A/N So you reviewers are quite lovely! Thank you for all your suggestions for the next chapter, they have been some great ones! Thanks to byproducts, TitaniumA, Stina686, fannut, MidnightManic, kitkat, Gidgeygirl, and WolfieBurnsTheNight. You're all rockstars.

Kitkat suggested E for Eyes, lovely idea but I think this is solidly going to cover that, hope it satisfies!

D is for Demon

Le Diable Blanc. Devil's spawn. Demon. He'd been called it all. Some tottering old woman told him she'd pray for him. He hated that even more.

Before he joined the LeBeau family, when he was still living on the streets, other street kids ran from him, none willing to spend any time around the strange boy. Not that he had hurt feelings, no of course not, never, it was just harder to elaborately scam hapless people for money or food if he was alone. That's what he told himself at least when he was shivering in a small doorway wrapped in a painter's drop cloth as a blanket.

He'd broken into a small bakery late one night, way after everyone should have gone home. He crept on tiptoes to the case, sneaking loaves of bread and a few pastries into his bag. He was done and nearly out the door when the lights flicked on. Little Remy threw his hand up to shade his eyes against the sudden harsh light. The man gasped and froze, giving Remy the time to slip out of the door and start running as fast as his little legs would take him.

A few seconds later, the baker came bursting out, screaming, "Stop him! Diable blanc!"

But Remy was blocks away, hiding under a semi truck and stuffing his face with bread. The street boys somehow caught wind of the name and began to hiss "Le Diable Blanc!" at him whenever they crossed paths. A large boy, Paul, tried to take Remy's bag of spoils one day. He grabbed the smaller boy by the arm, twisting until it nearly broke. Remy slammed his head forward, headbutting the other boy. Paul reared back and screamed, blood spurting down his front.

"The little fucker broke my nose!" Paul screamed.

Remy crouched down a few feet away, arms stretched menacingly in front of him. "Stay back," he growled. "Or Le Diable Blanc will get you, too."

Paul staggered away, supported by a friend. "He's nuts."

"That's right, I'm fucking crazy!" Remy yelled after them. They generally gave him a wider berth after that, though the taunting hisses still occurred, just from a distance.

One of the homeless men that slept in the alley Remy frequented was crazy, but he didn't realize that 'til later. The man thought he was a fallen prophet, one that God spoke to but the angels forgot. When young Remy walked by, he saw his eyes then suddenly the young boy was surrounded by fire, miniature devils and beasts and billowing black smoke. The young boy glanced at the homeless man who stared at those black and red eyes.

When young Remy, then just barely seven years old, went to sleep that night wrapped in his painter's drop cloth blanket, the man was waiting. He poured gasoline in a semicircle from one side of the door way to the other, surrounding Remy. With a flick of the lighter, he lit the line of gas. Remy woke to smoke and heat. The man was standing beyond the fire with a bible in hand, his clothing trailing off like dirty robes.

"Demon from hell, with fire I cast you out! Unholy demon, leave this place, go back to hell!" Remy stared at the fire, body shaking. Those licking flames were going to eat him alive. The man, unsatisfied with Remy not falling to hell, screamed louder. "Demon from hell, I cast you OUT!"

He threw the bible at Remy who stumbled, stepping into the flames just long enough to singe his leg. He screamed, falling back into the doorway. No, he wouldn't die like this, crouched in a corner. With a deep breath (and a cough from all the smoke), he ran, launching himself as high as he could over the flames, fire licking his heels. He ran down the alley, ignoring the pain in his leg, leaving the stunned, would-be prophet stumbling after him, though he wasn't nearly as fast as the youth.

Remy was getting quite tired of that, being chased. More people ran after him because of his eyes than his thieving ways, which, he supposed, was a very good thing. The burned leg made it harder to scrounge up enough money for a soup and sandwich at Miss Madgie's deli, but he somehow managed. She gave him a double helping of soup and when he was done, pulled him to the back room.

"So boy, you going to tell me why you're limping?" she asked.

Remy kept his eyes to the side and shrugged. Miss Madgie put her hands on her hips. "You tell me the truth now."

Remy glanced up at her glare and as always, she didn't look away from his eyes. Slowly, he pulled up his pant leg, revealing the angry burn.

Miss Madgie sighed. "Sit." Remy followed her command, taking a seat on a shipping crate. She came back with an oversized emergency kit and started treating the burn. When Remy winced, she tossed him a bottle of ibuprofen. Neither spoke again until she finished and led him back to the restaurant area.

"Come back tomorrow," Miss Madgie called when he made his way to the door. "It's beef stew day."

Miss Madgie's became a regular haunt for him, eating there at least twice a week. She never charged him more than a dollar or two. It was down the street from her deli that Jean-Luc caught his attempt at pick-pocketing and brought Remy home with him. Jean-Luc never commented on his eyes. His new brother, Henri, looked at him curiously but never said anything.

Some of the other kids he trained with stared or pointed, whispering behind hands. Remy refused to answer, keeping his face stoic. Henri wasn't as calm. When a boy made a comment about Remy being a midget devil, Henri locked him in a straight jacket the older thieves used in escapist training and hung him in the guild hall's foyer.

"A good thief knows when to keep his mouth shut," Henri said reasonably when Jean-Luc questioned him about it. Henri wasn't punished at all. Generally, people kept their opinions to themselves after that. Especially once the young Remy started beating them at every challenge.

Remy was nervous for the first few months in his new home. He was especially anxious the first time Jean-Luc and Tante Mattie brought him to Sunday church with Henri. Remy hung behind the family as they walked up the front step. He eyed the door apprehensively, the old bum's voice screaming I CAST YOU OUT in his mind. He half expected to burst into flames when he walked through the front doors.

"Come on, Remy," he muttered to himself and forced his feet to take him inside. He let out a breath when he made it in without being smote. Luckily, respect for Jean-Luc was too high for anyone to give Remy any problems. He and Henri were seated between Jean-Luc and Tante Mattie. The pastor spoke for a few minutes about the lord's love of all creatures on Earth.

This isn't too bad, Remy thought to himself. Then the pastor began to passionately yell about sinners who would be condemned to hell.

"And the sinners will be banished from God's kingdom and cast into the depths of hell where fire will burn them! The devil and his demonic minions thrive on the chaos sins cause the human soul! They're cruel, twisted beings outside the reach of heaven and they seek to corrupt and destroy you!"

Remy flinched, eyes shooting down. He slumped in his seat, body jerking each time the pastor said 'demon' or 'devil'. His eyes started pricking and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying.

Jean-Luc glanced down, seeing Remy's body give mini spasms. When they all stood to shake hands and spread the lord's love, Jean-Luc discretely guided Remy out, leaving Henri with Tante Mattie for the rest of the service.

Next Sunday, Remy hid in the bathroom, pretending to be too sick to go to church. The same with the week after that, and the week after that until eventually Jean-Luc stopped asking him to come. He also noticed the boy's tendency to stay away from fire.

When Remy became an apprentice thief in his teens, everyone was told to come up with code names, new monikers to distance their real identities from the crime, but also as a calling card for potential clients. Henri bounced between a few names like the Shadow and Dark Fantôme before Remy dubbed him Le Chiot Violet, the purple puppy. No matter how hard he pushed the Shadow, everyone still called him Le Chiot Violet. Someone left a stuffed purple dog in his room. He suspected Remy but of course couldn't prove it.

Henri, grumbling, suggested Remy adopt a name involving gymnastics and pretty leotards seeing as he excelled at anything in the gymnasium. "Non," Remy responded, twirling a playing card in his hand before placing his bet. Henri glanced at his own cards before calling.

"Then what?"

"Le Diable Blanc," Remy said with a dark smile.

Henri stared. "Remy…ah!" The card Remy had just set down glowed magenta and blew up, toppling Henri backwards in his chair.

"Desole, mon frère!" Remy said, throwing his hands away from anything that could blow and fixing his eyes on the table. His eyes glowed again and the glass he'd been looking at exploded in shrapnel-like shards. Henri swore lightly and dusted himself off.

"It's fine," he said, picking pieces of glass out of his coat. "I thought you had this under control?"

"So did I."

He first sought out Mr. Sinister when he blew off a fellow thief's arm. He used every underground contact he had to find this man who was rumored to be able to help. He had to drive days to meet him because when he tried to take a plane, he accidentally blew out the side of it during takeoff. They crashed back to the ground, fire consuming the engines. Remy helped pull out who he could, but at least three were trapped inside, burned alive. One was a little girl. By the time he met Sinister, he was ready to do anything to help his control. He forced himself to ignore the discomfort in the pit of his stomach at Sinister's unmaskable malice.

"It'll only deal with your powers," Sinister said. "It'll do nothing for your eyes."

Remy didn't even hesitate. "That's fine."

Three people told him his eyes were beautiful. The first was a very young Storm when they were friends in New Orleans. He was 12, it was a few years after Remy joined the guild. He'd met Storm on the streets during Mardis Gras when they each tried to pick each the other's pocket. They hit the streets together whenever Remy was given a pick pocketing assignment, running separately then meeting up for a sandwich or game or night at the local amusement park.

They were walking through the rows of street vendors, Storm angling for a funnel cake, when they bumped shoulders with a group of girls eating cotton candy. "Desole," Remy muttered, glancing over before sidestepping them with Storm.

The girls gasped, one even dropped her half eaten pink cotton candy. "Sweetie," one asked, putting her hand on Storm's arm. "Are you okay?" Her eyes shifted to Remy conspiratorially.

Storm's eyes hardened at she pried the girl's fingers off. "I'm just fine," she said coolly. She wrapped her arm around Remy's. "We're more than fine." The girl stared in shock as Storm pulled Remy away by the arm. The sinking hole in Remy's chest was glad that Storm was a good enough friend to not say anything.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"No problem," Storm said lightly and tossed him a sparkling pink wallet with a unicorn plastered to the front that she'd obviously taken when the girl got too close.

Remy laughed, pocketing the wallet. "Stormy, you fiend."

Storm grinned. "Don't call me Stormy."

The second person was Sarah. He dragged her out of the sewers, both of them bloody and broken, her bony head cradled to his chest. When she looked up at the face of her savior, haloed by the light from the night's streetlamps, she stared into his eyes and whispered, "Pretty," before seizing in pain. Remy dropped her at a mutant-friendly clinic before disappearing, needing to disappear from the eyes of Sinister. But it stayed with him, the look of gratitude in her eyes, her face completely empty of fear.

The third person was Rogue. Two weeks into his stay at the mansion, before he and Rogue were anything more than friends, Logan challenged him to a drinking contest. When Rogue walked in to the staff lounge three hours later, she couldn't even count the number of bottles strewn around the two men. Logan was sitting against the side of the couch, hair askew. Gambit (as he went by now, abandoning Le Diable Blanc and Remy to most people) was sprawled on the floor, a bottle of bourbon under his neck like a pillow.

"Gentlemen…" Rogue greeted slowly.

"Rogue!" Gambit said cheerily, bouncing to his feet before falling sideways into the wall. Logan merely grunted.

Rogue sighed and walked over to Gambit. She slung his arm around her shoulder, hoisting him upright. He leaned against her, his weight sagging. "Wha' bout Logan?" Gambit slurred.

Rogue snorted. "Give him fifteen minutes, he'll be fine."

"M'sieur Logan, you alive?" he called over his shoulder. Logan grunted again. "Oh good."

Rogue tried to steer him upstairs to his room but Gambit refused, instead dropping off Rogue and plopping in the middle of the hallway. Rogue sighed and lowered herself to the ground next to him.

"Gambit, if you throw up on me, you'll be picking your teeth out of the carpet," she warned.

"I'm not always Gambit," he slurred, leaning against the wall.

"Oh?"

"Oui. Sometimes I'm…" He lowered his voice to a hush. "…Le Diable Blanc!"

Rogue raised an eyebrow. "Because?"

"Because of these demon eyes."

Rogue snorted again. "You're not a demon," she said. "You're optically unique."

Gambit barked out a laugh. "I like your style, chère."

"I'm serious," Rogue said, tone darkening. "You're here in a school full of mutants, most of who have some serious self esteem issues. You aren't going to be very useful if you can't even see that your damn eyes are beautiful."

Gambit grinned, leaning over. "You think I'm beautiful, eh?"

Rogue rolled her eyes. "I said your eyes," she said, pulling herself to her feet. "Now either I help you upstairs, or you sleep on the ground and risk Storm's wrath"

Gambit groaned and let Rogue pull him up. She managed to drag him upstairs and deposit him in his bed without him falling on his ass again. He tried to kiss her goodnight but she just pushed him down and glared.

Gambit had been at the mansion for four months when Kurt came for a visit. Rogue, still not in control of her powers, carefully gave him a hug before introducing him to Gambit.

"Kurt, this is Gambit, Gambit, meet Kurt Wagner. Gambit's a new teacher here as a favor to Storm. Kurt here lives at a monastery in Germany."

"Pleased to meet you," Kurt said extending his hand.

Gambit shook it, poker face up. "You, too," he said. Rogue glanced at him uncomfortably and slipped her gloved hand into his, giving it a squeeze.

"He's also my brother, in a sense," Rogue said. Gambit's eyebrows rose. "I'll explain later."

Gambit couldn't place why Kurt threw him. It wasn't his appearance, he'd seen stranger mutations. With a start, he realized it was because Kurt was a monk, connected to the church. Rogue assured him that Kurt was a good man, which Gambit didn't doubt, but his last encounter with the clergy didn't exactly leave him with a good taste in his mouth.

"You should talk to him," Rogue said gently, rubbing his shoulders that night. "Believe me, he's been on the receiving end of his fair share of persecution…some similar to yours."

"Maybe," Gambit said.

Rogue pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "All I can ask is for you to think about it."

Gambit promised he would. He actually thought hard about it but by the time he ran into Kurt again, he hasn't made a decision. Gambit was in the gardens the next morning meditating, or as Rogue liked to call it, his morning communion with nature, when he felt Kurt's presence behind him.

"You're quieter than I thought you'd be," Gambit said without turning around.

"I apologize for disturbing you," Kurt answered. "I didn't expect anyone else to be up this early."

"It's no problem," Gambit said, turning to face the other man. "Rogue didn't send you out here?"

Kurt frowned, thick eyebrows pulling together in confusion. "No, was she supposed to?"

"Non, just thought she might have," Gambit said. He stood, brushing dirt from his clothes and made to leave.

"Have I offended you, Herr Gambit?" Kurt asked calmly. "I seem to make you rather uncomfortable."

"You haven't," Gambit assured him, immediately surged with guilt. "I've just had…unpleasant experiences with the church."

Kurt nodded. "As have I."

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "And you still became a monk?"

"Oh yes," Kurt said. "I have been chased through towns, beaten and nearly burned alive for being a 'demon'."

Gambit nearly winced at that. "I've had…similar experiences," Gambit said and tilted his sunglasses down for a moment. "On account of these."

Kurt nodded. "It was the ears and tail for me. But it doesn't matter to my brothers at the monastery. They know evil isn't contained in cartilage."

Gambit smirked. "That's good of them."

"Yes, I suppose you have a similar experience here," he said. "You know you aren't marked as evil, don't you?"

Gambit looked at him for a few moments before answering. "Oui. If I had the chance, I wouldn't change them. I've always liked them, I just didn't think I was supposed to like them."

Kurt smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. We are all meant to love all of ourselves. Hateful people will always find a reason to hate, the key is to not help them out or worse, agree with them."

Gambit smiled and clapped the other man on the back. "Well you sold me on you. Not the church, but you're an all right fuzzy elf."

Kurt bowed graciously. "And I am glad you make my sister so happy."

They meditated together for awhile before Gambit made his way to mansion and scaled his way into Rogue's window. He slithered into bed, wrapping a careful arm around her. She jerked awake and swung blindly, almost hitting Gambit in the nose.

"It's me, chère!" he said, jumping back.

"Jesus," Rogue groaned, falling back to her pillow. "How many times have I told you it's dangerous to sneak up on me?"

Gambit grinned. "I always thought that meant accidental absorptions, not your trying to crack my skull."

"Your assumption."

"Sorry," he said, still grinning.

"Liar."

"Oui."

Rogue sighed and vaguely motioned to him, inviting him back to the bed. He crawled in, wrapping an arm around her.

"I spoke to your brother the brother. Do they call monks brothers still? Brother Kurt?"

"You did?"

"Oui."

"And?"

"And he's not a bad man. Not that I expected anyone related to you to be anything more than angelic."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "So," she said slowly, "is everything good?"

"Oui," Gambit said, smiling at her. "Everything's good. I'm still not going to church."

"That's fine," Rogue said. "If you'd been mean to my brother, I'd have had to beat you up."

"Well, there are a few better activities we can do that involve the word 'beat'," Gambit said with a cheeky smile. That time Rogue did hit him.

This jumps through time a bit, sorry if the pre-romance and parts with Rogue being out of control of her powers give you any confusion. Once again, thank you, you lovely reviewers, alerters and favoriters (totally not words, I'm okay with that).