Ein Engel in Teufels Kleidung

by h311agay

Kurt Wagner feels like he's nothing but a demon while Scott Summers believes Kurt to be the most beautiful of angels, even prettier than Warren. Both struggle with their sexuality, their faith, and their confidence, uncertain of how to pursue a relationship, or if it's even one worth pursuing. Ororo is the tru wingman. The title means "An Angel in Devil's Clothing"

6. Eine Chance auf Erlösung

This chapter is very short but focuses all on Kurt hurting himself in hopes of repenting. If you're easily unsettled by self-harm, I'll let you know now that this chapter is not vital to the rest of the story.

Kurt had teleported into a bathroom, luckily for him, it was one currently unoccupied. He flicked the light on and locked the door. He noticed the trash hadn't been changed since that morning and felt a sick joy at it. He dug to the bottom until he found the razor he had used earlier that morning, still crusted in his blood. He ran it under hot water and cleaning it off with rubbing alcohol until he was comfortable that it was clean.

He closed his eyes and imagined the symbols, with their perfect curves and intricate designs.

And he began to cut.

His face, his arms, his legs, and his torso all became drenched in blood, the fur matting and clumping together, turning him darker than he already was. His tail quivered in pain and he was sure he would have a fat lip tomorrow from how hard he was biting it. Surprisingly not enough to bite through it. His skin was festering and open, the air stinging the wounds as he carved deep into his skin. Even with his shadow aura and the ability to heal faster than most, these scars would never go away. Luckily for him, no one had ever asked, and he would never tell. The Angel's Symbols were sacred to him; his one chance at redemption and acceptance into Heaven. Scott could tell him again and again how good of a person he was, but that didn't make up for the fact that he was a demon. He was damned to Hell unless he could convince God to forgive him of his trespasses.

He cleaned up the blood and took a cold shower, enough to make him shake and his teeth shatter. He was unsure of how long he was in the bathroom, but when he emerged later, the Institute was dark and he could make out the soft sounds of sleeping breaths. He teleported to his room, still shivering despite having dried completely. He shut his window and curled up under his blankets, sneezing before falling into a dark, troubled sleep.