Author's Note: Wow, I am really sorry for letting this go so long. College has been absolutely nuts and then Christmas was crazy...well, anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed and here it is, chapter eight! I do hope it doesn't disappoint. Unfortunately, I don't believe it will go any farther than chapter eight for at least a week until I go back to school because I am fairly sure I wrote a chapter nine, but it is on my computer at school, some four hours away. Then hopefully I can finish it completely before classes start to take up all my brainpower again. People, yell at me if I don't!

Chapter Eight: His Side of the Story

bamf

All the air seemed to rush from his lungs as he peered into the bright lights. His misshapen hands sought the podium's stability and his blue fur seemed to chafe on his wrist as he keenly felt the absence of his watch. His tail displayed his anxiety for all to see, continually carving out an arc in the deafening silence, spade tip swinging just above his head. It seemed to mesmerize the still crowd, their eyes following its path as if it were a hypnotist's watch. It was comical and Kurt gave a nervous laugh.

The audience took in a collective breath. Jean placed a hand on Scott's arm to still his jerky movements and relax his protective stance. Kitty's mouth hung open and Amanda's knuckles were turning white, fear warring excitement in her eyes.

"Um...hi?" The words came out perfectly unaccented, but refused to go any further. His thoughts were racing faster than he could handle and he caught only broken pieces of whole ideas before they flittered away. People were beginning to stand up from their seats. He grimaced, showing sharp incisors, and somewhere someone gave a terse scream.

Kurt closed his eyes. He'd heard so many screams. They rushed in on him now but rather than overwhelm him, they carried a sense of purpose. So many times he had hidden from the screams in fear, in sadness, but now...now he could do something.

He opened his eyes but didn't see the people.

"They call me the Bayville Demon, though that isn't my name. They fault me on circumstance though I am innocent. They say I am an animal though they have never met me. They fear me because they don't understand. They have never seen me laugh or cry; they will not pity me if I bleed.

"And I cannot blame them. There is so much to fear in this world, so many things not understood. I cannot blame them when they scream or when they run because I...in the greatest of ironies, I fear the things they do. The world is a scary place, my friends, but the scariest thought of all is if we would allow ourselves to be governed by fear.

"So I quell my fear, and I learn to see the world without it. It is always there, making me strive to understand...and I will not give in to my fear of those who would hate me because I see that they are just like me...they just want to live and not to be afraid."

"And I..." Something large jostled Kurt from behind and his attention snapped back to reality with frightening clarity. How long ago the riot had started was impossible for him to guess, but it was being reasonably contained by Duncan's cronies, leaving the path clear for the football player to once again steal the limelight. He was growling something unheard, a delightfully justified sneer on his face as he reached Kurt and grabbed his wrist in an iron grip.

The crowd surged like an undulating snake, hissing and spitting its anger in the truest of mob mentality. Scott's glasses were immediately stolen and Kitty was given a concussion by a random flying chair. Evan was swept underfoot and Rogue was forcing her way toward the door, the only direction the crowd seemed inclined to let her go and the way to the nearest payphone. Jean's head split with a million contradictions and unchecked thoughts.

Duncan's first blow caught him high in the cheek. Kurt was panicking, tugging ineffectually at his wrist, trying to free himself. His mind was screaming at him to flee, but the basic instinct left no room for creative interpretation. Somewhere, higher emotions that he could no longer understand caused tears to spill from his clenched eyes.

A second blow landed and then a third.

"Mutie freak." He could feel the hot, hateful whisper against his ear. He shoved back against it, to deny it, and felt the hate turn to surprise. There was a low moan, a change in pressure, and Kurt felt his head clear just enough to glimpse his salvation.

bamf

It was dark and cold. The faint smell of sulfur rose lazily to the ceiling. A hand hung on to his wrist for dear life, but, in a moment of clear absolution, Kurt couldn't bring himself to care. When he passed out, he felt no fear.