Very Much NSFW fic continued from yesterday:
Fracture Twenty-Seven: Making Friends
“When’ll you come back?”
“Well, if I can stay out of detention, around four.”
“But that’s for*ever*…”
Daddy dropped into a crouch. “It’s okay, liebe. You still have all the grown-ups to talk to.”
Bluebelle whimpered. “But you’ll be *gone*,” she protested. “You mightn’t come back.”
“That won’t happen. Not with your Oma and Opa around. They’d stomp on anyone who tried.”
Bluebelle bit her lip.
“Something wrong?”
“Oma and Opa talk, sometimes, but whenever I go to listen, they stop… Is it because of Mistress?”
“I think it’s because of Mistress and I. There’s been - a long time without speaking. I guess I got used to staying quiet.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Talk to them, eh? See if you can make them feel better.”
“I’ll try,” she said. She was new to the concept of family, let alone an extended family with aunts and grandparents. She kept wondering what they’d do if she upset them. But she had to try, because maybe they were nice like Daddy.
*
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“Johannes, he needed to *heal*. I thought he’d talk with us when he felt he was safe enough.” Astrid held her hands to her eyes. “Dear God, I thought it was just a few times. I *swear* I didn’t know that Jakob Weiss was - was - *renting* him…”
Johannes held her tight while she sobbed, rocking her gently. Three years, nearly four. This monster had a hold on their son for three years… And he’d known nothing.
But then, Astrid hadn’t known anything until the last days. He should have suspected when he found her weeping after she’d freshened up his bed. He’d just thought she was upset that he was missing, and gone out to search the woods for any sign of him.
Nothing was said, because they felt guilty.
And he felt guilty, too.
Because he’d *let* a monster get near their beautiful boy.
Their little boy who had a dead son and daughter who was almost half his age.
He should have found a nice girl. He should have had dates. He should have gone courting, proposed, and got married before he had any children. Yet he’d accepted two little bastards bred by rape, and loved them.
_I knew he was special the minute I picked him up,_ Johannes thought all the way back to the day he’d found Kurt floating down the stream. He’d thought someone would have had to be insane to abandon a baby to the elements. Then he saw the blue fur. He and Astrid had been praying for a child of their own, and they got one. When he saw Kurt’s tiny tridactyl hand he *knew*, no-one would try to take him from them.
No, he’d *assumed* no-one would take him, because of how he looked. In the end, it all came down to judging him by his appearance, the same way everyone else did. The only difference was that they loved him.
Because they loved him, they lied, telling him for years that he'd been abandoned on their back doorstep. It was a kinder thing than the truth, that some cruel soul had thrown him into the water with nothing on but a piece of oilcloth.
He’d found out - Lord knew how, but sometime after Christmas, he'd just sat down and said, “I know you lied to me about how I was found. And I know why. I know some of the truth, but - I wish I didn’t.” And no more was said.
Kurt always *was* quiet about the things that hurt him. The most he and Astrid could do was comfort him until he felt well enough to talk. And if he wasn’t cut, or nursing a wound, no-one would ever know he was hurt. He’d only ever answer a direct yes-or-no question.
“…excuse me…”
Johannes looked at the source of the little voice. Kurt’s daughter. His granddaughter. She held a very familiar-looking paper bundle. Astrid stared at her, looking bleak.
“Ja?” Johannes prompted. “Something we can help you with?”
“Daddy forgot to brush me down, this morning,” she murmured. Belle always murmured, or whispered. Speaking at normal volume was her equivalent of a shout. “I can’t get my back. Will you help?”
He could tell at once that she was lying. Kurt wouldn’t forget something so calming on a day that he had to upset her by leaving her behind. Johannes could guess why she was doing it, though. Because He and Astrid had kept their distance from her, and she was scared of her aunts. She had to start somewhere, and this was what she came up with.
Bluebelle offered the package and Astrid accepted it.
“Ha,” Astrid unfolded the paper surrounding it. “Papa’s brushes.”
“Nein,” corrected Bluebelle, “*Opa’s* brushes.” She backed off half a pace, then quickly returned.
She’d expected to be hit.
Johannes made a space between them and patted the empty spot in invitation. “Gekommen, Liebe. Sit. We’ll brush you.”
“Brings back old days,” Astrid smiled. She uncoupled the brushes and felt them.
Bluebelle skinned out of her dress and perched in the empty spot. "Daddy always lets me brush the bits inside my underwear,“ she said. "He says he doesn’t want to make me feel bad.”
It was easy to hate what had made her; easy to feel anger because of what had happened. It was harder to aim it at her. She was a beautiful little girl.
She had such a gentle touch, as if she were afraid of hurting the world, yet she clung to people and things for protection.
Astrid took up the soft brush and started ‘working up a polish’, just like her father had.
Johannes could almost see Bluebelle shining from the inside out, just like Kurt had.
Surprise grandchildren weren’t *too* bad, he decided. Kurt had certainly given them more than enough grey hairs to look the part.
Snuggled into Astrid’s arms, Bluebelle began to purr.
*
She’d almost fallen asleep when Oma and Opa helped her back into her dress. This 'polishing’ stuff felt so nice. So comfortable.
And, to top things off, Oma and Opa were talking to her at last, telling her stories from the time when Daddy was a little boy, and the things he got up to. They were funny stories.
“There,” Oma announced, running the soft brush one last time across Bluebelle’s face. “Shiny as a new coin.”
That could happen?
She leaped off the chair with a jubilant, “I wanna see!”
“Ooops,” said Opa. “You moved. You went and shook the shine off.”
Bluebelle froze. “I did?”
Oma was smiling. “Ja, you did.”
“Is that bad?”
Oma and Opa laughed. “Nein, liebe. Not at all.”
She leaped back into their arms. “Shine me again? So I look nice for Daddy?”
*
Kurt made it all the way through the day without getting a detention, either by accident or the designs of others. He was back to temporary teachers in Gym, and had to do the 'humble tumbler’ bit. Blah blah blah, phooey.
Principal Kelly was nearing another psychological breakdown, according to rumours. Which meant that the Brotherhood had to fill his car with live chickens again. One of the baby ones had imprinted on him and decided to follow him around for the rest of the day.
Kitty thought it was cute and called it Mr Peeper.
Scott said he’d make them walk if it messed in his car.
They solved that problem by improvising a nest/carrier out of a paper bag and a bunch of napkins. Mr Peeper hadn’t liked losing sight of its 'Mom’.
Kurt let the little chick out as soon as he was inside. It followed him, merrily chirping all the way, happy that 'Mom’ was back.
“Elf,” sighed Logan. “There *is* a 'no pets’ rule, ya know.”
“Sorry Logan,” Scott sighed. “It thinks he’s it’s Mom.”
Rogue started sniggering.
“They were going to hand them out as part of Sex Ed in biology, tomorrow, anyway,” said Kurt. “You know, responsible parenting and all that?”
“Like *you* need the practice…” Logan rumbled.
Kurt turned his hologram off. Mr Peeper seemed completely unaffected. "I guess birds don’t see holograms,“ he said. "Where’s Bluebelle? I should have been flying-tackled by now…”
“She’s in the Library with your folks.” Logan glared at the floor. Apparently, Mr Peeper had done what came naturally to all small creatures in general and birds in particular. “You’re cleanin’ that up.”
Kurt already had the tissue out of his pocket. “Jawohl.”
He found them in the Library, still. Mama and Papa talking, Bluebelle lying across them and being very, very still.
“What’s happening here?” he asked.
“I’m trying not to shake the shine off,” said Bluebelle.
Kurt nodded. “Aha.” He dearly hoped she wouldn’t be upset when she found out it was a myth. “I should have known. You can move, now, liebe. I’ve seen how shiny you are.”
Bluebelle instantly ran towards him and hugged the stuffing out of him. Then she saw Mr Peeper. “What’s *that*?”
Kurt sighed. He was never going to live this down. “That is a baby chicken. Kitty’s started calling it Mr Peeper. It thinks I’m it’s Mama.”
There was a chorus of giggles. Not only from Bluebelle and Mama, but all four of his sisters. They’d followed him for the spectacle.
“Wunderbar,” Kurt said sarcastically.