Yes, Professor."
"Excellent. If you could escort him to the library, I would appreciate it."
The intercom snapped off. Scott scratched his head and shrugged.
"I wonder if he's tired," he mumbled, then turned back to Kurt. "Feeling up to a little jaunt through the halls?"
"Vill you haf to blindfold me so I vill not reveal your position to my people?"
"I don't think that will be necessary. A good clean brain-washing will be quite sufficient. After you!" Scott stood, pointing his arm toward the door with a cheerful flourish.
Kurt was making a valiant effort to stand on two feet when a girl ran right through the door, sobbing hysterically. This struck him as unusual and, from Scott's double-take, it was unusual, even here.
"Kitty, what's . . . ?"
"Rogue's dead!" Kitty howled, collapsing from either grief or exhaustion or some suitable mix of the two to her knees. Scott's expression fell immediately from troubled bewilderment to waxy horror.
"No. Kitty, how is that . . ." His voice was strained, a little hollow, and Kurt wanted to run.
"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. It was horrible, she was all right, but she said she felt a little dizzy, so she sat down and then . . . I don't know what happened!"
"She can't just die," Scott asserted loudly. "Where is she? Has anyone called an ambulance? Called the Professor . . . " His face dropped a couple of notches paler. "No, the Professor should . . . "
Kitty was now crying too hard to talk. Scott waited. Kurt watched his ashen fingers tapping against his thigh with scared impatience. His stomach hurt. I shouldn't be here . . .
"She's in the TV room," Kitty finally gasped. "Jean called the ambulance and Evan went to tell the Professor."
"When did this happen?"
"Five minutes ago."
"Evan should have . . . " Something else was clicking in Scott's brain and his brows furrowed dangerously. "Something's up. We need to evacuate, now."
"And leave Ro--"
"If she's dead, there's nothing we can do. I'll follow you -- get Jean, get Evan, get everyone you can, and ru--"
Kurt, absolutely baffled, found a thread of something to grab on to. "I haf never tried, but maybe I could teleport Rogue or someone . . . "
He stopped, slowly realizing that Scott hadn't finished his sentence and Kurt's offer had been too belated to count as an interruption. Kitty was already gone, but Scott was still staring transfixed at the door, one hand carefully going up to his nose.
It was bleeding.
Kurt thought he understood (he was getting quicker, after all). "Ach, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make your . . ."
Scott fainted.