Very much NSFW fic continued from yesterday:
Fracture Twelve: Guarding Broken Treasure
Kurt picked at his dinner and tried to ignore the fact that his friends had thrown up an invisible wall around him. So Fight had released the Monster on purpose. That was something of a relief. He could have a quiet word to Fight about maintaining control and not killing people, even predators.
Even if they *were* going to hurt someone.
If he, the Archivist, and the Perfectionist ganged up on him, he might relent. Maybe he could get das Kinder to help, too. Fight was soft on kids.
It was strange. When they didn’t know what his trouble was, and he thought himself unsafe, his friends couldn’t keep away from him. Now that both situations were reversed, they gave him a wide berth.
They were afraid of him.
Damn it.
He’d known this would happen. If anyone knew about the masks, they wouldn’t accept and move on. They’d fear, and move away. Well, at least they didn’t throw him out. Heirelgart’s many charms included the fact that the whole village knew him and wouldn’t let a predator come within miles of the place.
On the cons side, if he stayed in Heirelgart, he had nothing to look forward to but being a humble tumbler. Bla bla bla bla bla…
Professor Xavier didn’t seem to notice, he was walking through the plan to keep Kurt protected from predators 24/7.
The last time Hess had abducted him, just before the abrupt end of the Bad Times, Kurt had been almost eight. She’d come at him from behind while he was fetching water, and pressed a cloth soaked in ether into his face. She’d said she meant to keep him, when he’d come round. After that, Kurt didn’t remember much but the pattern of a tile and the stink of blood gone wrong, somehow.
Then, he was running through the woods on all fours, desperate to get *home*, or the nearest thing to it. It was summer, so the touring circus was home. Only the circus wasn’t there any more. There was only one trailer left on the camping ground.
His family’s
Mama had been waiting on the doorstep. She’d taken one look and screamed, then ran towards him, voice hoarse, crying his name.
He’d been gone for two weeks, they’d said. They’d extended their tour at that stop for as long as they could, but the rest of the circus had had to move on before rental of the grounds chewed into their profit margin.
The Wagners had begged to stay. Mama had given the nearby town her wedding band as collateral to let them stay as long as they needed. Papa had sighed, hugged Mama, and taken his off, too. He said that his son was worth everything he had.
That was when the landlord had given the rings back and said they could stay for free.
Kurt was shocky and covered in a mixture of old and new blood. He couldn’t remember what had happened, and asked his family not to make him. Mama saw more of his wounds than anyone else, and backed him up. She reasoned that if he didn’t remember, then he shouldn’t be made to remember.
“Some predator got to him,” she announced. “A big predator, like a cat. That’s all there is to it.”
His family never left him out of their sight for longer than a few seconds. Kurt was glad of the protection, even if it *did* come from the likes of his youngest sister, Erika. The predators never struck within view of his family.
Only when they were home, at the end of the tour, did Kurt find out there was a hidden meaning behind Mama’s words. His books - the books Hess had given him about Tantric Yoga - were slightly misaligned in their hiding place. Mama had found them, looked at them, and put them carefully back. She knew, and as far as Kurt was aware, had never said a word.
_Mama loves me just the same,_ he thought, trying to reassure himself. It didn’t quite work. Mama never knew about the Masks. She just knew about the horror. She’d offered to listen, but Kurt had chosen not to speak. He knew what would happen if he did.
Now that others knew, his theory was proven right.
His friends - the people who *used* to be his friends - would only protect him out of loyalty to Professor Xavier. Out of fear that one of his Masks would forget about the image enducer and expose mutantkind to the world. Certainly not out of any desire to see him safe.
Kurt realised that tears were falling down his face. He carefully wiped them away with a napkin.
His half-sister was staring at him. Kurt stared back, challenging her with his eyes while he ate.
They shared a mother. Blood. But very little else.
Rogue’s gaze softened into a look he’d abhored.
Right next to fear, the thing he hated to see most in other people's eyes was pity.
“Don’t you *dare* pity me!”
Great. Now the whole table would think that he’d snapped. They were clearly afraid that yet another person was at the helm.
“I don’t need it,” he said, speaking in more normal tones. “I never have and I never will. I’m lucky to be *alive*. I have family. Friends - at least until recently… These things that are happening are just because of ignorance. You should be pitying the predators. They don't know any other way to act. *We* do.” Kurt went back to his plate and focussed on eating everything he should.
His appetite might be back by tomorrow. It never stayed away long.
“Kurt’s totally got a point, you guys.”
He looked up. Katzchen. Beloved Katzchen. He’d taken from her, and now she was standing up for him.
_Gut Gott… Was Hess’ entire point to make me like *her*? Turn me into another predator?_
_Dummkopf,_ chided Fight. _You never stuck up for the Fotze. You just kept your fool mouth shut._
_Then - why –?_
_Ever thought that *maybe* she just might *like* you? Dummer Junge…_
_But I *stole* from her._
_Do us all a favour, eh? Shut the hell up._
“Everything this like, predator has done is because they like, just look at the surface. They’re like, punishing Kurt because of how he like, looks. Not how he *is*.”
“But he *is* a psychotic *wreck*,” said Amara.
“Shut up, Princess,” said Rogue. “Unless you’re lookin’ fo’ some whup-ass.”
“Yeah,” said Evan. “Kurt was *fine* before this ‘Predator’ showed up. Once the idiot’s gone, everything will be back to how it used to be, right, K-man?”
Kurt had brightened considerably during this exchange. He was smiling. So, he did have friends, anyway. “Of course it will,” he said. “For the longest time, I thought that if people knew about my Masks, they’d be afraid of me. They wouldn’t like me any more. Obviously, I was wrong.”
“Damn straight you were, bro’.”
“Danke, meine schwester.”
Their plan was virtually unchanged from the one his family had concocted. Keep Kurt in view and in company at all times. Kitty was under similar protection, but only to help Lance keep his addle-headed distance until he got a clue.
So it was guarding the museum after the vandals had gone; so what? The point was that they wouldn’t be able to come back and do more damage.
_And speaking of damage…_ Kurt sat up and payed attention to a lecture on how to handle the media still circling for blood outside the Institute gates.
Outside activities were severely curtailed, especially for the new recruits, who had yet to learn the meaning of the word, 'restraint’. All training was to be undergone in the Danger Room, or severe punishments would be handed out. All until further notice, or the last media van camped out on their doorstep gave up and sought out other prey. Whichever came first.
*
They formed quite a knot when they returned to school. Kurt, who'd used his power to have his burger and eat it too, was denied his routine top-up at Gut Bomb. Scott promised a conciliatory one at the end of the school day, instead. And maybe a side-trip to Baskin-Robbins as well. *If* things went right for a change.
Kitty held Kurt’s hand. Whether for moral support or genuine feeling, Kurt couldn’t tell. They hadn’t talked about the events before Lance's guest appearance. There hadn’t been time.
Kurt knew they should. He dearly loved her and didn’t want her hurt, by accident *or* by design. He had to talk out his mistake, and soon; yet preferably out of the hearing of others.
The last thing he needed - next to Hess in his face - was his teammates cracking jokes about his attempts to pitch woo at Kitty.
But then, she was still healing. Rebound love was the worst. It bought up all sorts of doubts and confusion.
Come lunchtime, he’d talk to her.
If everything went well.
*
Scott never felt more like the Terminator in his life. Back when he was still in hospital, after the plane crash that separated him from everything he knew, he’d seen _Terminator_ on the television and wanted to be cool like Arnold Schwartzeneger. Though perhaps with less of the stupid accent.
After Xavier rescued him, and they discovered the secret of restraining his power - ruby quartz - he’d thought it was cool to have Terminator-Vision, and had run around the mansion for weeks muttering choice phrases from the movie.
That is, until Jean showed up and told him he was being bloody stupid. He’d ditched the leather at light speed. And the wise-cracks. And the lines. All for her.
Now, though, he was sizing up everyone he looked at. Just like in the movie.
Duncan Matthews. A-class jerk. More likely to pound his victims in full view of everyone than take a person away to be tortured. Makes witnesses develop selective blindness and memory loss. Not a suspect. Move on.
Tarren. Cutie. Babe-a-licious, but not safe to flirt with because of the whole undercover thing. Besides, he was sworn to Jean. Definitely not a suspect, but damn cute to look at. Move on.
Principal Kelly. Slightly Harrassed because of the media furforal. Trying to maintain a good image. Abduction is *not* his style. Move on.
The Brotherhood. Criminals and neer-do-wells. More likely to pound their victims away from crowds. Not sophisticated enough to do the whole abduction thing. Prefers to bring it on wherever. Not suspects, but he would have *loved* to have a quiet chat with Alvers that also involved a baseball bat, some rusty shears and at least one toilet. Move on.
Mrs Crankshaw. Rumoured to be undercover nun. Get *real*. Move on.
Frau Rosa. German hard-ass. Looks pissed. Do not make eye contact or she’d have him doing laps quicker than she could scream something complicatedly abusive in German. Move on. NOW!
Risty Wilde. Cute but young. British. Rogue’s friend. Rumoured to have a 'thing’ for Kurt. He *must* avoid her at all costs, because he has fur, and she’s a norm. More the notes-in-lockers type than the abduct-and-hurt variety. Move on.
Graydon Creed. B-minus jerk. One of Duncan’s cronies. Bigoted SOB, but more likely to get Matthews to pummel his adversaries than to do anything involving fine motor control. Or sentience. Move on.
Kurt carried on as if it were perfectly normal to be travelling in the middle of a group who were trying not to act like bodyguards. He neither looked at anyone outside of the group nor reacted to their presence. If there was a 'predator’ within range, he showed no sign.
This was going to be a *long* day.