The following fiction is DarkFic. As such, it contains horrible things happening to good people. It’s also very much NSFW, and will be tagged as such.
People who are triggered by: abuse, rape, violence, people being asshats, and/or squicky things, skip my blog for fifty-six days.
You have been warned.
Disclaimer: TPTB wouldn’t touch this with a 40’ pole. The characters are theirs. The angst is mine.
Archiving: email cat@internutter.org and ask nice. You can also send reviews. I *like* reviews :)
Credit Where Credit’s Due: I borrowed an idea from a fanfic by “Korin" called _Stairway to the Stars_ [which I found at http://kurtty.topcities.com/ ] for the core reason why Kurt’s so screwed up. Thanks Korin!
Code-o-rama:
*bla* - emphasis
_bla_ - thoughts or italics
{bla} - sound effect
[bla] - foreign language.
Author’s Note: This is AngstFic. You have been warned.
Don’t Pity Me
InterNutter
Fracture One: The Scent of a Predator.
Today was the day that they’d be getting a permanent sports coach again. Kurt sighed. Not that he disliked gym, per se, it was just that, sooner or later, he’d forget himself and pull a few acrobatic tricks. It was so ingrained that he often didn’t realise he was doing it. Then whoever was the sports coach would try to draft him into the school's gymnastics team. And he’d have to explain that he was just a humble tumbler, bla bla bla bla bla…
Kurt *hated* breaking in new gym teachers, and he’d been doing it for *months*.
At least *this* time, he’d get it over and done with. Until something *else* went wrong and there was yet another vacancy in the Bayville High staff.
That sort of thing happened a lot, for some reason.
The door slammed open and the class sat to attention. She was late, but she moved with a precision and speed that demanded respect.
"Morning,” she said in crisp, businesslike tones. “I am Frau Rosafarben.
If that is difficult to pronounce, I will accept Frau Rosa. I do not accept chitchat, or other forms of communication in my class. If you have something to say, you say it to the whole class. Ja?” She indicated the raised hand.
“You’re from Germany, right? Just like Kurt.”
Well, at least they got the country right. So many brainless wonders in this school thought he was from another country. Russia, France, Italy, England and Sweden were the top five.
“Ja, I am from Germany. Is Kurt in this class?”
“Jawohl, meine Dame,” Kurt intoned, putting his hand up. “I’m here.”
“You’re with the exchange program?”
“Nein, I’m with a scholarship,” he grinned. “You have to put up with me for a lot longer.”
Everyone giggled except Rosafarben.
“We are doing basic gymnastics equipment today,” she announced.
Kurt barely stifled a groan.
“Herr Wagner, since you are so active this morning, you can show the others what you can do on the uneven bars.”
_Oh *great*…_ He stood and trod towards them with the air of a man headed for a thankless and unpleasant task. On the way, he caught whiff of Rosafarben’s perfume. He hadn’t smelled anything of that sort since - the Bad Times. Kurt quelled his trepidation as he chalked his hands. Thousands of women probably wore that scent. He could ignore it.
He leaped into a routine, focussing only on the movement, the performance, and the music that played in his head. The audience, such as it was, would do what came naturally.
The Perfectionist, woken by the scent, whispered all his faults and flaws in the back of his head. Kurt was able to ignore him. The Perfectionist, should he ever take over, would obsessively keep starting again at the slightest hint of something awry.
Kurt dismounted. _Off by three forty-eighths of a second,_ the Perfectionist whispered. _Left arm needs attention. Sloppy sloppy sloppy. No dinner for naughty boys who don’t do things right…_ Kurt sighed as he walked off the floor, flexing his left wrist.
“I’m going to *have* to talk to the Professor about getting a proper rig,” he said. “I’m getting rusty.”
The entire class’ mouths hung open.
Damn. He’d done it again.
“Rusty, Herr Wagner?” Rosafarben enquired.
Again, the Perfectionist spilled over. “Ja. My left wrist’s getting weak, the same elbow’s behind by a forty-eighth of a second. My timing's out by *three*… I suck.” He sat down, still flexing his traitorous wrist.
“Objections aside, that is A+ material. The rest of you, I’m sure, will be glad to know that I will not be grading on Herr Wagner's personal standards. He’s had years of practice. You haven’t.”
Kurt tore his mind off his wrist to try and meditate the Perfectionist down into a mere subliminalised annoyance. Amazing how one sniff of a familiar perfume could tear into his control like that. He had to do better. Especially since he had to appear awake and watchful during the rest of the class.
At last, it was time for lunch. Kurt made to bolt away with the rest of the class, only to have Rosafarben call him back for ‘a word’.
He walked back towards her under a cloud of doom.
“I’m not joining the gymnastics team, so please don’t ask,” he said. "Amongst other things, I have a pathological aversion to showering with twenty other guys in the same room.“
"Nein, it isn’t that, Herr Wagner,” she cooed. “I was wondering if we knew each other.”
The way her voice gentled triggered another little crack. He *knew* that voice… from the Bad Times. “I - don’t think so…” he allowed.
“I’m sure I know your name,” she said.
“Ha. There are dozens of Kurt Wagners in Germany. There were *three* in my home village of Heirelgart.” Just then, he realised that his nervous tendency to babble had just trapped him.
“Heirelgart, you say. Now this does get interesting. The Kurt Wagner *I* knew was also from Heirelgart. You have some of his features…” She reached out to touch his face.
Kurt instinctively backed away.
Rosafarben smiled. “And his mannerisms.” She advanced, forcing him to back further and further away from the door. From escape. “You’re very much like him, you know.”
The eyes. The teeth. She’d changed her face, but he’d never forget those *eyes*… “Hess…” he whispered.
“Now *there’s* a name I’ve not heard in a long, *long* time. They were good times, ja? And you kept your people from starving into the bargain…”
Kurt bumped into a wall. _Oh, for Kitty’s phasing power…_ She didn't know about his power. The Bad Times were over before that ever happened.
“Seems we’ve both changed our faces, ja? But you, I think, are hiding behind a mask of light,” Rosafarben touched his face.
Kurt flinched.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I knew you were mein flockiger Damon. And you know me, now.”
Kurt was hyperventillating. It was the Bad Times. All over again. She’d followed him. Just like she’d said. She’d followed him until he was alone and his nose was filling with her scent and the Masks were all demanding to help.
Her body pressed against his. Her lips found his.
And Kurt fled, deep inside himself, letting another deal with the situation.
RagDoll. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.
*
“…so then I’m like, 'nuh-*uh*’, and he’s all like, 'yah’ and I'm like, 'bu-bye, loser’ and he goes - he goes…” Kitty trailed off. "Isn’t that like, the new gym teacher? What’s she like, doing with Kurt?“
Scott looked, and gasped. "She’s dragging him around by his neck… he looks kinda out of it.”
“He *is* out of it,” said Jean. “I can’t even pick up one thought from him.”
“I was in that class. He was *fine* when I left…” Evan stood up and rushed over to the new Gym teacher.
She threw Kurt at him and screamed something in German before she stormed back indoors.
Kurt had fallen down as if he were unconscious. His eyes were open, but unseeing. Evan, pinned under him, was trying to get him off. Jean and Scott, the first to get there, helped. The rest of the X-men, including the new mutants, crowded around.
“What did she say?” said Kitty.
“I have no idea. It went something like, 'Bilden Sie ihn richtig, Schwarzeschmutz aus, oder ich jage Ihren vollstandigen Stamm unten’. Sounded pretty ferocious.”
“Er,” said Amara. “I know what 'Schwarzeschmutz’ means. It isn't exactly - politically correct.”
“N-word?” Evan guessed.
Amara nodded.
Kitty knelt beside Kurt, tidying his mussed hair, stroking his cheek and calling his name. There was no response. He just stared off into infinity. Once in a great while, he would blink, but there was no other hint of life in his eyes.
*
They all piled towards the infirmary the second they got home. Anxious for news, appalled that they had to spend the rest of the day in school, and hopeful that the Elf had recovered.
Logan blocked the way. All he had to do was stand in the vicinity of the door and glare at them, and the kids would just stop. They were scared of him, he knew it. Sometimes, he even liked it that way. He was tough and he didn’t need anyone. At least, not the kids.
“Prof’s still working on him,” Logan summarised. “Says he can’t find a trace of thought, but he gets the impression that Kurt might be trapped underneath. I don’t get it, but that’s what he said.”
“Did his Mom or Dad–?
Logan held up a hand. "Already tried 'em. They said the kid used to have spells like that when he was younger. They thought he’d got over 'em. Obviously they were wrong.” Logan sighed. “He’ll eat when he’s told to. That’s about it. All his folks had to say was 'make him feel safe’. Dunno how we can do that, either.”
“Can we like, go in?”
*Now* it hurt. “No. Don’t know what set him off. Can’t risk it happening twice. He might go deeper. Prof. and I’ll look after 'im.”
“Is he gonna be okay?”
“Don’t you have homework to do?”
*
They watched Kurt’s flexing left hand. Every attempt to get him to sleep, so far, had failed. It was if he was missing something that should have been there.
The Professor was the one to reach into the third bedside draw and find Kurt’s 'mascot’. He placed it within Kurt’s grasp and waited.
The grasping hand found the doll, and tucked it in close to his body. His golden eyes drifted shut. For the first time in hours, Kurt’s face showed emotion in a hint of a smile.
“We’ve done all we can,” Xavier whispered. He sounded exhausted.
“Go get some sleep, Chuck,” Logan advised. “I’ll watch 'im. You'll know the instant I know. Promise.”
*
Familiar place. Familiar smell. Schmerzmann tucked in his left arm. Peace. A home. A family nearby. Safe. He was safe.
RagDoll let him pass into the open, let him out again. It was safe. The Bad Times were over.
Kurt sighed and opened his eyes. Morning light filtered through his curtains. It was early. Logan was there. Watching.
“You all right, Elf?” he asked.
“Ja. Now.”
“So can you tell me what happened?”
“Uh…” He couldn’t tell the truth. At least, not the whole truth. Already, the Archivist was wiping away the unpleasantness that triggered the release of RagDoll. Finally, he settled for, “I smelled a predator.”