Ok. Was coming back from Brighton over the summer, when this came to me whilst I was on the train. I know that some of the events may be out of synch, and there's the appearance of several characters (non mentioned by name, but they're still there). I also want to apologise for the geography. I hope you all like this!
Disclaimer: Marvel own everything, except for a few characters.
Summary: On the journey to Xavier's mansion, Kurt considers his mutation, and realises that maybe being a mutant isn't all that bad. One-shot.
A Train Journey
Staring. All staring. From the moment Kurt stepped onto that train he felt all eyes turn to him and resisted the urge to draw his trench coat further around his body. Instead choosing to take a breath, pretend the eyes weren't boring through his disguise to see the real him, and moved further into the carriage as the doors 'whooshed' closed behind him.
Still, the other passengers continued to stare, and he barely managed to suppress the shudder that wanted to run down his spine, only just managed to stop himself from turning around and 'bamfing' straight back onto the platform. He quickly had a plan formulating in his heads; teleport off the train, hide until dark and all the fuss he would cause with his act had died down, move under the cover of night, find a port, smuggle away on a ship, return to Germany and go back to his parents.
The last image of his plan was what prevented him from going through with it. He could see his parents' faces. The disappointment in their eyes as they hugged him warmly.
That's all it is, he thought as he silently padded past the still staring passengers, he had to try this, it was his chance to lead an as normal a life as possible as a blue fuzzy dude could. He would at least try, if only to keep his parents in some peace of mind.
A little white ticket showed the seat that had been reserved for him by Charles Xavier. It was at the back of the train, in the sectioned off First Class area. Few people were in there – business looking types with cell phones and laptops and newspapers, who barely spared him a glance. The starers were left behind through the glass doors. This was just how he wanted it. Free of the accusing, knowing stares.
He pushed his bag beneath the table and sat down; being sure that his tail was wound around one thigh and not visible, and that none could see any of his blue fur peeking from his trench coat or beneath his hat.
Satisfied that everything was finally all right, he let out a soft sigh of relief and leant his head against the window of the carriage, watching as the train slowly crept further out from the station, swiftly picking up speed as it swept out into the underground.
A thought entered Kurt's head that had his eyes tracking from the tunnel the train was sweeping through to look at the other passengers of the carriage. How many of these could also be mutants? The blond haired man wearing the trench coat and typing on a very expensive looking laptop? The auburn haired young man in trench and sunglasses, smoking a cigarette despite the signs politely asking passengers not to, and shuffling a deck of cards? The man whose face was hidden behind a newspaper with the front page – Kurt noticed – showing something about an accident at a school? The woman in the form-fitting business suit and glasses? Kurt stared at each of them in turn, wondering that, if each of them were mutants, what their powers would be and how they had to hide them from normal people.
'Normal'. The word made Kurt want to shudder. What he would give to be normal. To look like everyone else, to be another face in the crowd. It was a dream he had had for years. In fact, one he'd had for as long as he could remember. He couldn't remember a time where he hadn't wished to be able to wake up one morning and not be blue and fuzzy, to have the appropriate number of digits on each hand, to not have the tail.
Actually, he thought, the tail was pretty cool. An odd sort of comfort, an extra, useful appendage, it would be well missed if he didn't have it.
He chased the thoughts from his head, and spared a glance to his fellow passengers, being sure none were looking at him before sliding one three-digit, blue hand from the pocket of his trench coat and lightly slapping a slightly crumpled train ticket onto the table before him before his hand quickly returned to the pocket.
His eyes moved to scan the other passengers as he rested his head against the window – none of them moved, none leapt up, pointing fingers and yelling at the top of their voices, though he was sure that the auburn-haired man's eyes turned to him from beneath the glasses, and the man smirked.
Kurt's eyes snapped back to the window, creeping a look at Mr sunglasses a few minutes later, he was rifling through a wallet.
Ten minutes later the glass doors to the carriage 'whooshed' open. A smiling young blonde woman came in. Punching his ticket and asking if he needed anything. A simple, quiet 'nein, thank you', had her turning to the other passengers. The final one, Mr sunglasses, said something to her, making her blush and giggle. The train stopped at a station, and the blond man got off. Kurt could have sworn he heard a soft rustling – like that of the wings of his mothers birds – coming from the blond man as he passed, but he shook it off as the train set off again.
Twenty minutes later – the still blushing, giggling blond ticket-girl left the carriage. It took Kurt only a moment to realise that he'd not seen Mr sunglasses show her a ticket. His eyes once again traveller to the man, and was surprised by the fact that the mans head was turned towards him, the grin ever-present on his face as he raised a hand to his lips – a gesture of silence. Kurt grinned as he once again turned to stare out of the window. A voice crackled into life through the train – alerting passengers of the next stop. It was the one Kurt was to get off at, and he silently grabbed his bag and stood as the train slowed. The doors of the First Class carriage opened, and he blanched as once again all eyes turned to him. Did these people have nothing better to do than stare? The train finally stopped, the doors 'whooshing' open to let passengers off and others on, and for a moment, Kurt didn't move – his brain wondering what would happen if he fled back into the carriage he'd just left, or teleported away, perhaps to join a circus. One shake of the head removed those thoughts – replacing them once again with the image of his parents – and with one deep breath he had exited the train.
He stood on the platform – wondering what to do. The thought that, once again, this may not have been the best idea rushed into his head, clouded over all other thoughts, made Kurt realise that, if this did not work, he could be in a lot of trouble, how hard it would be for a blue, fuzzy, tailed mutant to hide from a huge mutant fearing and hating population.
He was startled from his thoughts when someone lightly touched his shoulder, and he followed the arm to look into the face of a smiling woman with white hair, and then turned his head towards the smiling, wheelchair-bound man beside her.
"Hello Kurt." The man said, his voice gentle and friendly "I'm Professor Xavier. I trust you had a good trip?"
Kurt didn't answer straight away, instead he examined the Professor. He knew the man could see what he looked like – he could see his own reflection in the elderly mans eyes, shadowed beneath the hat but still plainly visible and blue – yet he could see no fear or hate in the Professors face.
Kurt watched his own face ease into a smile. He knew that this man would help him, would do all he could for him.
Maybe, Kurt thought, just maybe, he finally had a chance to lead a fairly normal life. As normal a one as a blue fuzzy mutant could lead anyway.