Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The moisture of the air felt as if it had been replaced by alcohol, drying his skin and layering his tongue with a thousand foul tastes. Bodies, warm and sweaty, shoved against each other under a haze of conversation, jostling Scott as he fought his way to the bar. He’d initially questioned why the professor had been reluctant to come to this place himself, but it was clear half the people in this place would outright laugh at the question of this place being ‘wheelchair accessible’. It was barely accessible if you had both your arms and legs working.

L'Arène de Cadavres, despite its French name, was dug right near the intersecting border between Czechia, Germany, and Poland. It was an older building, half damaged by time and the other half by vandals before being pieced back together by the owners. The upper levels, those above ground, were nothing that raised interest, just a simple pub with decorations a few years out of date to give it that lived-in feeling. Scott wouldn’t have given it a second thought, hell he’d never even been to either of the three countries it was nestled right up next to but the professor had insisted. Instructed him to walk right through the front doors and right to the bar, to ask for Christoph Henschel, and to tell him he wanted to place some bets and see some sports.

Scott had done just that, had suffered the jetlag and the stress of carrying too much money in his wallet. He had waited for Christoph, and when the older man had asked him “What kind of sports?” Scott had answered as the professor had instructed.

“The bloody kind, proper bloody you know? None of the staged crap, something with real grit.”

“Ah, we are watching boxing downstairs, come,” Christoph had grinned, skin pulling taught into an unsettling smile that showed too much of his gums. Scott had followed, and found himself in the hell that the professor had described.

Someone coughed loudly into his face, their breath reeking of cigarettes, and he fought the urge to gag. The ceiling was unsettlingly low, padded in efforts to stop the noise from below bleeding upwards to the regular patrons. Boxy televisions, screens grainy static, were hung up every few metres, buzzing in anticipation for what they would soon show. Despite them, most people here seemed to still push themselves towards the chicken-wire dome that took centre stage.

L'Arène de Cadavres, the arena of corpses, was one of the many underground mutant fighting and trafficking hubs in the modern world, and one of the most popular. It was one of the last remaining to host to-the-death pit fights, and when the professor had initially detailed the horrors that happened in the damn place Scott had expected his mission to be one of sabotage. Destruction. He would’ve taken his team in and burnt the place to the ground from the inside out.

The professor had told him he was on a scouting mission instead. His only job was to identify a single mutant who’d been dragged down to the arena years ago. Scott had asked how many years, and the professor would not answer, he had asked why, and again the professor had refused to tell him. He was close to ripping his hair out, close to asking Jean to pull out the information from the professor’s head. He was the team leader for God’s sake, he could be trusted.

The mutant’s name is Kurt Wagner, but he may not know this. His hide is blue, his eyes gold, beyond that there is little I can tell you. Only observe him, and report back. Can you do this Scott?

Scott elbowed his way past a particularly broad shouldered man whose eyes had long since glossed over from whatever concoction of drugs he’d taken. There was only one place a mutant could be in this place, unless they were in disguise like Scott, and that was in the bloody pit.

Pushing forward, it took far more effort than he’d initially expected to secure himself a space at the chicken-wire dome. Chicken-wire was perhaps not the most adequate descriptor, the pattern may have been the same but the wires used to form it were thick as a forefinger. Looking down, Scott pursed his lips and fought off the vertigo. Beneath the dome the floor plunged downwards, like a cylinder had been gouged out of the ground. The walls were sheer concrete, without crack or foothold bar the small cameras bolted in halfway down, their beady lenses pointed at the empty floor of the pit. Two doors, half hidden by the overhang of concrete, seemingly led into dark nothingness.

“ Ladies and gentlemen, here’s hoping you’ve placed your bets.” It took a moment of looking around before Scott pinpointed the source of the crackly voice; a small speaker mounted to the ceiling right above the pit. The clamouring of the crowd instantly hushed, the quiet clink of glasses replacing their voices. “ We’ll start off with the favourites, a new face just imported from the states versus our undefeated champion . Let’s get this pit filled!”

The first pit door opened, and Scott found himself sickened with the jump of eagerness he felt. From the dark alcove a man bordering seven-feet tall emerged, ducking underneath the doorway before straightening to his full height. If his height wasn’t a result of his mutation, the bone-like plating on his limbs certainly was. It seemed arbitrary where it had grown, covering his belly and back but only existing as smaller fragments on his chest and arms. His hair was haphazardly shorn close to his scalp. Not Wagner.

“ If you saw his last bout in the states you know why this fuck’s here,” the announcer chortled, and Scott laughed with the crowd as best he could, “ We hate to see our favourites fall but here’s his chance at redemption! The disgraced Boneflesh might be our new champion!”

The crowd whooped, hollered, some threw their drinks into the ring splashing Scott in the process.

“And our reigning champion, defending his title, the Devil!”

The second door did not open, but it rattled and shook as whoever was on the other side of it threw themselves against it. A muffled but horrifying shriek bled from underneath it, inciting the crowd into a greater frenzy. Scott hoped that Wagner would be in one of the next bouts, hopefully the one directly after this. Last thing he wanted to do was suffer through two of his own kind fighting to the death while being unable to do anything about it.

There was no formal start to the brawl, no count down, and this took Boneflesh by surprise as well. The second the door was opened for the Devil the mutant sprung out of the darkness, launching himself directly at Boneflesh and latching on with teeth and claws. He was blue, his eyes were rich gold. Scott pursed his lips, and fought the urge to gag.

Kurt Wagner’s back legs ended in two toed feet - clawed feet, which scraped at the panel on Boneflesh’s gut and left deep furrows. The shrieks Boneflesh let out were horrific as he stumbled, trying to detach his assailant from him. It took several long minutes and the jeering of the crowd before the behemoth managed to drag Wagner off of him and throw him into the wall with a sickening crunch. In an instance it seemed much of Boneflesh’s skin had been mutilated, wherever Wagner’s clawed hands and feet had caught the plating had either been ripped away or severely damaged. Scott’s eyes zeroed in on the blue mutant as he slowly pushed himself up, seemingly unphased by the weight of the blow he had received. This time, as Boneflesh tried in vain to comprehend his wounds, Wanger leapt onto his back and bit deeply into his neck. Blood gushed from the wound, rolling down Boneflesh’s torso in thick droplets and turning Wagner from blue into a deep dark shade of red. Boneflesh did not last long, and the last thing Scott saw before being pushed back from the dome by more eager patrons was Wagner mutilating the corpse of the now dead mutant with reckless abandon.

***

“I had hoped it was not so severe,” Professor Xavier hummed, sitting back in his wheelchair, “Thank you for your help Scott. I would have preferred to save you from such sights.”

“How long until we can shut that place down?” It was a frustratingly beautiful morning, with sunlight streaming into the professor’s office. The wood of the table and floor was warmed by the sun’s rays and the light made everything look dipped in honey. Scott shivered, clenching his hands into fists.

“Once we evacuate the mutants there, but that requires us figuring out how to do it safely.”

“We go in, break them out, and leave, the longer that place runs the worst it’ll get.”

“I agree, the longer it is left to fester the deeper the infection will go,” the professor smiled, wheeling himself out from behind his desk, “but tell me again, when you saw Mr. Wagner, what did you see?”

“Professor, I’d rather not think about it more than I have to. I’ve lost enough sleep already, and we already discussed this days ago.” Shaking his head, Scott watched the professor roll to sit by the window. “Saw enough to see him practically disembowel a man.”

“Wagner has suffered many years Scott… more than I care to admit.”

“Why didn’t you try to rescue him earlier then? If he’s so important,” Scott replied, finding himself staring at the wooden bookshelves that lined Xavier’s office.

“I wanted to, Scott. I tried to, but when we were… first rescuing mutants… we did not have the facilities we do now.”

“I’m not a mind reader professor,” Scott sighed, pushing himself from his seat and joining Xavier by the window, “but I’ve been around long enough to know there is something more to be said about all this.” The office door opened, the creak of a hinge alerting them both, and turning towards it Scott saw none other than Professor Xavier wheel in.

“Mystique,” the professor by the doorway greeted, and when Scott turned back to the window the professor he had been speaking with had morphed into the terrorist mutant who had plagued every single party involved in the human-mutant tensions. Had it not been for her dejected posture, and the surprisingly casual nature of her dress, Scott would have been quick to whip off his glasses and stare her down. Her vibrant red hair hung limply around her face, and her eyes were sleepless. “I already told you all there was to know about Kurt.”

“You shielded me, you always do this,” crying, Mystique was crying, not overtly so but it was undeniable her cheeks were stained with tears, “I have a right to know what’s happened to him.”

“Raven,” the professor said, moving towards them, “I need you to be calm, you came to my school for help and I’m not one to turn away an old friend.”

“I have a right to know what’s happened to my son, Charles,” Mystique snapped, abruptly standing and turning towards Scott, “tell me in detail. What did you see?”

It was a frustratingly beautiful day, and Scott wished he was anywhere but Xavier’s office.

***

“Didn’t realise you had a kid,” Scott said, setting down a cup of coffee in front of Mystique. Xavier, having an entire school to attend to, had eventually left the office with a promise to return as soon as possible. This left Scott to entertain what was perhaps one of their most volatile and difficult to track enemies in perhaps one of the most important rooms in the school.”Take it that happened a while ago?”

“Yes.” without even the consideration of a thank you Mystique was quick to grab the coffee. Gripping it like a lifeline, she curled in on herself, and stared into the foam of the milk. “He’s about your age right now, the dates are a bit hazy.”

“Right,” Scott replied, tentatively sitting across from her. She’d pulled up a chair behind Xavier’s desk and seemed to have no qualms about sitting in, what Scott thought, was a reserved and important seat. “Stellar parenting, letting your kid end up in a fighting pit.”

“Quiet Summers, I didn’t know he was still alive until a few years ago.”

“So you found out, and now you want to save him.”

“Masterful deduction,” Mystique snorted, taking a tentative sip of her drink, “I can see the X-Men are in good hands.”

“I don’t like what they’re doing there any more than you do, Mystique.”

“Yet you direct your disgust towards my son.” Scott found himself pausing, leaning back in his chair and looking at Mystique. “I could hear it in your voice, the way you spoke of the pit fight.”

“You didn’t see him fight. A punch, scratch, even a kick isn’t that crazy, forgive me for not expecting him to rip out a man’s throat with his teeth.”

“He’s his father’s son just as much as he is mine,” Mystique laughed, she laughed, like she was talking about a mischievous toddler, “he’s survived longer than you ever would have, Summers, that comes at a cost.”

“Here I was thinking you wanted to get him out of there, not brag about it.”

“It’s an observation,” pursing her lips, Mystique resumed staring into her coffee, “once I save him from this madness I will not have to convince him of the evils humans inflict on us, I will have my son back.”

“Son, or propaganda piece?” Scott asked, and received a face full of coffee in response.

Chapter Text

The dried blood on his fur itched as he tried to wash it away. Warm water would have made quick work of it, but they hadn’t trusted him with fire in a good long while.

It was meditative, the process of running the rag over his body in the peace of his cell. The grey of the fibres was quickly replaced with red, the buzz of the orange light a calming melody. He could feel flesh stuck in his teeth, the porky metallic taste heavy on his tongue. Kill them slower, make it a show. At least, that’s what he thought they screamed at him as they dragged him from the ring. He hadn’t spoken in years, maybe even a decade, and bit by bit his vocabulary had dripped away with it. His words hadn’t mattered anyway, his captors understood a hiss or a bite better than any negotiation.

He dipped the cloth back into the bucket of water and ran it over his face. It cooled his feverish eyes, still darting and paranoid from adrenaline. His breathing shuddered as he tried to slow it, muscles taught and screaming. His opponent’s plating had been adhered to his flesh, like it had grown from it, making it more difficult to claw away than any worn armour.

His ears twitched at the sound of footsteps, one of his usual guards judging by scent and gait. Food too. Food was always good.

Unceremoniously, the plastic dish was shoved underneath the gap of his cell’s solid door. Meat, always meat. It’s like they thought him incapable of eating anything else. It was a better cut than usual, they must’ve been happy. Setting aside the bucket and cloth, he slunk towards his meal and began to eat. Fresh blood dripped down his chin, much to his annoyance, but at least he had water to clean himself and drink. A tendon caught between his teeth and he grimaced, picking at it with a claw until the stringy piece had been removed. 

The orange light of his room sputtered, flickering on and off for a moment before shutting off as the last dregs of electricity spun through it. Lights off, they always turned the lights off right as he was eating the annoying bastards. His eyes took only a moment to adjust, glowing flecks of gold in the darkness. He didn’t think he’d fight tomorrow, they rarely made him fight two days in a row, he could enjoy his meal - even sleep late if he wanted to. The thought made him giddy as he licked up the dregs of blood from his hands. They might even send him a woman if they were really happy, though the women often spent the nights terrified and cowering in a corner which really quite dampened the mood. He’d tried speaking to a few of him with the broken words he kept on hand.

Hello. Hello? Hello!

Each time they looked at him in horror.

Yes? He’d sometimes ask, approaching them tentatively. They’d shake their heads, rapidly like birds, and skitter backwards like mice.

Okay . He’d say. But they’d never relax. They’d stay backed into the corner until morning, and scared people did horrible things so he found himself having to simply sit staring at them every night. A waste of time, and peace. If they really wanted to reward him they’d send him down a woman who might even entertain a yes, which made him suspect he was perhaps their punishment. At least they were pretty to look at, their clothes all shiny and such.

Crawling back to the bucket, he drank a few mouthfuls before finishing washing himself. He scraped gore from beneath his claws and then ran his claws down the grooves of his teeth to clear any remaining flesh. At the end he wiped the base of his feet clean before slinking to his bed and burying himself in the blankets.

These folk were quite nice all things considered, he'd been the centrepiece to their operation for the past five years and at the very least they had the decency to show appreciation for it. He had so many blankets! More than ten last he counted, though he couldn't count much more than that. Soft blankets too, even an old quilt with a picture of a bear on it and a fluffy blanket that reminded him of his own fur. Couldn't even feel the springs of the mattress through them.

Burying himself underneath a lighter sheet and a large green blanket with the remainder curled and piled around him, he spent a solid few minutes simply listening to his own breathing. It felt wrong that his opponents always died so easily, and he nearly always felt nothing. He'd been wracked with guilt the first time he’d been thrown into a fight at the age of over ten but still quite a bit younger than he was now, but the first time he'd had to kill in one of those fights seemed nothing more than a tiny blip in the course of his life. The dead didn’t suffer their injuries, or their handler’s wraths he supposed.

So much time, he had an entire night, he couldn't fathom how to spend it. He had no injuries to tend to, he had already stretched and worked his body right after his bout. 

He could rearrange his cell, that might be fun. But it was comfortable under the blankets too. Rolling himself up further in his nest, he giggled quietly to himself. Maybe they'd give him another blanket someday, a big one that he could turn into a tent of sorts like back in the circus.

He frowned, the memories of his early life a hazy shadow of what they once were. There was a tent there, big ones, he remembered that. He used to fly on the -

What was it, it was something tall. It had a name.

High above the cheering crowd instead of below them.

Trapeze, trapeze that's what it was called.

Maybe if he did really well one day, made the crowd really happy, they'd get him a trapeze. Grinning into the blankets, he curled up in on himself. 

***

Mystique knew Charles Xavier, and in turn he knew her. He could have forced her to stay behind, crawled right into her head behind her eyes and made her to stay put. She would have resented him all the more.

This is how Mystique, the not quite enemy yet not quite friend of the X-Men, found herself in the backseat of a nondescript car, with her former-fling Logan at the wheel and the insufferable child of a man Scott Summers in the front passenger seat. The faux leather of the seats had rotted, flaking and sticking to her legs as she tried to make herself comfortable.

“Sure you don’t want to sit this one out, Raven?” Logan asked, he’d been quiet for the journey up until them, a cigar in his mouth stinking up the car. 

“Her kid isn’t it?” Summers, would it kill him to ever shut up.

“You wanted this place shut down Summers, focus on that,” Mystique muttered, forcing herself to remain focused. In less than half an hour she and Summers would walk into the upper level of the pub, he would introduce her to Christoph Henschel and they would be guided down right down into L'Arène de Cadavres . Beyond that, it was a waiting game for her son to appear and then - 

Xavier had suggested a quiet operation, finding where the mutants were held and breaking them out. Sneaking them out. Using her son’s fight as a distraction while they gathered the proverbial troops of unbalanced and starved mutants held captive. They’d be making their way out by force, that was a given, the arena was no organised military base with guard patterns that could be analysed - even if it were, they ran death fights. Mystique was not so foolish as to not know that her son was on borrowed time.

“Shit hits the wall, get out of there.” Logan’s face belied no emotion as he parked the car, motioning for them to leave. “That goes for you too. Mystique.”

“Just be ready to drive.” With a grimace, Mystique morphed into one of her mentally catalogued generic women. Blonde haired, a hooker’s eyes, and a smile that had pulled the Devil himself. “Lead the way Summers, before I change my mind.”

***

He didn’t want to fight today. He wasn’t meant to fight today. He’d glared down one of the guards with a low growl until the bastard had the decency to offer a half hearted shrug.

“The ****** they wanted to fight died on the way over, hung himself,” the guard had said by way of explanation. Dimitri, that was the guards name, one of the only blond ones. The chatty one. One of the last ones that spoke to him like he understood them, which he did, he understood them, mostly. Often. At times things blurred together.

Fight? His tongue felt fat and clunky in his mouth, still tasting like last night’s meal.

“Nothing you can’t win, ******* man from the ******,” Dimitri grinned, “make it ******, yeah?”

Yes. He tried to copy Dimitri’s expression, which made the guard laugh before resuming his post. Slinking away from the door he began to stretch, arching his back. His spine popped, his shoulders followed, his neck twisted so much that he could see Dimitri’s face pale to a shade of sickly green. At least he hadn’t slept too late the previous night, and he was doing them a favour fighting today. He could ask for a Trapeze.

“What was that?”

Trapeze , he twisted his torso halfway around to stare at Dimitri.

“The ***** is that supposed to mean?”

Trapeze, yes? He tilted his head, untangling his body before bouncing on his feet.

“You want a trapeze?” Dimitri laughed, rubbing his eyes, “You want a ********* trapeze, sure, why not, fight good enough yeah?”

He could do that today. He nodded. When the other guards arrived he felt the most excited for a fight than he had in an age. Their guns pointed at him, he fought the urge to almost skip towards his usual door. The muffled crowd cheered, he could smell the alcohol from here.

His opponent, he could hear them screaming something foul. His eyes glazed over, tracing the grain in the wooden door in front of him as the announcer warbled over the speaker.

“-and our current champion.” His cue, he rammed himself against the door and it shuddered in tandem with the shrieking chorus that made up the crowd. Dimitri unlocked the latch keeping the door shut. It swung open.

Good fight. Get trapeze. He bounded in and threw himself into his opponent’s gut. All skin and bone, well perhaps too much skin. Stretchy skin. Their skin was not breaking under his teeth or claws. He yelped like a kicked dog as his opponent threw him against the side of the pit.

Yes. At least it was something new. He found himself pausing, stalking his enemy for a moment much to the annoyance of the crowd. They were lanky, but not absurdly tall. Their skin hung off them loosely, rubbery, making their face an incomprehensible mess. He slunk behind them, and they spun wildly trying to track him, their hand unsuccessfully trying to hold the flesh of their forehead up. He jumped onto their back and they cursed him a hundred times as he curiously pulled at their skin. His claws scraped and pulled against their hide, it was painful no doubt he was pulling it away from their muscle, but it certainly wasn’t tearing. Fascinating. With surprising strength he felt himself yanked forward by his opponent, right over their shoulder to land heavily on his back. In an instance they were on top of him, smothering him with their flesh and harsh grip. He… he… he couldn’t die like this could he?

He couldn’t breathe. He was doing so good, they were going to give him a trapeze.

Trapeze. But the sound came out as a wheeze. His eyes stung, they felt like they were going to burst from his skull. Pulling his knees towards his chest he felt his feet manage to gain purchase against his enemy’s ribcage. He couldn’t breathe, he needed to breathe. His legs kicked with the strength of a mule right as a particularly harrowing shriek echoed from the audience. But that didn’t matter, what mattered was that his opponent’s ribs had collapsed inwards and their spine had crunched against the wall of the pit. They were still alive but the sounds of the crowd had shifted. They weren’t cheering like they were before, they were muttering and shouting and - 

The sound of a gunshot made his ears ring. Oh, a fight outside the pit must have broken out. That happened from time to time, he could wait for the killing blow. Sitting cross legged on the floor, he watched his opponent wheeze, blood dribbling from what he assume was their mouth as they weakly tried to crawl away from him. 

“Please,” his opponent whispered, “please.”

Yes? The shock on his opponent's almost-face, it was almost funny. 

“I don’t want to die.”

No.

“Please.”

Die here. It was taking an awful long time for them to settle the chaos outside of the pit, more gunshots had joined the fray. Someone was thrown against the wire cage, quite a few people, it’d break if any more did.

“We can escape,” his opponent coughed, dragging themselves upright, “they’re distracted.”

Why? Trapeze. A few more words would probably help, but they were tiring to use, and they were already on their way to death anyhow. Silence, when had the gunshots stopped? In fact, when did the crowd stop screaming?

“Kurt? Kurt?” A voice screamed from - behind the door? His door. Shuffling around, he stared at the door as it creaked open. Dimitri was dead, he could tell from the hair on the head lolling on the ground. 

“Please, help,” his opponent gasped, arm reaching towards the doorway. Reaching towards a beautiful pale - blue? Blonde - red haired… woman? She was blue. 

“Kurt?” She was looking at him, ignoring his opponent. A man approached behind her and he had half a mind to warn her when he pushed past her to tend to the pile of flesh. With a confused glance, he decided it best to return to his cell. Surely that was good, though Dimitri couldn’t put in the word for him any more to get a trapeze. Cautiously approaching the doorway the woman seemed almost giddy, ecstatic until he slunk around her and grabbed Dimitri’s corpse. He wasn’t quite sure why he grabbed it, but it felt wrong for Dimitri to be stuck at the doorway. He should be outside the cell, that’s where Dimitri should rot.

“Mystique, we've got ten minutes at most before they round up an *********** ****, help me grab this guy,” the man yelled from the pit.

“The bastard has his spine broken and is bleeding *******, you want to help the ******* here get the ones that’ll still have a pulse in ten minutes,” the woman hissed, he could hear her following, “Kurt, come here.”

Strange woman. Soon enough he’d dragged Dimitri’s corpse right back to its correct place and had crawled right back into his cell. A sleep would do him good, it had been a long and very strange day. He had almost fully settled into his bed when the blue woman had yanked him up by the shoulders. She was staring at him again, and away from the gore of the pit he could smell her. Something distantly familiar, maybe they had met before. In the circus?

Trapeze?

“Yes, trapeze, I’ve got a trapeze and a circus and all of that for you, follow me yes?” She sounded desperate, a sheen of sweat on her brow. She grabbed one of his blankets, the small quilt, and wrapped it around his shoulders, “follow me, yes?”

The head of Dimitri’s head was just visible in the cell doorway, hair almost silver in the fluorescent light. Well, it wasn’t like Dimitri could be punished if he left, and maybe this was his reward. Maybe Dimitri had whispered it to someone before he got his throat slit.

Yes. The woman’s face beamed as she pulled him to his feet. Hopefully he’d be able to get back to his cell before anyone important noticed he was missing. He’d hate to only get bones instead of actual meat.

Chapter Text

Scott was uncomfortable, to say the least, at Logan's insistence he'd been sat in the back with Kurt and two other mutants they'd offered a ride to. There had been ten mutants on the premise, one of those being Mystique’s son, one being the tough-skinned man who'd bled to death in the pit thanks to Kurt's savage kick, and the others… well, those who weren't in the car had places to run to in adjacent countries and were confident they could reach them on their own. The two in the car, they were sitting terrified to Scott’s right, were using him as a meat shield between themselves and the man who was meant to be their executioner.

Kurt seemed quite satisfied to stare out of the window, a quilt wrapped around his shoulders like a child, splattered with droplets of blood. Every so often Mystique would reach back to check on him, awkwardly patting his knee or saying his name though it seemed to do nothing except make Kurt cringe back into his seat.

“Why did you bring it?” Mina was a young woman, gaunt, and the youngest of those they'd rescued. She sat furthest from Kurt, squashed against the door, her long matted hair wrapped around her body. “That thing, it'll kill us.”

“We can still open the door and toss you out,” Mystique hissed, her sudden change in tone from something almost motherly back to her usual disgust was more than welcome in Scott's opinion.

“Don’t worry, don't think he's got enough going on up there to attack without being told to,” Scott whispered to Mina, offering her a weak grin which she half managed to return. At least Gunther snorted, inadvertently eavesdropping on the conversation by nature of being seated between them. Gunther's mutation, for better or worse, seemed to be a spike-like tongue that could stab through most surfaces. On the one hand it had helped quickly dispatch quite a few armed individuals, on the other hand it forced him to remain mouth shut and silent unless he wanted to risk impaling his conversation partner. He was also Mina’s second meat shield after Scott.

“Trapeze.” Kurt had been muttering the word every now and then, and it only confirmed to Scott that Mystique had maybe left her rescue attempt a little too late. 

“Case in point,” Scott muttered, motioning his head towards Kurt. The mutant had taken to picking at the edge of the quilt wrapped around his shoulders, though not enough to expose the stuffing. The blue mutant’s pointed ear twitched towards him, soon followed by the mutant’s blank-eyed stare.

“Yes?” It was barely a word, muttered through Kurt’s sharp teeth. It was enough to make Mina start panicking, her sharp nails digging into Gunther’s arm. Gunther himself looked no better, face bloodless and eyes zeroed in on Kurt. The mutant’s tongue clicked behind the barricade of his teeth, waiting for any sign of danger.

“Nothing, nothing,” Scott assured the blue mutant, he had no idea how much of what he said was actually understood but at the very least it seemed Mystique’s son knew when he was being spoken about. Seemed the guy also had better hearing than Scott would’ve liked too. “You just keep looking out the window.” Kurt stared blankly in response, eyes glossy and blinking slower than a cat’s.

“No.”

“Mind looking anywhere else but here?” Scott tried again, subtly trying to sit in between Kurt and Mina’s lines of sight.

“We’re heading into the city, keep your heads down,” Logan grunted, shattering the odd tension that had formed. Kurt’s attention was captured by the shining billboard of a fast food advertisement before Mystique reached back, skin morphing back into a pinkish hue as she pulled the quilt over his head. His face melted into the sallow shadows of the makeshift hood, leaving his eyes a pair of glowing bugs hovering in an abyss.

The hum of people and the buzz of street shop signs made the inside of the car feel suffocating. Any hope for quiet conversation was drowned out by the fear that all it would take was the slightly too curious glance of a drunken passerby to send their tentative safety to hell. It was hardly helped by the fact Kurt, previously against staring out the window for god knows what reason, kept pressing his face against the glass.

“Leave me here, I’ll make it on my own,” Mina abruptly said, hand already reaching for the car door handle. They’d barely left the inner city, the blinking lights of nightlife beckoning them back whilst the anti-mutant graffiti urged them to leave. Gunther nodded in agreement, knocking his fist on the window.

“You’ll die out there kid,” was Logan’s response as he flicked on the child safety locks.

“I’ll take that over sitting next to that thing.” Scott immediately turned to Kurt, but found him blissfully unaware he was the subject of conversation. “Do you know what that fucker has done to us?”

“You specifically?” Logan grunted, motioning for Mystique to pass him a cigar from the glovebox.

“I’ve, we’ve, had to hear the screams of the mutants he murdered for the past five days,” Mina hissed, a newfound courage hardening her voice as they drove further from the pit where Kurt had inadvertently ruled with terror. “I was in the cell two spaces down from him, the guards would joke with him, they’d give him fresh food, he was fucking in on it.”

“My son was not in on it. ” Mystique, Scott was surprised she’d kept quiet so long. Doing his best to avoid coming in between the two women, he found himself pushed towards Kurt. Mystique’s face was twisted into a bitter grimace, her arm subconsciously reaching back to rest on Kurt’s knee. Again, the man cringed, hand’s flexing and gripping the quilt. “They treated him like a favoured animal, don’t mistake that for treating him well.”

“Your son?” Mina’s glance between the two betrayed nothing but contempt, “I was down in the pits woman, you don’t know what Gunther and I have seen, you don’t know what he’s fucking done.”

“I know exactly what you’ve seen and worse,” Mystique’s seatbelt was all that held her back from reaching back and grabbing Mina by the hair, “It is no fault of mine that my son had the guts to survive, if the mutants he fought were worth anything they would have never ended up in that execution pit to begin with.”

“That’s enough, Mystique,” Scott interjected, seeing Logan make no move to stop what he was sure would result in a brawl inside the moving car, “Mina, we’ll be at the safehouse soon. From there you can decide if you want to come with us to Xavier’s school or if you want to make your own way, but we’re not leaving you in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’ll go wherever the murderer doesn’t, Gunther?” Gunther nodded his agreement, and Scott could almost hear Logan let out a long suffering sigh.

Scott jolted as he felt an oddly-shaped hand on his arm, and Kurt quickly retreated in turn.

“Yes?” Kurt asked, tentatively reaching for Scott’s sleeve again. He was wearing a ratty jacket, something that had helped him blend in with the rabble who frequented the now partially destroyed arena, denim so old it had softened to silk with crappy wool lining. A knockoff of a better brand.

“You want the jacket?” Kurt shook his head, wide-eyed, his quilt-turned-hood falling from his head and leaving his dark hair a frazzled mess. “You want to touch the jacket?”

“Yes.” Scott could feel Mystique’s eyes boring into him.

“Go for it,” Kurt paused, blinking owlishly, “you can touch the jacket.”

After an hour of Kurt tracing the seams and cataloguing every button, Scott began to regret his agreement.

***

The blue woman kept calling him Kurt. She called him Kurt every time she turned back to look at him in the car. Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, Kurt. She said it so often it almost felt important.

The man beside him had given him his jacket, he must’ve gotten annoyed at Kurt touching it. Not the worst outcome, Kurt was half expecting a backhand to get him to stop. Instead he ended up with a jacket in his lap at the man muttering “Keep it.”

It was even fluffy on the inside, Dimitri had always talked about buying a jacket with a warm lining. If Dimitri was still alive he’d be so jealous Kurt got to hold a jacket just like that. There were shiny silvery buttons that held it closed, they even had some letters stamped into them though he couldn’t quite read them. Some ‘e’s and ‘i’s, an ‘l’? His tongue tried to remember the shapes of the letters, pressing behind his top teeth, dropping to the bottom of his mouth, teeth pressing to his bottom lip. He’d try when he got back to his cell.

“Out of the car, don’t leave anything important,” the man driving grunted, and Kurt’s head jolted upwards. They were outside a small house, far off the main road with most of the windows boarded up. Again, no one pointed guns at him or the others they had collected from the cells, which almost tempted Kurt to run. He could run well, fast, this was a forest … almost. There was meat in forests.

Kurt. Did he call himself Kurt? It was as good a name as any, not that he’d needed one or would need one. Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, Kurt - 

“Kurt,” the now pink blonde now blue again woman said, she was standing outside his car door. Looking around, he saw the car was empty. “We need to go inside.” It took a few yanks for her to open the door, the mechanism old and half rusted, but he was quick to jump out the moment it was open. Again, the woman was grinning far too widely, she adjusted the quilt around his shoulders like he might get cold and motioned for him to follow her. The man hadn’t asked for his jacket back yet, he should give it back, or maybe the man had forgotten, it’d be terrible if he got angry. He, Kurt, didn’t want to know how angry the man could get if he always had to wear sunglasses to hide his eyes.

It wasn’t even sunny, so he imagined the man must have something a little wrong with him.

Inside the house he was quick to feel the warmth of a fire, and soon greeted with the distantly familiar warm glow. The three men and the other woman were crowded around the fireplace, a small blaze already taking to the pile of dried wood. The other woman, they had called her something like Mina, she looked over her shoulder at him, a look he knew all too well. The flesh person, they’d had the same look, fearful and cautious. So many died with that expression, so many died and begged and died and begged and died.

Fight? Kurt asked the blue woman, hands squeezing at the jacket.

“No, no we’re just going to warm up,” the woman replied, giving him a hard stare that made him shrink back into himself. “We’re going to warm up, and then head home.”

Trapeze?

“When we get home.” Well, at least that explained why they were taking so long to go back, maybe. Were they going back? Home, home was… Oh. Oh! He must have been very good, he hadn’t lost a fight, maybe they were taking him back to the circus! He had killed every single one they’d put him against in the pit, and won every bout before he was sent there.

He hoped they weren’t bringing the others, his opponents, they didn’t seem to be the type to make people cheer. He was very good at making people cheer. Kurt was very good at making the crowd happy, any crowd happy.

Bounding towards the fireplace, the others barely had time to react before he was sat right next to it, basking in the warmth. All that was missing was a few blankets, preferably his green one, but the quilt would do. And the jacket. He glanced towards the man with the sunglasses - the blue woman called him Summers, maybe because he wore the sunglasses - and held out the jacket.

“Keep it,” Summers muttered. 

This day was getting much better for Kurt, even if Dimitri was dead.

Chapter Text

“There’s an abandoned airfield and hours walk from here, more a paddock than anything,” Logan had somehow acquired a beer, Scott was sure he'd searched the cupboards high and low and came up empty but there was Logan drinking without a care in the world. Then again, the can looked fairly rusted, not something you'd chance without a healing factor. They'd quickly moved to the small kitchen after Kurt had decided sitting in front of the fireplace was his designated place. “Forge will meet us with the jet there in twelve hours from now, ten minutes grace period, and then back to the states and the school.”

“I didn't realise Forge had it up and running again,” Scott mused, somewhat enjoying the impressed glances of Mina and Gunther, “Cloaking tech still on the fritz?”

“Not my job to know, bub,” Wolverine drained the remainder of his beer before crushing the can. It practically crumpled to rust and dust in his hand, it couldn't have tasted nice. Then again, it was a mystery if Logan still had tastebuds.

“A jet?” Mina asked, pulling her chair closer to the kitchen table.

“They're a proper organisation, have all the fancy toys,” Mystique muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. She’d taken up vigil at the doorway to the kitchen, letting her keep vigil over her now sleeping son while still injecting her unwanted opinions into the discussion. Kurt sleeping in front of the fireplace only cemented to Scott that the rescue had come too late, the bastard showed no paranoia or fear or reasonable concern, he metres away from two mutants who saw him as nothing as a threat and wouldn't hesitate to attack him. Yet Kurt was curled up cuddling Scott’s disguise jacket with the quilt over him, not a care in the world.

Gunther gestured towards the living room, raising his eyebrows at Scott.

“The school has facilities to rehabilitate mutants where needed,” Scott offered, “and to get others where they need to be. Flights, train rides, phone calls, we’ll do our best to find you a safe place to live.”

“Kurt won't be staying at the school,” Mystique snapped.

“That's for the professor to decide.”

“I'm his mother, if it's anyone's decision it's mine.”

“Last I checked, you weren't really mothering for most of his life.”

“That wasn't my choice, don't you dare act like I didn't want to be there.”

“So why weren't you?” Mystique’s face was flushed purple with rage, her mouth twisting into a grimace. She was a moment from leaving the doorway and lunging at him, Scott could tell from the twitch in her arms.

“Enough, you're wasting time. Raven, he's grown, if it's anyone's choice it's his,” Logan drawled, abruptly standing and knocking the table in the process, “I'm going to try get a read on the Elf, Mystique take watch, Summers, treat the rescues.”

“Last I checked, I was assigned leader of the X-Men, Wolverine,” Scott hummed, trying to hide his frown.

“No X-Men here, bub, save it for the ride home.”

***

“You're not fooling me,” it was the short man, he could smell the cigarettes on his breath, “know you’re awake ***”

Yes Kurt opened his eyes, but didn't move from his position in front of the fire. It was deliciously warm, even with the bulk of the flame having died down. So nice. He wanted to hold the warmth so badly but the last time he'd tried that they'd taken his fire away.

“Take it you can understand me.” Without hesitation, almost like the blue woman but without the smile, he sat on the ground next to him.

Yes mostly. The short man hadn't used too many words foreign to Kurt's vocabulary.

“You got more words than yes?” 

Nooo Kurt pursed his lips, trying to hide a smile. The short man snorted. Yes.

“How many words you know?” Kurt shrugged, “going to sit up?”

Warm. Kurt's voice was already hurting, he had spoken quite a bit today.

“Move over then, I'm cold.” The short man wasn't cold, he was radiating warmth like a furnace, but Kurt still scooted to the side, pulling himself up into a crouch. “Thanks.”

Yes.

“You know where we're going?”

Trapeze. Kurt sucked at his teeth, rolling the next word over his tongue, circus.

“Right, you like the circus.”

Trapeze.

“Your *** said you lived in a circus.” Kurt tilted his head, that word. He hadn’t heard it in a long time, it's meaning had rotted away. He plucked at the buttons on the jacket. Whatever that word was, whoever it was, they were right.

Yes, trapeze.

“That where you want to go back to?”

Yes Kurt nodded to emphasise his point, staring back into the fire. There was a man who juggled fire back in the circus, he couldn't remember the face but the dancing flames - those were still burnt into his eyes. The last few embers spun themselves between the blackened wood, fingertips dragging across the memory of the grain. Reaching a hand forward, he plunged it into the coals. They'd take away his fire for this, but he had to feel it. Beautiful fire.

“That hurt?” The short man asked, seemingly unbothered.

Yes, no the heat lapped at his palm growing hotter and hotter until it forced him to retract his hand. Warm. The wisps of flame retreated from his hand.

“Your *** has a lot of things to tell us all then, eh?” The short man, for having such an angry face, did seem to find quite a lot of things funny. Almost like Dimitri, but less chatty, more greasy, more cigarette-y.

Yes? That seemed to be the right answer, the man rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. It was an odd sensation almost suffocating like the flesh - Kurt batted the man's hand off his shoulder on instinct, and was more than a little surprised to feel no punch in return.

“They right ****** you ***,” the man muttered, “here's ****** it's just your head they messed with.”

Yes?

“Logan,” the man tapped his chest, “name’s Logan.”

Logan, yes that name seemed correct. It was an odd shape in his mouth, but Logan was an odd shaped man so he supposed it fit. The man was waiting for his name now. Hopefully the blue woman wouldn't mind him using Kurt, he didn't know many other names he could use and she'd used it so often it was already stuck in his head. Kurt , he copied the gesture Logan made.

“Raven tell you that?” Logan hummed, “the blue lady that changes faces.”

Yes, no Kurt shrugged, warm? 

“I'll put another log on.”

***

Mystique was tempted to take her son and run. The night was still, the air cool but not so frosty they would suffer for it, and her son was strong. All it would take was convincing the others to let them go on a short walk, hell the two pathetic rescues might even encourage it. They’d wander off into darkness with Charles none the wiser and Kurt would be hers to fix.

Each snippet he spoke pained her ears, his voice was rough as sandpaper and his heavy accent didn’t help matters. But, he was remembering. Slowly. She had hung around enough to hear him slowly converse with Logan before Summers’ glare shooed her away.

Five hours until the jet would arrive, she had a little less than that to make her decision. If they let her closer to Kurt she could make a better informed choice, but beyond coaxing him from the cell either Logan or Summers had interrupted her attempts to connect by simple virtue of their pigheadedness. Kurt was underweight, not drastically so and they had still been feeding him well enough that there was some lean muscle mass maintained. His injuries were minimal, his mind was sound. But he was still too sweet and soft, and that more than anything disturbed her.

When she’d pulled him from his prison he hadn’t spat at the guards corpses, hadn’t kicked or mutilated them further. It was as if the past twenty odd years had disappeared and -

It had been over twenty years.

Mystique bit her lip, the cold air feeling harsher by the moment.

She had abandoned him to the circus at three, they’d sold him some years after, the dates were hazy, and she had him again. Twenty-two years later.

Holding back a sob, Mystique cleared her throat and forcibly straightened her posture. He had use now, she was in a position where he could be of use and she could help him become a beacon of mutant strength. His suffering was what Magneto stood against, and what better illustration of the despicable nature of humans could there be? 

Good fortune alone revealed to Magneto where Kurt had been kept, but she still had to wait for the right time. The right opportunity. Even if the X-Men remained steadfast the average mutant would hear of the fighting pits, the rings, they would understand. Magneto, though hardly better than Charles, at least had the guts to strike when the opportunity arose. Nor did Mystique mind that it filled her pockets.

With a final glance into the darkness, and a final lap around the safehouse, Mystique was more than assured no human was in the vicinity. If the chance arose, they would leave before the jet arrived, the decision was final.

Passing by the living room window, boards and curtains concealing the hazy light and muffling the conversation, she could faintly hear her son talking.

“Warm. Good fire.” Mystique couldn’t help but chuckle, he’d love a proper summer, a large dark rock to sleep on. Azazel, for all his posturing as a savage killer, had been partial to the very same comforts. Returning to the front door, her hand rested lightly on the handle. The stinging cold of the metal seemed into her skin, and with it an unwelcome thought;

He was speaking less at twenty-five than he had been at three. 

She gripped the door handle tighter, the edges digging into her palm.

Is there even enough left of him to salvage?

Letting her head fall against the door, Mystique squeezed her eyes shut. She had her son back, and he would be useful, and when all was said and done she could have the life she’d wanted when he’d been born. Charles would understand, Erik would too. 

She would make her son into the mutant he was meant to be, and that something would be greater than both of their petty dreams put together.

Chapter Text

Mina was restless, it was clear to everyone and especially Scott who was sitting right beside her. The poor woman’s leg was jittering enough to shake the table and her gaze was fixed directly on Kurt. Scott didn't know whether to place a comforting hand on her shoulder or simply remove Kurt from the room, but figuring the latter wouldn't go over well with Mystique he settled on trying to block the mutant from Mina’s sight. It made Scott slightly regret choosing the kitchen for the group meeting, at least with the living room they could have put more distance between the rescued mutants.

Kurt was apparently oblivious to the discomfort he was causing. Logan had broken open a few of their supplies, in particular the equivalent of hardtack which Kurt was chewing on loudly and messily.

“In fifteen minutes we’ll begin our trek to the field, keep close and keep quiet, if you spot something concerning alert the rest of the group but beyond that, silence,” Scott explained, standing from his seat. “It'll be a tough walk, but nothing impossible, if you need a shoulder to lean on don't hesitate to ask. Our priority is getting out of here with minimal disturbance and minimal injury.”

“They get the gist, Summers,” Logan grunted, and Gunther had the audacity to smile slightly in agreement. Mina was still trembling, Mystique seemed unsure what to do with her hands as she paced side to side of Kurt. Scott could already feel himself sweating and a headache at the base of his skull.

Kurts teeth crunched into the hardtack with a concerning amount of ease, breaking any semblance of peace. The sound alone set Mina off.

“Do you feel any guilt?” Mina half shrieked, hands banging onto the tabletop as she practically lunged at Kurt, “Anything?”

Scott and Gunther both darted towards Mina, holding her back. Her hair lashed at their hands weakly, her rage and drive collapsing back into a helpless hate as quickly as it had ignited. She could control her hair, Scott silently noted, if her nerves were integrated into the fibres that would cause its own slew of issues come time to detangle it.

Logan and Mystique hovered close to Kurt, but had yet to restrain him. The mutant's eyes hardened, zeroing in on Mina over the hardtack. Food seemingly forgotten, Kurt had not moved much from his position but his muscles were tense, a compressed spring of violence. He was waiting for either a signal or word, and god alone knew what that trigger was.

“No fighting today,” Mystique hummed, tentatively resting a hand on Kurt's shoulder, “Do you understand, Kurt?” Scott held his breath, his sunglasses heavy on the bridge of his nose.

“Yes.” the mutant frowned, confused for a moment as if cataloguing the information received before returning to his meal.

“Good boy.” Scott fought the urge to cringe as Mystique patted the mutant’s shoulder. Oddly fitting as it was, that the only person Mystique showed kindness to was a volatile attack dog of a mutant, it still felt wrong to have Mystique act like anything but a cold hearted bitch.

Kurt again appeared confused, hesitantly preening under the praise.

“Trapeze?”

“Soon, I promise,” Mystique said, “we have to go on a walk first.”

“And a jet ride,” Logan added, pointedly looking at Mystique.

“And a jet ride.” Mystique, for all the faces she could use and her years of undercover work, could not stop the hateful grimace that she threw at Logan. Scott welcomed back the cold hearted bitch he knew, and returned his attention to Mina. She too wore a disgusted expression, directed solely at Mystique and Kurt.

“Get yourselves ready to move, the sooner we’re on that jet the less time there is for shit to hit the fan,” Scott announced, his headache growing to a dull throb behind his eyes, “any questions? Mina, Gunther, I assume you two have decided to join us on the flight?”

Gunther nodded, as did Mina, though the latter seemed far from pleased about the fact.

***

They were going in the wrong direction, further away from his cell rather than towards it. Further away from the arena. 

The fresh air felt razor sharp against Kurt’s nose, muddied with the scent of greenery and those around him. He held the quilt over his nose but it did little to help. Mina, the angry woman, she’d wanted to hurt him, she was walking behind him and he could feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of his head. Her footsteps were uneven, her leg was injured, and the further they walked the more laboured her breathing became. They hadn’t wanted him to retaliate.

Bouncing his steps a little, Kurt again felt a tug in his heart to just run. They weren’t hovering particularly close to him, excluding the blue woman, and they didn’t have guns. He could run, he could run faster than them, he had eaten well and Logan had given him food. Non-meat food. Pieces were stuck in his teeth letting the foreign taste linger in his mouth. 

The blue light of the morning pulled the colour from the world around them, the only sounds their breathing and the birdsong. 

Mina had started coughing, the other man they’d taken from the pits placing a comforting hand on her back. The group had stopped walking, Summers pausing where he was leading the group, waiting for her to recover.

Now would be the time to run. Kurt picked up and placed his feet again and again like a bird. Where would he go? Back? Forward? His tail grazed the leaflitter.

“Don’t even think about it, ***.” Kurt looked over his shoulder, and found Logan with a warning look on his face. The blue woman was boredly staring at the still coughing Mina, Gunther was holding Mina up, and Summers had drifted back to the pair.

Think about it. Kurt mimicked, his voice a whisper. He wouldn’t get a trapeze if he ran, but he’d be able to run. He could run. He could run and keep running until he collapsed to dust.

“Scary world out there,” the man continued, and the blue woman placed a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. He tried to shrug her off, and her grip grew tighter. Claw like. Did she want to run too?

No. Kurt snorted, shaking off the woman’s hand.

“Just a little longer, then we’ll be able to sit,” the blue woman assured, glaring at the slowly recovering Mina. Mina would not entertain a crowd in a fight, not very well. Summers walked up past them, stared at the blue woman’s hand with an expression Kurt couldn’t read, before instructing them to walk again. Kurt wanted to run. 

Kurt wanted to run for most of the time they kept walking. That was, until the low thrum of something large and the smell of something foreign reached his nose. Not entirely foreign. Fuel? Something metal. Kurt’s ears twitched at the unsettling rumble, and his pace slowed until he could feel the others breathing down his neck.

They pushed forward, and eventually reached a substantial clearing.

Something dark, a giant metal shadow, looked in waiting. Kurt felt the fur on his neck raise, it was the source of the terrible loud noise that rattled his skull and made him want to cover his ears.

“Jet,” Logan said by way of explanation, “It can fly, going to take us back to the *****?”

Trapeze? Circus? Kurt grunted, eyeing the jet. The blue woman was again hovering over his shoulder, a hand between his shoulder blades. A hand between his shoulder blades, claws that could pull out his spine. Whipping his head around he bared his teeth at her, a low growl at the base of his throat. No.

Kurt had hoped for fear, for her to jump away. Instead she pursed her lips, and slowly retracted her hand. 

“Kurt,” she said, “don’t growl at me.” That tone - he’d heard that tone years ago, too long ago, when he was still losing teeth and growing proper ones that could rend flesh and give him victories. Scolding. The warning shake of a hand or a beating when he was too clumsy and fell off a tightrope.

She was trying to scold him.

The other guards, even Dimitri, hadn’t ever dared speak to him like that. He’d been so good for the past five years they never had to. They’d point their guns, sometimes they’d yell, but they’d do it properly. They’d beat him proper.

Kurt barked a laugh, a wheezing sound. The blue lady’s name, what was it again? Logan had said it, a bird. Raven. It was better he hadn’t run, she might’ve followed. He’d have to wait for a better time.

No, Raven. He said as she went to touch him again. Her face fell. Strange woman. As they entered the jet, he waited until she was seated before choosing his own place. He sat next to Summers, who looked disgusted but said nothing. Summers wouldn’t touch him. A jet ride, then trapeze.

And then he’d go back to his cell.

Or maybe he’d run.

***

“He’s just like his father,” Mystique muttered, chewing her bottom lip. He’d waited for her to sit, and had gone over and sat right by Summers. It was better that she hadn’t tried escape with him, at least not yet.

“I wouldn’t know,” Logan replied. Almost twice as frustratingly, Logan had decided to sit beside her.

“Keep your opinions to yourself.”

“Kid’s been free for less than a day, doubt he even knows it,” Logan grunted, gesturing to Kurt who had curled his legs up onto his seat. It couldn’t have been comfortable, not for any regular person at least. “He’s going to be jumpy.”

“He growled at me, Logan.”

“Don’t feel special. He’s probably growled at everyone,” Leaning back in his seat, Logan closed his eyes, “Get some shuteye Rave, it’ll do you good.”

Mystique fought the urge to punch him in the side, and soon after fought the urge to yawn. Kurt was every bit his father, tolerating touches and closeness before snapping at random, just to irk her. Nothing that couldn’t be taught or trained away. It’d be a bad look for him to growl at people he didn’t like, they were mutants, not animals.

Azazel would have put him in his place right quick. It was an unfortunate truth for Mystique, no matter how much she wished she could deny it. When she’d first fallen pregnant it had been the first discussion. Azazel would be the one to discipline their son, to keep him humble with either fists or words - whichever was needed to make sure Kurt grew up into a respectable young mutant and devil. Then the world had gone to shit, their lives had gone to shit, and the raising of their son had fallen to strangers. It was a blessing and a curse that Kurt had kept most of the demureness of his youth.

Held at a distance by her seat, Mystique allowed herself to look at her son as a stranger. 

No, she wouldn’t be able to discipline him in the way Azazel had wanted, too much time had passed. The realisation half stung. It’d have to be words, bribery even. But if he realised, fully realised, that she was his mother, then surely she would have more sway. 

She’d be his protection from the newness of the world outside of the cage.

Settling back, Mystique let her eyes lightly shut. There was work to be done, repairs to be made and foundations to be laid. A son to be remade.

In those hours of flight she dreamed of old memories. A hand small enough her palm enveloped it, and the smallest of fangs peeking out of gums. The tears on her face dried before she woke, and the other passengers had enough sense to remain silent.

The engine’s of the jet whirred to a stop, daylight streaming in through the cockpit window and into the body of the aircraft.

Chapter Text

Mina and Gunther were quick to accept the hospitality of the school, with Scott more than happy to direct them to the medical facilities after the initial introductions with the professor. Fully separating the two from Kurt had eased the tension in both of the rescued mutants, and with each mutant student who passed by they it appeared they trusted the promise of the school more and more.

Unfortunately, Scott was not given the freedom to help them settle. Instead he’d had to leave them with Hank in the medical wing and return to the professor's office, where Mystique and her wayward son were due to be dealt with. As if to add salt to the wound, the usually flighty Wolverine who according only to himself preferred to work alone, had decided to also stay and preside over affairs.

Scott spent a solid minute outside the professor’s office, just staring at the door and hoping against hope that Xavier’s voice would pop into his head and say “ It’s all sorted, Scott.”

He’d lost himself in the woodgrain, tracing it from the top of the doorway to the bottom with his eyes, when the professor’s voice did jump into his head. “Come in, Scott.”

Taking a deep breath, Scott did his best to walk into the office with an air of peace and confidence. It was a beautiful room, with large windows that invited daylight and warmth. Old books lined the walls, trinkets from the professor’s travels scattered throughout, and all the furniture was varnished so it appeared a dark-honey brown colour. All in all, Scott considered it the calmest room in the mansion.

Logan and Mystique having a heated conversation over Xavier’s desk unfortunately shattered the valiant efforts of the cosy decor.

“Take him where, Raven?” Logan asked, gesturing widely.

“You thought I’d leave him here? With you lot and your hypocritical morals?” Mystique snapped, subconsciously stretching her body taller to try loom over Wolverine. Turning from them, the professor had enough sense to not try shove his way between them, Scott found both Xavier and Kurt at the furthest side of the room.

Abandoning the desk left Xavier sitting only in his wheelchair, which to Scott felt somewhat strange. He’d grown so used to seeing the man behind his desk while in the office that it almost felt vulgar to see him without it. Xavier was quick to wave Scott over, inviting him to join what was no doubt an absolutely wonderfully intellectual conversation with Kurt.

Kurt’s expression toed the line between friendliness and outright hostility, a combination Scott was rather impressed the mutant managed to convey. His jacket was still held tightly in Kurt’s claws - and they truly were claws - like a stuffed toy offering comfort. God, he’d already pierced the denim, and granted though the jacket was still old he’d pierced it from mindless fiddling. The quilt had been nicely folded, the mutant using it as a pillow on the bare wooden chair he’d selected to sit on. Scott used the term sit loosely in Kurt’s case, considering the way the mutant hand folded his arms and legs so that he didn’t touch the seat itself and only the quilt beneath him.

“Professor,” Scott said in greeting, nodding towards the psychic, “Kurt.”

“Mina and Gunther are being seen to, I assume?” The professor asked to Scott’s mind, still smiling and nodding at Kurt who seemed aware enough to at the very least suspect something was happening. His eyes might have been glancing between Scott and Xavier, but without pupils it was damn near impossible to tell.

“Correct,” Scott mentally replied, “What’s the verdict?”

“He understands more than you might expect, isn’t that right Kurt?”

The blue mutant shrugged, gaze drifting over the arguing pair still near screaming at each other over Xavier’s desk.

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

“Once Kurt is able to better communicate with us I’m sure the next steps will become clear,” the professor said, again offering a warm smile to the blue mutant though it seemed to do nothing. “ His mind is difficult to read, and I am hesitant to push further and risk damage.”

“If he’s a danger to the students, we need to know.”

“He will become a greater danger if we break the fragile trust we have made.”

“Does he trust us?” Mystique and Logan’s argument was reaching a crescendo, creeping into their corner of the room, “Or is he using us as means to an end?”

“If you expect malice you will find it, do not hold what you know of his mother against him.”

“I am holding what I saw him do against him, professor,” To emphasise his point, Scott let the most recent of his memories bleed forth. With Xavier he shared the sickening crunch of the pit fighter’s bones, the sagging flesh that fended off Kurt’s claws but did little to shield the body from his kick. It replayed again and again, the thud, the crunch, the whispered plea and death sigh. 

“What he was taught to do, Scott.”

“Trapeze?” Both turned to Kurt, who tilted his head innocently. 

“Ah, of course, apologies, we were lost in thought,” Xavier turned his wheelchair to face the still arguing Logan and Mystique, “I’ll deal with them Scott, but our friend here has expressed wanting to swing on a trapeze. The Danger Room isn’t quite the same, but it might be a good placeholder for now.”

“Professor,” Scott began, “I-”

“If you’d rather play mediator to Raven and Logan, I’ll be more than happy to trade places,” the professor mused, just in time for Scott to see Mystique unhinge her jaw like a snake and simply shriek in displeasure at Logan. Wolverine, unbothered, stood with his arms crossed.

“-I’ll see you down there in a bit,” rubbing his eyes underneath his sunglasses, he fully turned himself towards Kurt, who was watching Logan and Mystique with mild interest, “Follow me, don’t quite have a trapeze but it’ll be close enough.”

“Trapeze, no?”

“No.”

“Why?” 

The utter dread that Scott felt at ‘Why’ being the new addition to Kurt’s vocabulary was palpable enough that even the professor chuckled as he wheeled away.

***

Summers was correct, there was no trapeze. The room was tall, metal, but surprisingly pristine. When the pieces of the walls had started moving to rearrange the internal pieces of it Kurt had been sure that it was some new and fancy fighting pit. So new and fancy that it hadn’t really grimed up that much.

But then Summers had vaguely motioned for him to go inside, the man muttering “Run around, jump, look I don’t know if you want to burn off some energy you can.”

Kurt hadn’t quite understood what the man had meant by “burn off energy” until he was running throughout the room. Platforms raised and dipped and spun of their own accord, and then Summers, still outside the room, clicked what sounded like a button - and in the metal room there had appeared a small flying creature. Almost like a miniature version of the craft they had taken to this strange place, a jet they had called it, it zipped around the space with wild abandon. 

Kurt had watched it arc between platforms, dropping into a nosedive before pulling up at the last second. A few minutes of watching passed before Summers’ voice, amplified and metallic like the pit-fight announcer, said “try catch it.”

It was almost better than an actual fight. 

Several times while leaping Kurt found himself letting out short giggles as he bounded off the walls, ceiling, and floor. It always remained that touch out of his reach, just beyond his fingertips and tail.

He could feel a twinge in his brain, he could get it. He just had to go closer, be faster. He just needed to be here and then/

A landscape of dust and decay and rot and hot fire like a dragon’s breath against his face and a deep and horrible roar.

/there. 

With a squeal he landed squarely on top of the tiny jet, crushing it under his feet as gravity pulled him down to the platform. His tail whipped about in excitement and for the first time in what felt like an age he had sweat staining his fur.

Catch! Kurt grinned as the doorway panel opened to the metal room and Summers stepped in. Darting downwards, he bounced off the wall and off the column supporting a platform before landing lightly in front of the man - bringing with him of course the crushed small jet.

“What the ****** **** was that?” Summers asked, “did you just ********.”

Yes, no? Kurt tried, quietly mimicking the word Summers had said. Teh-leh-port . The man was rubbing his eyes again, still underneath the sunglasses.

Summers gingerly took the small jet, crushed to an unrecognisable state, and pursed his lips.

“You see this?” Summers asked, gesturing to the metal.

Yes.

“You hurt anyone here, any of my friends,” Summers tossed the broken jet upwards, and pulled off his glasses and deep crimson light shot from them - hitting the broken thing and turning it to ash, “understand?”

Yes. Kurt chewed his lip. People like him were meant to be in the cells, not out, which meant this was a very backwards place. They weren’t taking him back, there wasn’t a circus. They had lied, they had stolen Kurt and the others away. The guards never lied to Kurt, Dimitri had always told him when it was going to be a difficult fight.

Kurt didn’t know how to be good in a very backwards place, especially when the people would lie.

***

“I did as you asked, I brought him back here, now let me take him home Charles,” Mystique stated, the edge of a plea for mercy cracking her voice.

“Raven, we have the facilities to rehabilitate him here.” Charles, in all his self imposed glory, had resumed his seat behind the desk with Logan standing by his side.Mystique fought the urge to spit at him.

“You will use him against me if I leave him.”

“On my word - “

“Your word?”

“Raven, I want to help you,” Charles paused, his calm expression changing to one of concern as he placed his fingers to his temple, “Your son, Scott says he can teleport.”

“Good,” Mystique breathed, hiding her elation as best she could.

“So why didn’t he leave?” Logan asked, looking towards Mystique as if she knew the inner machinations of her son’s mind. “Escape, try to leave the pit. Wasn’t exactly a nice place to live.”

“He would’ve had his reasons,”

“Unless he liked the killing.” Mystique was close to slapping Logan, again, making it the second time in far too few hours.

“Enough,” Mystique cringed as Charles’ voice rattled her skull, “The answers will emerge in due time, but until then we need as much information as we can to help Kurt. That is our goal, and anything beyond that to do with the boy can wait until he can speak for himself.”

“The man, he’s grown,” Logan interjected, “And he can speak for himself already.”

It took what little remained of Mystique’s patience to not lunge and the shorter mutant again.

Chapter Text

They’d given him a new cell. Well, they’d called it a bedroom, but they’d locked the door behind themselves so it was a cell as far as Kurt was concerned. A wonderfully big cell with a clean mattress and a tall but bolted shut window. A window that also had closed slats on the outside that prevented him any view outside beyond thin slivers of sunlight.  A carpet decorated the floor too, almost reaching each corner of the room with a delicate and ornate pattern woven into it. Soft and fluffy beneath his feet, if it wasn’t for the mattress Kurt would have rolled right onto it.

But the mattress, and the blankets! There weren’t as many as he had in his old cell but they smelt clean and they were deliciously soft like flesh. Standing at the foot of the bed, all that prevented him from curling up right on top of it was his own sweaty, muddy, and bloody state.

Kurt searched around the bedroom-cell, and soon enough discovered there was a small washroom too, hidden behind a dark wooden doorway. Cautiously entering, Kurt found the room rather small, but fully tiled and with a plush towel hung over what appeared to be a bathtub built into the wall. A brassy coloured tap with two knobs either side shone in the slivers of light. Tentatively, Kurt turned each one, his ears twitching at the telltale whistle of water through pipes. In his old cell he’d hear it above his head, and soon thereafter they’d bring him a bucket of water.

The water the tap spat forth was crystal clear and warm. 

Kurt’s eyes widened. He was initially tempted to think he’d been placed in this particular room by accident, but they’d locked the door behind him. They’d told him to rest, recover, relax, whatever that meant. 

Finding a small black disc which perfectly blocked the drain in the tub, Kurt giddily filled it a third of the way with warm water. They even had a bar of soap! Stripping off his meagre clothes, a white shirt muddied to grey and a pair of ragged brown pants that barely passed his calves, he stepped into the tub feeling lighter than ever. He scrubbed his fur until the water had turned grey, and even treated himself to draining the water once and refreshing it so that by the time he stepped out he felt he’d shed a kilo in weight in dirt. Washing his clothes as best he could, he left them to soak and wrapped the towel around his waist.

He’d have to be really good, he couldn’t imagine going back to using a bucket and cold water after even one day of warm water and that tub. He’d be happy to live in that small room alone.

Letting out a yawn, he barely heard the sound of footsteps outside of his room, but he did hear the brief squeak of a voice. Turning to face the entrance to the room, Kurt was surprised to hear no click of the lock but instead see a face, and then a body, and then legs, simply walk through the wood like it was an inconvenient suggestion.

“Oh god, like I’m so sorry, I thought they were, like, still using this room for storage,” the young woman stuttered, cheeks red and her eyes doing their best to stare anywhere but at Kurt. Her accent was strange, voice permanently bubbly and repeating certain sounds and pauses.

No. Not storage. Kurt croaked hesitantly.

“Yeah, I, uh, figured that,” the young woman’s eyes darted to him, darting to his torso before returning to his face. The reality would sink in soon, and she’d scream, or cry, or beg - she’d walked through the door. She’d simply walk right out. Kurt shrugged in response, and sat on the bed. “I’m Kitty, I mean technically my name is like Catherine but everyone calls me Kitty.”

Kurt. He supplied tentatively before laying back on the bed. His back ached something fierce as he finally allowed himself to relax into the pillows, letting out a quiet groan of relief.

“Sorry about all this, again,” sitting himself up slightly on his elbows, Kurt tilted his head at her, “Oh, shit right, I should go.”

Yes. As if forgetting her powers, Kitty went to open the door. Locked.

“Didn’t know this room, like, locked from the inside,” she laughed awkwardly, “thought they turned it into storage because, like, you could only like, lock it from the outside.”

No, yes. Kurt shrugged again. Cell.

It was the young woman’s turn to frown, “Someone locked you in here?”

Yes.

“Who?”

Summers, Raven, Logan, Charles. 

“Oh,” blinking in shock, the young woman again finally began backing towards the door, “can I like, bring you some food or something?”

The women here already understood Kurt much better than the poor things Dimitri used to throw into his cell.

Yes, and after careful consideration, he added please.

Chapter Text

“Pneumonia,” Hank hummed, removing the stethoscope from Mina’s chest, “Nothing too severe, but definitely has the potential to get worse. The test will tell me whether it’s bacterial or viral and then we can continue on from there with treatment.”

“Cheers, glad this won’t take me out after I just got out of that hellhole,” Mina chuckled, fighting back a cough. Gunther had forgone hovering by her side the second they had made it to the institute, and with his own injuries now tended to and Kurt out of sight he had drifted to his own corner of the Medbay in contemplation. The sterile white contrasted against almost every other room at the institute, and it was one of the few above-ground areas with only small slitted windows as opposed to ones that opened wide enough to let a man walk through with ease. Several small cots lined the wall, mostly unused bar those that Gunther and Mina had claimed. A small desk was shoved to the furthest end, nothing more than a glorified waste-bin for any papers Hank decided to haphazardly throw there.

“Not if I can help it,” with a smile, Hank nodded his head and moved towards his own cluttered desk. It had taken surprisingly little time for both his new patients to warm to him, the mental warnings from the professor had made him cautious. Thankfully, their fear and dislike was solely targeted at the lanky Kurt Wagner, and despite his own blue fur Hank was sufficiently different as to not frighten the institute’s new guests. “I can’t say I’m not curious as to what your plans are after this.”

“Gunther’s got family here in the states I think, fuck knows if they’re partial to mutants though,” Mina shrugged, clearing flem from her throat, “I’m planning grunt work, storage or warehousing.”

“Ah, and I assume you have plans for paperwork?” Hank asked, raising a brow as he gathered the loose papers on his desk, miscellaneous medical records that’d send proper hospital staff into a fit, “You are in the states now, home of the free, land of bureaucracy.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“You are free to stay, the both of you. Staff is already stretched thin.”

“Not staying any place that fucking monster is,” Mina hissed, face souring into a dark scowl, “Gunther feels the same.” A grunt from across the room confirmed.

“Perhaps it would be best if you filled me in,” Hank pulled his desk chair closer to Mina’s cot. “Rather know what I’m getting into, the professor wants me to take a look at him as soon as possible.”

“Watch the teeth, he bites and bites hard,” Mina’s face paled, reminiscing on less than pleasant memories, “claws too, make sure he knows you’ll put him down like a dog. In fact, he lunges at you, fucking do it.”

“I’m not one to hit my patients,” Hank smiled weakly.

“That’s my advice,” Mina shrugged, “and that advice is based only on what I heard. You talk to Summers, he saw that creature in action.”

Gunther grunted, turning both Mina and Hank’s attention to the doorway where Scott entered after a superficial knock.

“Professor wants Kurt looked at, bring the sedatives,” Scott said, offering a nod of acknowledgement to Gunther and Mina, “he can teleport, don’t want to chance him disappearing.”

“Teleport?” Mina asked, coughing something foul into the back of her hand.

“Trust me, just as shocked as you are,” Scott grimaced.

“The fucker could’ve left?” Hank could see the rage, disgust, every emotion imaginable bubbling under Mina’s skin. “The fucker could’ve escaped?”

“Let’s… let’s table that matter for now,” Scott grimaced, though it was clear he too was in agreement with the seething hate dripping from Mina’s expression. “Hank, he’s in the old storage room, I’ll meet you out there in ten.” Hank barely had a chance to nod, let alone protest, before the door had closed behind Scott and both Mina and Gunther stared him down with sullen eyes.

“Devil’s waiting,” Mina said, “better get there early, he likes a countdown.”

***

The woman, Keety, had brought him fruit. Bright enough they hurt his eyes, she’d even brought a knife and handed it to him without a second thought. Granted, she faded in and out of the solid and material world at a whim, half convincing Kurt that she was some hallucination were it not for the sharp sourness of the orange on his tongue.

She was eating her own piece, sitting on the floor beside him. “Sorry, I, like, usually come in here for quiet usually. Sorry, I thought they were like, still using this for storage. Sorry, I didn’t know you were here. Sorry, I didn’t know, like, what you would like.”

Her voice had been a steady stream of apologies and lilts, by the time she had finished he had more or less sliced the fruit, and he tried to smile when she tentatively took a piece here and there even though the fruit was for him. The juice dripped down her chin, and he laughed. Fruit and flesh had the same problem it seemed.

They had Apple, they are Orange, they bit into Grapes. The sugar was making the base of his skull tingle pleasantly. She’d even brought him pants, they were a little large, but it was better than what he had.

There were even Cherries. He repeated every name with reverence as they ate, tongue swallowing the words along with the fruit. All were familiar, distant, tastes he’d forgotten in favour of flesh.

The Cherries stained Keety’s lips red, like some of the woman who’d been shoved into his cell.

“You okay, Kurt?” 

Yes Kurt nodded, good fruit. Thank you. 

“Like, had to make it up to you for walking in on you almost naked,” She was blushing again, her cheeks as red as her lips, mortified.

Kurt shrugged, he didn’t understand the fanfare, but if it got him fruit he wouldn’t complain. He’d act a prude if that’s what it’d take. Letting himself lean backwards against the bed, Kurt was tempted to sleep. Maybe Keety had poisoned the fruit, something she could simply let drip through her organs onto the floor. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Why they got you, like, locked away in here?” Keety chuckled, “It’s like you’re some ********.”

Scared. Kurt rolled his shoulders, and flexed his claw tipped hands. He’d seen Dimitri act similar, when there’d been a woman brave enough to venture downstairs of her own free will. He’d seen Dimitri try show off his muscles in a not subtle way, and the other guard had whispered peacock under his breath. Kurt had little idea what piss or cocks had to do with how Dimitri was doing at the time, but he imagined it was a sentiment aimed at the posturing. Posturing he realised he was now trying to enact. Strong, win fights.

“Fights?” Keety furrowed her brow, “Oh you must’ve been, like, one of the ******* Scott and Logan went to ******!”

Summers. Kurt snorted, letting out a sigh.

“Yeah like, he’s a bit bossy at times,” Keety laughed, “just wants to keep us safe though.”

Yes. Kurt conceded, stealing the grape she was about to eat from her hand. Playfully she slapped his arm, and he grinned. The hit barely registered, it was akin to the faux fights he’d seen some of the guards engaged in. This silly backwards place, for all its danger, at least brought him a silly fearless girl. Logan.

“Yeah?”

Small. Kurt said after a moment of contemplation, and the laugh that left her mouth was so loud and sharp it made him jump. For a moment his skin prickled, his heart picked up and his muscles tensed, but then she took a bite of orange and offered him a piece.

“I’ll pay you to, like, say that to his face.”

Keety small. She stuck her tongue out at him

His beautiful little eternity, of fruit and girlish laughter, it was shattered the moment the door unlocked.

Summers, and someone big, blue, tall. Big. Muscled. Glasses? Heavy footsteps. Keety, she had the knife, he had his claws. Maybe she would - 

“Scott! Dr. McCoy!” Keety smiled, “Sorry, I, like, came in here and got caught chatting.”

“Miss Pryde, lovely to see you,” the behemoth smiled. His English was disgustingly proper, but quietly Kurt filed away the information regardless. Keety Pryde. Summers looked pale, tense, scared little man. Kurt motioned his head towards him in greeting, smiling wide. He stood, and on instinct helped Keety to her feet. “Just need to check on our new friend here, would you mind?”

“Oh! Right, like, of course. I’ll see you around Kurt!” Smiling, she waved at him, and like a ghost walked right through the behemoth’s guts.

Bye, Keety. Kurt hummed, again smiling at Summers who looked close to violence. Kurt could gouge out his eyes. He wouldn’t be so worrisome then. But the behemoth. Kurt’s eyes flickered back towards him.

“Hank McCoy,” the behemoth said by way of greeting, “hope the institute has treated you well so far. I’m the medic on hand so to speak, I imagine you’d have quite a few scrapes to be dealt with?”

No. Kurt said, slinking further back into the room. Summers was still glaring, maybe he was partial to Keety. Now that would be funny. Kurt wheezed a giggle, staring at the two until they reluctantly left. Summers opened his mouth just before the door closed, already prepared to reiterate his warning.

Kurt poked his tongue out at the man, and in confusion Summers simply shut his mouth, and subsequently, the door.

Keety, he couldn’t wait for her to get back.

Chapter Text

Mystique was stuck. Xavier was breathing down her neck and her mind and it was as if every damn grandfather clock in the institute was taunting her. Every corridor she turned to walk through, there was another damn clock, that or an annoyingly jovial student. 

She was a patient woman, soon enough Xavier would relax enough that she could slip by and steal her son away. Her rightful property. But the waiting. The bleeding niceties .

The fucking happy mutant teenagers that couldn't seem to shut up while they left her son to rot in a closet. Some upgrade. Such humanity. They'd bound down the halls without a care, like the world outside didn't want their head on a stake. It was doing them more harm than good, shielding them, by the time they learnt the danger they'd be surrounded.

For better or worse, at least her son's life hadn’t resulted in him being an airhead like some of the students. Even some of the X-Men seemed empty upstairs, particularly Shadowcat. She’d had the displeasure of getting stuck in conversation with the girl by the coffee machine, the sickly whirr of it barely overpowering her cherry tone.

So what brings you to the institute, aren't you, like, usually trying to kill us?

How’s your morning been? Not sure what to ask you to be honest, like, we’re on the same side and kinda not. Weird right?

Stupid, stupid, airhead.

Mystique loathed that Xavier’s office had become the most tolerable place to spend her time. Every time ‘classes’ ended, she huddled away there, breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all eaten there too, right across from his smug bald head that she was sure thought she was being won over by the institute.

“Kurt seems to be in good spirits,” Xavier smiled, eyes looking at her pitifully from across his desk, “his mind is difficult to read, something I'm sure you can explain, but I'm sensing minimal distress.”

“Here's an idea, how about you let me visit him.”

“I’ll call -”

“Without Summers, Logan, or any one of your pets breathing down my neck,” Raven snapped, pursing her lips, “please.”

“Raven, neither of us are fools,” Xavier replied, placing two fingers to his temple, “Logan or Summers, I'll leave the choice to you.”

***

Keety was back, this time she’d bought soup in a th-er-mos.

Thermos. Kurt hummed.

“Hope it kept it warm enough, I'd like, be worried if it didn't keep the heat while I walked it from the kitchen to here,” Keety rambled. She’d even brought a loaf of bread with her, and they sat on the carpet enjoying their soup whilst breaking off rough pieces since they told her she couldn't bring a knife. 

Thank you .

“It's okay, kinda owe it to you for letting me crash in your room still.” She was wearing an oversized jumper that positively dwarfed her and a pair of soft loose pants. It was odd to see a woman dressed in such a way, comfortable, but it made him silently preen in delight. Soft and warm, like she was wrapped in blankets

Okay. Alone. Kurt shrugged, sipping at his own portion of soup. The chipped mugs she’d brought for them to drink out of had surprisingly large handles, large enough that his deformed hands could actually use them. Good.

“Glad you like it, won’t take credit for it though - that’s Storm’s cooking.” She was looking into her soup as if it were tea leaves, teeth worrying her lip. “You were in some… not great stuff, right?”

Fight. Kurt shrugged, letting himself grin, win. Always. He split the remains of the bread in half, and offered her one. With her own hesitant smile, far more tentative than when they’d shared fruit, she took the piece. Her hands were soft where they brushed against his, wonderfully unmarred.

“What kind of fights?” 

With the claw of his thumb he pulled a horizontal line across his throat. Always win. Using his piece of bread, he sopped up the the remainder of his soup.

“Figured,” she swallowed the dregs of her own portion, nibbling on the plain bread, “Professor told me, I’d asked why he stuck you in here.”

Yes. She was so pretty, he was entranced as she finished her meal and reapplied something to her lips from a small tube. The women Dimitri used to throw in his cell, they sometimes wore something similar, red and always smeared. Whatever Keety was putting on her lips was sparkly, and had a sweet vanilla smell. New cell.

“Guess so,” she was frowning, pressing her lips together, “how many… nevermind, don’t think I, like, even want to know.”

Always win. Kurt sat himself up straighter, his own mind bouncing between the words rattling in his skull. She was nice, she gave him food. She talked to him like Dimitri. I was good. Blankets. How - h ow be good here?” His voice broke from its familiar hoarseness, back into something that was surprisingly deep and equally foreign.

“Not killing people is, like, a great start,” she was reapplying the thing to her lips, fiddling with the tube and lid, “I take it you were there for awhile.”

“Long time.” He held up all six of his fingers, and then made the motion of counting another four before facing his palms upwards, “Before, circus, before, long time.”

“Well that’s… shit.”

“Yes. Long shit.” She let out a snort against her will, and Kurt found himself smiling in turn. “What on…” he gestured to her lips.

“Oh, right. It’s a ********* ******* ***** lipgloss.”

“What?”

“Just a fancy lipgloss that cost way too much, like almost forty dollars, totally not worth it.”

“Okay,” Kurt nodded, still unclear, “nice smell.”

“It is, isn’t it!” Her hesitancy was falling away again, she was going back to how she was when they’d shared fruit. “You can smell it from there?”

“Good nose.”

“Lot of stuff, that’s like, good about you apparently.”

“Was champion,” he purred, “very good.”

“Uh-huh, sure you were,” she was chewing the inside of her cheek, and she unscrewed the cap of the too-expensive long-named lipgloss. She turned the end of it towards him like it was the muzzle of a gun, “want to try some? Champion? ”

Her smile was infectious.

***

It took frustratingly long for Mystique to track down Logan, longer still to drag him away from the beer and cigar he was certainly not meant to be consuming on institute grounds in view of the students. 

By the time she’d dragged him to her son’s room Charles’ attention had ebbed from where it had been sitting curled like a snake at the base of her skull. But it was still there. He’d force her to hold her tongue for the sake of his own morals and keeping the boy safe.

Hence, why she's chosen Logan. For all the respect the Canadian had towards Charles, he was far from under the thumb of the psychic in the same manner Summers was. He was neither moulded, raised, nor truly protected by Xavier.

And her son, at least, had the good-ish taste to tolerate him more than Summers.

As they approached Kurt’s room Raven tried to clear her mind. No thoughts of fleeing, of teaching her son - using him - for the betterment of the mutant cause. 

“Better knock,” Logan hummed, still reeking of cigars.

“What?”

“Smell Half-Pint in there,” he grunted, head motioning towards the door, “and like you keep insisting, your son isn't fucking brain-dead.” With a scowl, she reluctantly had to concede he had a point.

“Kurt,” she called through the door, rapping her knuckles against it, “I - Logan and I have come to have a chat.” It took all but a minute for her patience to wear thin, the silence painfully loud in her ears, and she unlocked the door and stepped in.

On a positive note, her son was not naked. He was also not fucking the air-head either, though he wasn't exactly hiding that he'd set his sights on her. Azazel had looked at her in the same way Kurt was looking at Shadowcat, though admittedly Azazel would've sooner cut Raven’s hand off than let her apply lipgloss on him. The remnants of their meal had been set on the bedside table, and they'd pulled themselves onto the centre of the bed to sit across from each other quite comfortably. 

“Oh, like, hi Mr. Logan, Mystique,” the girl had the audacity to grin, and Kurt grinned in turn. She’d only applied it to his bottom lip, and it sparkled against the dark blue of his skin. His tongue darted out to taste it, “Hey! You’re not meant to eat it.”

“Tastes good.” Everything Raven had wanted to say froze in her throat at hearing her son speak clearly. His voice had shed it's hoarse hiss, more animal than human, deepening to what it was meant to have always been. Smatterings of a German and Russian accent threaded throughout it, regal almost by accident. He sounded like his father.

“Looking real nice, bub,” Logan snorted, and Kurt sneered playfully at him - lips peeling back to bare his teeth. “What’d you think, Raven?”

“Wipe that off your face, right now,” Raven was barely aware of herself talking, she just had to get that X-Man away from him and her brain-dead hands away from him.

“Strange woman,” she heard him mutter before he looked to Shadowcat and, presumably, rolled his pupil-less eyes. 

“I'm going to ask you to leave once, Miss Pryde.”

“I-”

“Stay.” Her son's eyes levelled with her, a ghastly reflection of her own face. “What want, Raven and small Logan?” The laugh Shadowcat tried to suppress was barely human, crawling out of her too small nose as a guttural snort that sent her reeling backwards with a thump onto the mattress.

“Watch your mouth, bub,” Logan interjected before Raven could speak, “you too Half-Pint.”

“Enough, all of you,” Raven snapped, pushing herself into the conversation by moving in front of Logan, effectively blocking him from sight. “I would like to speak to you, Kurt, alone.”

“Why?” Her son clucked his tongue, eyes already glazing over.

“You’re important to me, very important”

“No. Not,” Kurt cringed, brow furrowed, “not important.” Charles must have been listening after all, at least at the surface of all their minds, because his frustrating voice immediately jumped in at the base of her skull - 

He thinks you’re… attracted to him, Raven.

“You’re important to me because I’m your mother,” she quickly added, “I want to make things right, and I want to keep you safe.” Perfect, nothing overt hinted towards.

“Wait, like, wait a second,” Shadowcat, of course the bitch couldn’t leave them in peace, “you’re… you… you’re like, joking, right? You’re his mum? Mr. Logan she can’t be serious.”

“Charles says she’s not kidding,” Logan replied, “only reason she’s been sticking around.”

Kurt cleared his throat, clearly having lost his way in the conversation.

“Raven is mutter? ” 

“Yes, yes I’m your mother!” It took all her willpower not to beam, though she was sure Charles was relishing in her pathetic attempt to contain it.

“Why here then?” 

“I want to help you.”

“Lies , ” his face had twisted into a grimace, swallowing thickly as he narrowed his eyes. In hoarse mimicry, he spat an echo of a voice Raven had not heard since the day she had abandoned her son. “ Deine mutter wollte dich nicht.”

Your mother did not want you.

Chapter Text

“ Deine mutter wollte dich nicht.”

It was a memory of a voice, but the sentiment had clung to Kurt’s mind since he had heard it first uttered. Your mother did not want you. He’d asked the ringmaster and the fortune teller, and they’d replied with the same certainty. He was a deformed beast, a child jinxed in the womb, a curse upon a woman who’d dared to have him out of wedlock. But in the circus he was safe, the perfect freak and acrobat - until the money stopped flowing, the audiences lean, and he continued his entertainment.

Raven. It stung more that she was blue, that her eyes held the same haze. If she were pink skinned and fearful then he would have understood her disdain at his form, and yet she did not even have the decency to hold onto human flesh. She was just as vile as he was. At least, her being his mother, it explained how clingy she was, a wraith waiting to slit his throat. Your mother did not want you and now she is here. She is here and she is hovering, her hands on your skin. You are monstrous because of her.

A low growl rumbled in the back of Kurt’s throat as he stared at the wall. His shiny new fucking cell. He had been trying so hard to be good. He'd been nice to Keety, he'd listened to what he was told. He hadn’t broken the flimsy walls or sharpened his claws on the bedframe.

Raven was still lurking outside his door, he could smell her clear as day. Her usual scent had turned acrid, filling his nose unpleasantly like he was in the ring with some begging dying opponent who remained in denial of the fight. Let me live. Let me in. The sentiments were the same - asking something of Kurt he had no reason to give.

The others had all left, even Keety had slunk away at the insistence of Logan. A cruelty, really, Kurt had done nothing wrong. He'd simply clawed at Raven to get her to leave. She’d approached him with womanly weeping, I'm sorry, forgive me, I'm sorry, her hands outstretched. He'd simply turned her away, a superficial scratch. Dimitri had never held it against him, even kept quiet so his rations wouldn't be cut. Poor dead Dimitri, rotting on the floor just outside his proper cell.

Licking at his lips, Kurt slunk towards the door. He could still taste Keety’s lip-gloss, tacky and artificial, and it filled the blandness of his mouth. Soon she would return, like always, bringing some novelty. Maybe her arrival would sour Raven further, spur her into leaving; the two had seemed far from fond of each other. Keety would come and they would share fruit. Or bread. Or meat. Or lip-gloss. Something more if Kurt played his cards right, if he could mimic the way Dimitri spoke to the whores well enough. 

“Leave,” Kurt hissed through the door, “ if you are true mutter, leave.”

“I never wanted to abandon you, Kurt,” there was no tremor in her voice as she spoke, “I don’t expect you to believe me.” The devil himself could not have spoken sweeter, nor more innocently. Her voice painted a picture of pathetic virtue, mother Mary by the manger. The conniving bitch had already forgotten she’d foisted a name onto him before he even knew who she was. Kurt. Kurt. Kurt. Kurt. “I know you’re still there, Kurt.”

“You did not want me then,” he ran his claws over the woodgrain of the door, “this is truth, yes?”

“It was safer to run. I was young and scared.”

Give her a chance to speak - 

Not even his mind was sacred here. The ringmaster and his whip never had the audacity, the cruelty, to crawl into his mind. Dimitri never cracked open his skull and pried into his musings. He paid in victories for sweet isolation, and he missed it. Even the warm water could not quell the longing for his privacy. He'd felt the claws of the stranger's thoughts since he'd arrived but never had they been so bold.

-my apologies.

“Quiet him, mutter,” dragging his claws down the door with greater strength, the wood shrieked as it found itself carved just like flesh, “quiet him and I will speak with you.”

“I cannot quiet him here.”

“Leave.”

“I cannot quiet him here. ”

“You did not want me then, why now?” Kurt huffed. 

Do not damage the door further, please. 

“You are grown, you are strong,” he could hear the rustle of fabric as she stood, “you have a purpose.” The last words were choked, like someone had crawled to the back of her throat and held the vocal cords.

I apologise for my neglect, we will speak properly soon, Kurt. Find some common ground.

Kurt rammed his head into the doorframe, the thicker wood able to take the hit with nothing more than a slight dent. 

Please refrain from - 

He repeated the action, the wood splintering.

I am not here to cause you harm.

Again, this time his skin broke and blood dripped down his forehead. 

Enough.

Kurt couldn’t move, his limbs were leaden. Cruelty manifest, the shackles of his own willpower being sapped away. His hate burbled in the back of his throat and he wanted nothing more than to cover the room in blood. His own. Maybe another’s. Wrap himself in blankets and fade away fully like he used to. Keety and her softness, no wonder she remained so light and shallow. Anything deeper and she’d be locked away as he was. Yes, these were the rules of this place. He tucked the thoughts deep, the realisation, far below anything the voice could scrape. He could be good.

“We will speak later.”

“Yes, mutter,” Kurt croaked out. There was blood in his eye, it had dripped down his brow, he wanted to wipe it away but he remained frozen. Your mother didn’t want you.

She wants you now.

This cell would destroy him.

He wanted Keety.

Kurt, for the first time since his mischievous youth, stitched together a plan right in the centre of his skull.

***

“You managed to get into his head?” Logan was smoking by the window, blowing the smoke outside like it made a difference. Charles would have set him straight had speaking in Kurt’s mind not sapped so much of his concentration.

“His mind is fragmented, but stable, I was able to prevent him from harming himself.”

“Take it he wasn’t partial to you messing around in there.”

“It was a dire circumstance.”

“Doubt that Charles,” Logan chuckled, “dire was him ripping some poor sod’s guts out.”

“He was ramming his head into a wall, was I meant to let him injure himself?” Rubbing his temple, he was vaguely aware of Raven finally leaving her vigil at her son’s door.

“Why was he doing it?”

“I’m not sure, any number of things could have triggered it.”

“Cut the crap Charles,” this time Logan let the smoke curl from his mouth directly into the room, “you were up close with his thoughts.”

“He was disconcerted by my presence, but such a response remains concerning regardless.”

“Seems reasonable to me,” Logan chuckled, “he wanted you out of his head, so he tried to beat you out.”

“Mystique is still planning something, though she has let near nothing slip into her thoughts. It is better for me to know if she’s convinced him of some scheme,” rolling out from behind his desk, Charles pushed himself towards Logan to join him in staring out the window, “this is a precarious situation, I-”

“Isn’t any different from the other rescues, you’ve just gotten it in your head he’s Mystique’s son.”

“You presume I’ve fallen to what I warned Scott against.”

“Seeing a thought doesn’t mean you understand it,” Logan grinned, gesturing towards Charles, “I say most my shit out loud, and you still don’t know what I’m really thinking.”

“I can tell enough, Logan. For example, you think I haven’t noticed the ashes you’ve left on the carpet.”

“Thought you always asked permission before mind-reading.”

“You have loud thoughts, you were practically yelling them at me,” Charles smiled weakly, before mentally returning to his tabs on Kurt. The boy’s surface level thoughts had reduced to a series of mumblings, somewhat reminiscent of Catherine’s speech patterns which made him laugh. This, like, blanket is very, like, comfortable. Like. Blanket. “Let him settle for a few days, I think bringing him into contact with a few more students might do him well.”

“Most of them won’t be so tolerant as Half-Pint,” Logan countered, “You think whispers of a mutant-death pit and the survivors of it haven't circulated.”

“The students and staff are understanding, it will take some time but they are proud of their acceptance and respect. Conversation with others might help break Kurt’s shell further.”

“Then what? Can’t keep him here forever Charles.”

“This is the safest place for him, for the time being.”

“The safest place for him was that pit,” Logan deliberately tapped the ashes onto the carpet this time, offering Charles an apologetic grin that didn’t reach his eyes, “We’ve just thrown him into the worst fight of his life.”

“We could not have left him there, nor the others we rescued.”

“The others? No,” Logan shook his head, staring out the window, “Him? You only dragged him from there because Raven begged you too.”

“Would you have left him to die?” Charles asked, staring at his old friend with a prickle of disdain, “Against all we have fought for?”

“We dragged him from the one place he knew, Charles, you can’t say that isn’t its own fucking cruelty.”

Chapter Text

“You sure you’re right to keep an eye on him, Half-Pint?”

“Yeah! Like, I’ll let you know if anything goes totally crazy, but it’ll be fine,” Kitty grinned, an overstuffed tote bag slung over her shoulder. “Plus, I’d go nuts if I was trapped in a room, better to get some, like. vitamins and air.”

“Just stay alert, don’t know how he’ll react and he might bolt,” with a sigh, Logan reluctantly knocked on Kurt’s door, “doubt we’ll be able to catch him if he decides to run.”

“Totally, but he’s not trapped here right? If he wants to go, he can leave?”

“Depends who you ask,” with no response from inside the room Logan knocked again, louder, “Kitty’s here to take you on a walk, Elf, you either shape up now or you’re stuck in here for the next few days.”

“Keety?” She could hear the grin on his voice even through his accent, “No mutter?”

“No Raven, she’s still licking her wounds,” Logan replied, unlocking the door and pushing it open. Kurt had kept the lights off, leaving the room in darkness. It took a solid few seconds for Kitty to pick him out in the shadows, and if she hadn’t been looking for him she doubted she would have even noticed him. His eyes glistened in the low light as he approached, slowly stretching to his full height.

“Like, got some food and stuff,” Kitty said, lifting her bag, “figured you might want to go sit outside?”

“Outside?”

“Or inside, I’m like totally cool with either,” glancing towards Logan, she saw him pointedly look between them both, “Oh, right, they just want you to say next to me and such.”

“Yes… yes, okay.” Slinking towards them Kurt’s expression softened into something close to a smile. His hair was roughly combed, and shorter than Kitty had remembered seeing it. The edges were uneven, evidently cut with a blade or more likely his claws. She smiled at him, and he hesitantly peeled back his lips into a smile mimicking hers. “I follow Keety.”

“First new clothes though, like don’t want you totally stand out,” she grinned, excitement bubbling. She’d had to guess on the sizing, and Ororo had been kind enough to make a hole in the shorts she had pinched from the lost and found for Kurt’s tail. Pulling both items of clothing from her bag, she passed them to the blue mutant.

“Ah, yes, help look normal,” Kurt deadpanned, before tentatively taking the clothes. He spent a solid few moments just running his hands over the fabric, long enough that Logan coughed and urged him to hurry up. Without a care in the world, Kurt shed the remnants of his old clothes, and Kitty did her best to respectfully keep her eyes on his face. “Danke, Keety.”

“No problem!” Tentatively she held out her hand, “So, like, inside or outside?”

“Outside.”

***

Going on a ‘picnic’ with Jean hadn’t been at the top of Scott’s list of priorities, between dealing with the fallout of dragging a rabid dog of a mutant back to the institute and ensuring Mina and Gunther were able to find their own respective ways to safety he’d left most other things on the backburner. But, the weather had finally begun to warm, and her voice had been nagging him in the back of his skull all week.

“Well?”

“You were right, this is nice,” Scott sighed, letting himself stretch out on the small blanket. Jean had insisted they walk deeper into the grounds of the school, to the sweet spot where they were far enough from both the surrounding roads and the main building itself, “you’re nice.”

“Such a wordsmith,” Jean snorted, playfully kicking him, “how’s dealing with the rescues going?”

“You already know.”

“Humour me, I’ve actually abstained from poking around your head too often.” God, she was beautiful. Her red hair caught the sunlight perfectly, the colour somewhere between molten lava and gold, and her face was soft with a rare sense of peace.

“Gunther and Mina decided to take their chances outside the institute, they’ve got some smatterings of family throughout the states so the professor was happy enough to give them some funds and documentation and send them on their way.”

“Couldn’t convince Mina to stay?”

“Not as long as Mystique’s son is here,” rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses, Scott patted the ground next to him for Jean to lie down beside him, “What have you been hearing?”

“The same, mostly, seems Kurt has become the resident boogeyman for the students,” Jean smiled, taking Scotts invitation to stretch out on the blanket, “his mind is interesting.”

“Guessing the professor hasn’t given you all the details about where we found him.”

“He’s given me fragments, said it’s up to Kurt to tell us once he’s integrated so to speak.”

“If Mystique doesn’t drag him away to be one of Magneto’s lackeys.”

“You think she would?” Jean asked, sitting herself up slightly to look at Scott. “I mean, she would but you think he’d go?”

“You’re the psychic.”

“And you’ve talked to him.”

“Talk is a strong word,” Scott snorted, “Look, just, let’s leave it for now. Enjoy the sun.”

“Big talk for - “ 

“Jean?”

“Kitty’s brough Kurt out,” frowning, Jean fully sat herself up. Looking at the surrounding trees and decently manicured laws, her eyes followed the blips her mind had picked up. Scott watched her eyes, darting around as they tried to make sense of what she had pinpointed mentally. “There.”

“What the hell was the professor thinking?” Scott muttered as he finally saw them himself. Kitty had at least been smart enough to lead Kurt down a more secluded pathway, and somehow she’d roped the man into holding her bag. The monster he’d seen be fully willing to kill another mutant, and likely gorge itself on the flesh of said innocent mutant, was carrying one of Kitty’s too many bags with what looked like a picnic blanket over his shoulder. “Jean?”

“Seems Kitty had the same plan as we did,” Jean’s brow creased as she scrutinised the pair. They ended up settling a decent distance away, just in eyeshot though it seemed neither had noticed being watched. “He seems happy, mentally at least.”

“What’s he thinking?”

“Nothing coherent, which makes me suspect he’s burying more complex thoughts,”Jean hummed, “that, or the extent of his conscious thoughts are worryingly basic.”

“Very reassuring, what is he thinking exactly?”

“Give me a moment, I’m not sure if he’ll notice if I probe deeper, but he’s largely thinking - 

***

- The grass feels nice. Springy. Sunny. Sunny. It’s so sunny! Kurt had missed sunlight. The moment Keety had gently guided him out his initial contemplation of bolting completely vanished. The warmth had hit his skin for the first time in years, and though it stung his eyes he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You sure you’re, like, alright to carry everything?”

“Yes, it is not heavy.” They’d only seen smatterings of people in the distance. A few secluded groups who didn’t look twice at them, far enough away that they didn’t care and even those who looked directly at them simply skirted their eyes away after seeing Keety.

“Right, there’s like a totally cool spot just a bit further up,” she grinned, “we’ll sit down and have a proper feast.”

“Yes, okay.” Kurt found himself inadvertently mirroring her expression, he could almost forget the feeling of the foreign voice in his head or the fact it could reappear at any moment. He could smell fresh fruit in the bag he was carrying, something else too, foreign foods he couldn’t identify.

He set down the thick, strangely textured blanket onto the ground where he was instructed, and soon enough found himself seated beside Keety as she pulled out various containers. Fruit, cheeses, even cured meats. Jams too. Food he hadn’t seen in a decade at least, and food he’d only ever seen the ringmaster eat. It was a fight not to grab it all and shove it into his mouth but he had to behave, had to be good long enough for that horrendous voice and man to ignore him so he could leave. Escape and maybe take Keety with him so she could speak freely.

Kurt hadn’t contemplated escape for years, never once in the pit did he think to leave. The taste of fruit on his tongue as he bit into a ripe peach urged him to survive.

“You’re going to end up totally covered in juice eating like that,” Keety said, passing him a towel, “relax, it’s not going to run away from you.” Kurt half heartedly wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before devouring the remainder.

“You would’ve like, totally been one of those red-sauce mouth kids,” she snorted, only to end up wearing just as much juice when she ended up biting into her own peach. Kurt let out his own small chuckle, yes it looked good for her to eat in such a manner. Like him. Like flesh. Not flesh no, it would look wrong for her teeth to be stained with blood. “I’ve got like, sandwiches if you want?”

“Okay.” The bread was pale as her skin and almost tasted like cake. Crisp lettuce, vegetables, salty butter that coated his tongue. They ate in companionable silence, his fur warming until he wanted nothing more than to sleep. If they weren’t in the open he wouldn’t have hesitated, but the world around them was open, and even as he found some peace his eyes cringed and adjusted to the light. The breeze lazily made its way across the greenery, slowly shifting direction until he picked up an unfortunately familiar scent. “Summers.”

“Huh?”

“Summers,” his nose twitched, “and woman.” He turned his head towards the scent. They were distant, barely noticeable. He saw her head dart up, red hair, and a similar faint prickling at the back of his skull. Like the other voice.

So be it if she also wanted to look. He just had to be good. Good food, tasty. Keety nice. Good weather. Woman. Woman looking at me. Good weather. Summers. Food tasty. Tasty. Sleepy. Tired.

“Oh! Jean was saying she was totally going to drag Scott on a picnic, definitely didn’t steal this idea from her.” Kury watched the red haired woman hesitantly try to raise her hand in a hello, only for Summers to wrench it down. “I’d say let’s go bug them, but they’re, like, definitely being gross and sappy.”

“Yes, gross,” Kurt agreed, finishing the remainder of his food before laying down on his stomach, head propped up on his arms so he could keep Summers and the woman ghosting over his brain in eyeshot. “Danke, Keety.” He felt the woman at the base of his skull again, and supplied her with the same pile of good and normal thoughts. Like this day is totally nice.

“It’s like, no problem. I’d be going crazy if I was cooped up in that room. Hopefully the professor totally chills out and such.”

“Yes, that would be nice.” The woman next to Summers lay back down, and they absorbed themselves in their own conversation. The tingling at the base of his skull disappeared, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Blankets would be nice, and trapeze.”

“Trapeze?”

“Yes, trapeze.”

“Planning to run away to the circus or something?” Keety laughed.

“Yes, run away to circus,” Kurt hummed, glancing towards her as she packed away the remaining foodstuffs and lay herself down beside him, “come with?”

“Sure, I could totally be the girl in the box they poke swords into,” Keety chuckled, letting one of her hands fade partially through his arm as she playfully punched him.

“Yes, and trapeze, maybe?” His tail twitched of its own accord, batting into her leg. No mutter existed here for now, no ringmaster, no man in his head. No pit. No fight. No flesh in his teeth, Keety was not a corpse on the floor of the fighting ring that he had defeated. “Professor speaks in head.”

“Yeah, he does that sometimes, kinda freaky if you ask me but he keeps us safe.”

“From who?”

“That’s like a totally loaded question,” he watched the jovial mask of her face slip, age creep into the bags under her eyes, “the place where they dragged you from is like, prime example isn’t it?”

“Not so bad, the old place,” Kurt sighed, reluctantly turning on his back he stared into the infinite expanse of the sky. Soft clouds tentatively crawled their way across the milky blue, a lone bird carving its way through with reckless abandon. “This is better.” 

“I’m like, so pumped for you,” Keety grinned, “Can’t wait until the professor says it's chill for you to meet everyone.”

“I am happy with you.”

“Jeez, I mean,” her cheeks had turned pink, “shut up.”

Dimitri would be proud.

Chapter Text

Mystique was staring at a ceiling that, in another life, might have belonged to her home. A decorative plaster pattern surrounded the main light, scalloped edges intersecting in perfect symmetry. The room was small, though not cramped, and furnished with the basic necessities that were all constructed from the same dark stained wood . It was also directly across from Charles’ residence, keeping her well within the telepath’s subconscious awareness.

The clean sheets stuck to her skin, drenched with sweat from the most recent cocktail of nightmare’s her mind had concocted for her. Nightmares that would hopefully drive Charles’ decency to keep from prying and examining them too closely. Everything with telepaths was a balancing act, hiding valuable information under slop and drivel and discomfort, and Charles had always been soft - too willing to see what he expected, and always too unsettled to keep watching the fragments Raven could pull into her mind.

Gingerly sitting up in bed, Raven glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight, and the general raucous of the institute had finally quietened to a low hum. Low enough that she could pick up the faintest sound of her sun prowling around his new cage. Azazel had been partial to the same meditation, walking around any room he deemed his “office” and unsettling allies and hostages alike. Kurt had the same gait, the same posture when he stood properly.

Raven couldn't tell whether the habit was a good or deeply unsettling sign. She hoped for the former, that with Kurt's slow trudge towards civility it was dredging up the habits.

The deep grooves on her arm stung, a gentle reminder that she was far from forgiven. Proof of her son’s abuse and potential all in one. Kurt would learn to love her, or at the very least fear her. Respect her, and understand who the enemy was.

Lying back against the pillows, sinking into the plush mattress, Raven felt a sigh escape her body. She had always promised herself that she would never long for Azazel’s presence like some obsessive lover, and yet here she was decades after he’d disappeared and left her with a child silently longing for him. Another person on her side, that’s all she needed. Stress relief too, unlike some of her other lovers, Azazel was never put off when she half-shape-shifted into any number of things or people in the middle of sex. Rough psychotic sex, and knowing her luck he’d leave her pregnant with another one of his beautifully monstrous offspring.

Charles was back in her head, skimming over the surface. A sensation that would go unnoticed under any other circumstances. 

But oh, it had the potential to be fun to have another moment with Azazel again. Raven was far from a saint, and he had adored her all the more for it - at least for a short while. She let old memories bleed back into her thoughts.

Raunchy, terrible, intense thoughts that would’ve shocked the hair off Xavier if he’d had any left to lose.

Beautiful black claws and red skin that glowed against the blue of her breasts. Sharp teeth that’d tear apart her neck in the throes of lust and a tail that whipped her thighs.

Just a little more and Charles would scurry away, and then she’d have a moment of peace.

She had a son to discipline.

***

The taste of sunlight had fully woken Kurt from the slumber of his existence. He had never craved the freedom he’d been drip fed in this cursed place, and now he was hooked. He desired flesh in ways he was sure he’d forgotten.

The meagre comforts of his cell could note sate him. How had he survived in the darkness of the pit? Moldy blankets and mildew, and the offcuts of fatty meat. He had never lost a fight, he had brought his masters riches beyond comprehension and that was his reward: A dark corner of non-existence and women who would not even dare to touch him.

Kurt deserved more. Keety thought he deserved it, he suspected even Logan was sympathetic towards him. Did he want sympathy? It felt insulting but they were right to feel so. He had sat cowering in his his old home with nothing but whispered desires.

If there was one thing both the circus and pit had taught him, it was that he deserved attention. But now? Now he deserved…

There was so much that he couldn’t yet list because he hadn’t seen it.

He deserved a trapeze.

He deserved Keety and the soft blush of her cheeks.

He deserved sunlight warming his skin and grass stains in his fur.

He would take it all.

As his head pounded, a cacophony of life, he found himself pacing - crawling up the walls and across the ceiling leaving claw marks in his wake. He moved in any way his body allowed him in the calm darkness, pulling his limbs in such ways it would turn a contortionist green with envy. He was so good, his surface thoughts were nothing more than satisfaction and how pretty his little Keety looked.

In the centre of his skull, he counted the slow steps that were appearing between him and his escape.

Trust - Outside with Keety - The Trust of the Voice in their Heads - Left Alone - Run Run RUN - THEY WOULD NOT GIVE HIM A TRAPEZE HE HAD TO TAKE IT HE HAD TO TAKE - 

 - Kurt’s mother did not have the decency to knock when she decided to disturb him, instead she unlocked the door and strolled right in. The wounds he’d inflicted on her were bleeding anew, it seemed she had scratched at them. He looked at her, head cocked to the side, from where he remained on the ceiling.

“You hurt me.”

“Yes.” If his grin widened while he spoke, that was far from his fault.

“Is it right to hurt your mother?” Her voice was calm, a calculated coldness he had not heard her use in front of the others. She did not cower, nor whimper and slink away as she had done earlier. The man was not perusing his thoughts, and he suspected her mind was also free from scrutiny. “Answer me, Kurt.”

“You did not want me.”

“Answer, Kurt.” He offered her only a tight smile, baring his teeth in challenge. To his surprise she returned the expression with such precision until he saw his own face mirrored perfectly by her shifting skin. “It is wrong to disobey your mother.”

“It is wrong to abandon your child,” Kurt replied, slowly slinking towards her. The changes were subtle, but her limbs were stretching, her spine almost audibly creaking as it elongated so her head with his face brushed the ceiling.

“Then allow me to make up for lost time.” In an instance she shot forward, hands deformed to blades as he teleported behind her only to receive a savage kick to his midsection. “You fall into the same habits as your father, I will fix this.”

Kurt hadn’t felt fear, true fear, for a good long while. Not since he had first caught the Ringmaster’s whip forcing the man to bow his head in an uneasy truce.

His mutter laughed quietly as her body twisted into the shape of a python and wrapped around him. He bit, he clawed, and she returned the favours with frightening ease. It was a struggle, he could see the sheen of sweat on her brow as they fought in the stifling presence of the room. Their minds blank yet whirring, toeing the line between necessary thought and unbridled savagery that would call the attention of the telepath.

She eventually pinned him, an extra arm jutting from her torso to hold his tail. The defeat stung, and he was tempted to mentally scream simply to upset her victory.

“Listen, properly now, for the short while our thoughts are unwatched.”

“Why?” He found his question cut off by another arm springing from her chest and pressing against his throat.

“You are meant for more than this institute, I will die before I let you fall to the passivity Xavier peddles to his students,” her voice was a hoarse and hateful whisper by his ear, “Do you really think he would let you go free amongst his students? That he would allow you any closer than you are now to that airhead Kitty?”

“Leave me,” Kurt rasped, his lungs screaming and his head throbbing as the weight of his mother crushed his chest.

“I have failed you long enough,” her voice dipped into a pleasant tone, “I will make you into who you were meant to be, and you will obey me. I am your only chance at freedom from this place.”

Her retreat was quick, slinking from the room as if she’d never disturbed him, and he found himself lying on the ground and staring at the ceiling. He would bruise, but the bruises wouldn’t show. She would have to nurse the bite wounds he’d left, and the deep grooves the claws of his feet had left across her belly. 

Kurt found himself grinning, willing away the pain.

Keety was so beautiful. The sun was so warm. He happily let the thoughts flood his mind. If his mutter was insistent on using him, then he would return the favour. 

Trust - Xavier’s Trust - Mother’s Trust -  Outside with Keety - The Trust of the Voice in their Heads - Left Alone - Run with Mother and Keety - Run Run RUN from Mother. - THEY WOULD NOT GIVE HIM A FREEDOM. He had to take it. He would take it.

All that remained was the question of what his mutter desired from him, the hazy destiny her abandonment had apparently denied him.

He had the same habits as his father.

His mutter knew his sire.

Keety was so beautiful. The sun was so warm. There is so much to learn.

***

The eraser on Kitty’s pencil had been chewed to oblivion. Her bedside lamp cast a hazy warm light across her room, casting soft shadows that weren’t quite yet eerie. Her journal was propped up against her pillow as she lay on her belly, staring at the fragmented sentences decorating the pages.

Kitty had always suffered the fate of being a ‘lucky’ mutant, meaning unless someone recognised her from her X-Man related activities they’d be none the wiser to the fact she wasn’t a regular girl. Woman. Being in your early twenties as a mutant sucked. Any mutant with an obvious difference hated her and envied her in equal measures, and most other mutants were usually put off by either her power or her work.

Somehow, in their minds, her ability to walk through walls was a greater affront to privacy than telepaths quietly rooting around in their skulls.

At least with Kurt’s arrival, there was more pressing gossip for people to spread. 

Mystique, the mutant terrorist whose loyalty was subject to change on a whim, wandering in the shadows lamenting her equally insane son who had to be locked away in a room lest he attack someone. A human mutant-killer would’ve been more acceptable to house, hell at least you knew where you stood with those types, but a mutant who apparently willingly murdered their own?

In Kitty’s humble opinion, any who squicked at the thought had been lucky enough to come to the institute before their lives really went to shit. She scribbled the thought into her journal, alongside a few names, before rubbing it out again.

Kurt Wagner was an interesting dilemma. In the back of her mind she knew that, without a doubt, had they met under different circumstances he would’ve tried to kill her. Instead she was sneaking him treats and taking him on a picnic. She didn’t even try to call out his admittedly boy-ish flirting though she should, she absolutely should. His grasp of spoken language had only recently returned, he had murdered mutants, he was Mystique’s son.

With a huff Kitty flipped to the back half of her journal. Short paragraphs about innocent crushes were neatly ordered with each man’s name. Half of them she’d only seen in passing, invented some little fantasy to feel less alone before some business prevented her from even starting a conversation with them. 

Crush on Bobby Drake, who was quickly recruited into the X-Men. Coffee date that went bust because of some anti-mutant protest and then Logan not-so-subtly advising her to not “shit where you eat, at least not with the ice-cube.” Cute face, okay conversation. Ice Ice baby.

Crush on Piotr. Nice accent, good jawline, older and taller. Thought to ask him out, but Magneto kicked up shit, and by the time everything was back in order it seemed he’d firmly relegated her to the position of ‘teammate’.

Then of course there were three or four regular human guys, two of which had noped out on finding out she was a mutant, another who’d had a real weird fetish for it, and a fourth who she hadn’t even talked to before having to quickly respond to an urgent call from the professor.

She chewed the eraser of her pencil more until it crumbled in her mouth, and with a grimace she spat out the pieces into the bin beside her bed. It was late, the professor wanted her to take Kurt outside again tomorrow like he was some dog, and she still had part of an academic article to write as part of her vague attempt at a normal life.

Quickly she scrawled the name Kurt Wagner before she could regret it.

Kurt Wagner:

Fuzzy, cute face. Velvet? Not too tall, accent. Older? Would be good to cuddle. Likes fruit. 

Likes me?

Snapping her journal shut, Kitty pulled herself under her blanket and shut off the lamp. Overthinking couldn’t get to her if she was asleep.

Chapter Text

Everyone's thoughts were available to a telepath. The real skill lay in selecting who to listen to and when. Even in the silence of his office, with nothing but his books surrounding him and the notes on the desk, Charles could not escape.

It was a skill almost impossible to master, one that had taken Xavier the bulk of his life to learn and even then he was far from perfect. The strength of a telepath did not equate to trained skill, and with the institute as it was Xavier found himself ending each day with a headache reminiscent of his youth.

Gossip spread like wildfire amongst students, especially when a new mutant arrived or a member left. The past few weeks had been nothing but a constant chant of who was what and where and how, flickering of ghost stories about ghouls and demons mixed with accusations of betrayal. Something wicked this way comes every time a glimpse of Raven was caught. Something wicked down there dwells, a tune that would change when they met Kurt surely. His students were empathetic, they would understand the life Kurt had endured.

Kitty’s girlish infatuation had become a relief, much to his concern. Xavier had the decency not to pry, but the joy that flickered in her thoughts was plain enough to see, and gave him hope that Kurt would at the very least have one friend once he had recovered from the suffering he had endured.

Kurt’s thoughts, those he caught, were of a blissful simplicity. They seemed no more complex than when he had initially been rescued, just of a lighter flavour than death and gore. Xavier’s worry for him was solely tied to Raven.

Raven who expected… well, it was difficult to say what Raven expected, but it certainly wasn’t who Xavier could see Kurt becoming. A boy - man, as Logan constantly corrected him - who was satisfied with sunlight and food, who, had he looked different, would have found his peace in a rural village and simple life. Or a circus, a trapeze as he constantly requested. 

It stung, but the institute would be hard pressed to offer him such peace.

Pulling himself from his own thoughts, Xavier mentally sent out a call to Raven to meet with him in his office, and sent the same to Logan with the instruction to bring Kurt.

***

Logan didn’t know why he had become Xavier’s errand boy for Mystique’s ‘problem’ when Scott was perfectly capable. Every moment he thought he could peacefully leave the institute, get some space from the mess and clear his head for a few months, the professor would ask him to do something.

Now, instead of riding his motorbike and forgetting the colossal fuck-ups that made up his existence, he was again stuck in Xaviers office with Raven and Kurt. Raven, who had undoubtedly done something because Kurt smelt vaguely hostile, and Charles, who was quite satisfied with how things were progressing. With the group huddled around Xavier’s desk, Logan found himself hanging back, longing for a cigar and lounging on an armchair that managed to remain uncomfortable despite being covered in pillows.

“Did you enjoy your picnic with Kitty?” Charles asked, offering Kurt a smile.

“Yes, very nice, pretty,” Kurt replied, his eyes wide and excited as he clasped his hands. Had Kurt been a decade younger, the ruse might have even fooled Logan. Kurt’s posture was immaculate, leaning forward in his chair with the smile of an imp. “Good food!”

It was times like these that confused Logan to no end, and in part made him wish he could sporadically acquire telepathy. Everything surface level about Kurt as he rambled created the perfect picture of a damaged young man coming to the light, a stupid innocence that invited trust. Look at how I hold myself, look at how excited I am over fresh food, do you not feel sorry for me? I am no danger to anyone. Do you not trust me? I am so excited. You have been so nice to me. I owe everything to you!

Except it was a caricature, one Logan was sure Kurt had modelled after whatever poor women he’d encountered during his time in the pit. Whores probably, prostitutes. The sort who knew their work well, too. Batting eyelashes, leaning forward eagerly, shifting in his seat. If he’d had a pair of tits it would’ve been indecent. 

The lashing of his tail, that was genuine, and Logan could smell the nervous sweat on Kurt’s brow.

But Charles kept nodding, smiling, which could only mean Kurt was spinning a damn good story in his head that Logan wished he could be privy to, and more than likely Mystique was doing the same.

“Would you like to meet more people Kurt?” Xavier asked, “Have some more people to talk to?”

“That would be very nice,” Kurt grinned, clapping his hands, “with mutter too?” Logan frowned, glancing towards Mystique who seemed equally as shocked at her son acknowledging her.

“With me?” Tentatively, Raven looked towards Kurt, gingerly touching his shoulder.

“Yes, with you, mutter,” again, that curious smile, “okay?”

“More than okay,” Mystique glared at Xavier, daring him to challenge her, “isn’t that right.”

“I will do my best to make that possible, Kurt, but it might take a bit longer to have you meet people if that is the case.”

“I am patient.”

“I can imagine you are.”

“Keety will come too, yes?”

“If Catherine wishes to join you and Raven when meeting other people, and she has no prior commitments, I don’t see why not.”

“That is very good, I like Keety.” For better or worse, Logan could tell that what Kurt had just uttered was the most honest phrase the man had spoken in the room.

***

The blue light of Kitty’s computer screen bore into her skull. Ever since taking Kurt on a picnic all the institute gossips who had caught sight of her had set upon her like wolves. She’d tried to be careful too, taking them to a more secluded part of the institute’s grounds, but that only seemed to have added fuel to the fire.

At some point Kitty resigned herself to remaining in her room for the remainder of the day, scanning over academic article after academic article until the jargon the researchers used numbed her brain. The pixels on her laptop’s screen screamed at her, begging to be put out of their misery or at the very least shut down instead of being left in sleep mode for day after day.

A knock at her door disturbed her thoughts, and leaning back in her chair she strained her ears. The last thing she wanted was to open the door to a barrage of questions about the so-called killer mutant.

“Open up half-pint, need to talk to you.”

“One moment,” shutting the lid of her laptop, she quickly opened the door, “hi Mr. Logan.”

“Enough of the mister crap,” Logan snorted. He was wearing a scruffier pair of jeans than usual, with his good boots too, which could only mean he was hoping to leave again, “how’s the work going?”

“Like, okay, some of these people write like they’re totally insane,” Kitty shrugged, motioning for Logan to take her desk chair while she sat on the edge of her bed, “You want to leave again, don’t you.”

“Not that I don’t want to be here, just need to clear my head, kid,” Logan gingerly sat down, rubbing his eyes, “Charles seems to be out to stop me though.”

“I mean, Kurt like, likes you. Wouldn’t hurt to stick around a little longer, especially with Mystique doing, like Mystique things.”

“Don’t plan on leaving until she stops, or leaves.” They fell into an awkward silence, and Kitty watched cautiously as Logan rubbed his eyes and face.

“So, like, is there something you need from me?”

“Be careful, kid,” Logan sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his lap, “only thing I need from you is to keep your head screwed on right.”

“Yeah, totally. What’s the motivator for the old-man wisdom?”

“Kurt.” Kitty raised her eyebrow, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“What about him?”

“Look, kid, I know you’re sweet on him.”

“I am not!” Kitty bit back her voice from becoming a true yell, but the blush on her cheeks had already given away the fact she’d spouted nothing more than a fat lie. She did like him. She liked Kurt, and worst of all Wolverine knew. “Okay, maybe, like, a tiny bit.”

“Not going to tell you what to do half-pint, you’re grown now for better or worse - “

“Hey!”

“- but that Wagner is more like Raven than you realise.”

“You think he’s planning to try hurt someone?” Kitty asked, sitting up fully.

“No, just giving the heads up that he’s a crafty bastard.”

“We all are,” chewing on her lip, Kitty found her gaze drifting to her room’s window, the last dregs of daylight fading “none of us would have lived this long if we weren’t, like, a little sneaky.”

“You need to listen, properly, he’s craft and unstable. He’s figuring out his place in the pecking order.”

“Don’t see what this has to do with me being sweet on him.” She should close the blinds, soon enough it’d be dark enough out to see into her room clearly.

“He’s figuring out his place, and he’s sweet on you too. You think those fuckers in the pit taught him how to be a good guy?” Kitty felt her throat grow tight, and she fidgeted with the corner of her blanket, “Don’t let your guard down kid, not for a second.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Kitty hummed through gritted teeth, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m just telling you to be careful.”

“Consider me warned.” 

***

Arching into a bridge, it was a fight for Kurt to keep his thoughts neutral. Mystique would take some more convincing but she had been lulled to hope, the same as the professor. Logan? He was a mystery, though he certainly was better company than most. Except for Keety.

Lovely, lovely Keety. Fruit-bearing angel who he’d spirit away from this cage.

Pulling himself upright, Kurt began to stretch. Sitting on the floor, he contorted himself into knots, his spine a serpent as he indulged in the movement. The carpet had already begun to fray in places, his clawed feet and hands digging up the fibres. The pristine sheets of the bed were almost shreds, holes torn in the throes of nightmarish sleep. Each day it seemed the lustre of this new cell rotted, even the warmth of the water was barely enough to soothe him. What is warm water? Give him fire and a bucket, and he would have the same in the open air.

His body ached where his mother’s abuses had landed, but they were temporary nuisances. His mother was a fascinating beast, and with their brief brawl he had gleaned much about her.

“I am your only chance at freedom.”

If only the poor woman had known how many times he’d been fed that very same poisonous lie, she would have used something different. I will help you escape. I will give you power. Much more enticing offers than a freedom she could not give.

Keety knocked and immediately entered while he was in the middle of a handstand, his back arched and contorted so that legs hung in front of his face.

“Ouch,” was her only comment after a moment of silence, “I thought you did, like, the trapeze.”

“I did many things in the circus,” with the closest approximation of a shrug he could manage, Kurt gently unfolded himself and stood up, “professor says I can soon meet others.”

“That’s awesome,” Keety smiled, “you mind if I crash here for a bit?”

“You are welcome,” with only slight hesitation Keety sat on the edge of his bed, before letting herself slide off to sit on the floor, “to floor or bed.”

“Cheers,” her smile always showed her teeth, ineffective canines that would dent her lip, “you, like, doing okay?”

“I am well, would like to go on another picnic,” laying himself across his bed, Kurt let his head hang off the edge next to Keety, “it was very nice.”

“I’ll bring more snacks next time, you ever had a twinkie?”

“Nein, the name sounds very stupid,” Kurt snorted, “Does it taste good?”

“Passable, there are better and worse sweets.” She let her head lean back onto the bed.

“You are tired.”

“Been busy, you’re the talk of the institute so everyone is trying to talk to me to figure you out.” She let out a huff of annoyance, and a strand of hair fell in front of her face. Gently, he let a clawed fingertip glide against her cheek to tuck it behind her ear. She froze under his caress, staring into nothing.

“Are you okay, Keety?”

“Do you like me, Kurt?”

“Yes, very much.”

“In what way?” she swallowed thickly, eyes turning towards him with an equal mix of caution and hope. Kurt’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. Dimitri had always been crass, for the most part, so had most of the people he had fought.

“I am not sure,” he delicately let his hand trace the side of her face again, “it is not something I have felt.”

“If I told you I didn’t like you, what would you do?” the words seem to catch in her throat, barely emerging as a whisper.

“I would give you peace,” the answer spilled from his mouth before he could think them over, and he hoped they were the right ones, “though, it might be difficult to get Logan to take me on a picnic.” He offered her a small smile, and a laugh broke free from her.

“That’s good, like so good!” a hysteric joy seemed to have gripped her, and as she stood she pulled him up and off the bed by the shoulders to join her. The audacity of it shocked him, it was rougher than how she usually touched him but there was no malice in the strength of her grip. “Kurt, I think I might be about to do something, like, totally fucking stupid right now.” Her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the room, and though she was a fair bit shorter than him Kurt felt inclined to sit on the edge of the bed when she pushed him back down by the shoulders. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

“I - yes,” Kurt said, eyes widening with a certain disbelief. There was no need to hide his thoughts now, there was nothing underneath the surface for once.

Keety let her lips brush his, and he tasted her lipgloss.

Keety is so beautiful.

Mine.

Chapter Text

“You're going to start losing hair if you don't stop stressing,” Jean’s fingers were a welcome pressure against Scott’s scalp as they carded through his hair. His back ached as he let himself relax into the soft bedding, glasses almost slipping off his face. “The professor is sorting things out, you can relax.”

“Call it a gut feeling, won't be right until psycho bitch is gone.” Jean’s room had become Scott’s retreat, when students couldn’t force information from Kitty, they turned to him - and by god were they disappointed when he’d tell them he hadn’t spoken to Mystique jr. for weeks.

“She won’t go, not without her son,” Jean was chewing her bottom lip, the gloss smearing onto her teeth, “You think the professor knows?”

“Doesn’t matter what he knows if he doesn’t tell us,” reaching a hand up to Jean’s face, he swiped a thumb over her bottom lip, “I suppose you know everything, though.”

“Contrary to what you might think of me, I don’t go prowling around people's heads if I don't have to,” her grimace was cute, but it certainly meant Scott had fucked up with his phrasing, “I respect the fact people deserve privacy.”

“Mystique doesn’t deserve shit after what she’s done,” Scott pushed himself up, facing Jean directly at the expense of turning awkwardly and squashing one of her decorative pillows, “how many times has she tried to kill us? Allied herself to the highest paying megalomaniac? We stop their plans and she walks away to join the next group of killers, for all we - I - know, this is just her newest scheme to shove a knife into us.”

“Scott, just drop it, relax for one second of your life,” her hands were soft as they grabbed his face, her eyes looking into his through the red tint of his glasses. Her eyes were green, according to her own description, but they were nothing but the same dull brown hue of Scott’s entire world, so long as he didn’t want to destroy it.

A steady silence fell over them, and Scott let himself lean into her hands. If he was anyone other than the leader of the X-Men, he would’ve let the matter rest. It was tempting. Ignore the goings on outside the room and kiss - hell maybe even fuck - the beautiful woman in front of him and forget it all.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Scott’s eyes snapped up to hers, and she offered him a smile and a peck against his lips, “I could use some relaxation myself.”

“Trying to distract me?”

“Is that not what you need?” She crawled closer to him, and he moved to meet her embrace, “Things will sort themselves out, I’m sure of it.”

“Last I checked, you were a telepath, not a fortune teller.”

“They seem to go hand in hand well enough,” her green eyes, what he wouldn’t give to see them properly. Those green eyes that kept darting around, flickering blinks, a beautiful distraction.

“You’ve looked, haven’t you?” Scott murmured the question out between kisses, laving his enquiry at the pale column of Jeans neck.

“Only snippets,” she gasped as his hands slid along her thighs, “they keep their thoughts guarded.”

“So, what do I need to do to earn an answer?” The way she bit her lip, and the blush that dusted her cheeks. Even bathed in red she was an artwork.

“Relax,” Jean hummed, and Scott was more than happy to let her lead.

***

Kurt was on a high. More than a high. Years ago they’d tried to make his fights more interesting, shoving his face into some drug or another to get him hyped up but that never really quite worked. Short bloody fights weren’t the flavour of the audience. Slow and brutal.

Dimitri would have laughed his ass off if he’d known all Kurt needed was a woman. One that didn’t scream. One that was soft and dangerous and shared fruit with him.

Someone who would lay beside him, just like Keety was now. For her, he would kill anyone.

She’d argued, bargained her way into taking him on another picnic. In a secluded part of the grounds, further away from the populace, they lay in sunlight on a scratchy blanket as the ants picked over their scraps. 

Leaning over, Kurt gently titled her face towards him, and relished at the taste of her as they kissed. He would save her from this hell, from the voices in their heads, even if it killed him slowly and cruelly. He would save her and himself, and when they were far from this place he would -

“What are you thinking?” Keety laughed, kissing his cheek and lips, “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.”

“And now my brain is empty,” Kurt let a hand drift to her hip, squeezing the soft flesh.

“You’re, like, totally welcome.” Her fingertips gently brushed against the fur of his face, entranced rather than repulsed by the texture. He pressed his lips to her palm, and followed her veins up her arm as he pulled her closer. His teeth, they’d torn through flesh like hers a hundred times but he felt no desire to mutilate her, not when she held him like this. “Knew you’d be a softie.”

“Do not forget, I am this place’s monster,” he teased, “I will spirit you away, like in old circus stories.”

“Running away to the circus, very romantic.” She ducked her head as he pulled her closer. “Teach me the trapeze?”

“I will teach you to fly,” his tongue darted out to trace the shell of her ear, his whisper hoarse, “far from this place, we will fly.” The sun was intense, almost at its height, and his skin felt hotter than a black stone in a desert.

“Pretty sure they, like, hate mutants everywhere.” Muffled against his chest, he could feel her hot breath through the fabric of the shirt that wasn’t his. A gift, yes, but a gift could be revoked.

Kurt was fully prepared to settle further into her presence, enjoy the peace and warmth for what it was, but the breeze brought him a familiar scent. Mutter.

“Not on Genosha,” his mother was looming over them, her voice a higher pitch than usual. She was not wearing her face, if it weren’t for her smell he wouldn’t have recognised her. “You seem comfortable.”

“Mystique,” Keety said, frowning as she sat up, “Professor know you’re out here?”

“I didn’t realise I was a prisoner,” Mystique shot back, “mind if I join you?” Before either he or Keety could respond she sat herself on the edge of the blanket, crossing her legs and smiling in a way that could’ve been seen as ‘good natured’.

“Yeah, sure, totally cool,” Keety’s reply was dry, her hand squeezing Kurt’s for assurance.

“You know Keety, yes mutter ?” Kurt knew his reply was awkward, there was an animosity between the two women deeper than what could have formed since his arrival at this place.

“We’ve tried to kill each other a few times,” Mystique smile claimed it was a joke, but her eyes were piercing as they looked at Kurt’s hand intertwined with Keety’s, “You like her.”

“Yes, she is mine.” Snaking an arm around Keety’s waist, he pulled her closer.

“As hypocritical as it might be for me to say, you shouldn’t rush into a relationship,” Mystique’s smile dropped as she sneered at Keety, “there are plenty of good mutant women, ones unaffiliated with Xavier’s mutts, who you could have.”

“They can mourn my loss,” Kurt snapped, pressing a kiss to Keety’s cheek, “I like this one.”

“Did you choose to sit here only to tell Kurt that I’m not worth his time?” Keety’s tone was cool, measured as the soft breeze that disturbed their conversation as she squeezed his hand again, “or were you hoping for some quality bonding time?”

“I would like to speak to my son alone,” Mystique said, “if you are so assured of your dear professor’s intelligence then you will leave, after all he is surely listening.” Kurt expected Keety to slap Raven in that instance, or at the very least spit at her. Her muscles were coiled, an inkling of violence that seemed almost absurd in her slight frame but it was there, and by god it was beautiful. Yet his woman did not strike, not as he would have. Instead she turned to him, soft brown hair falling over her shoulders in waves.

“Do you want to speak with her alone? It’s up to you.” Kurt glanced at Mystique, and felt the softest brush of a foreigner’s eyes in his mind.

“Of course! She is my mutter, ” with a cheeriness he did not feel he pulled his lips back into a grin, “we will not be long, maybe you could get more food?”

“And here I was thinking I found a guy that doesn’t, like, think with his stomach,” Keety snorted, leaving only after a long kiss to his cheek and a peck to his lips that he certainly had no qualms with.

Only when Keety was well out of their sight did Raven speak to him.

“She is a lapdog.”

“I will take her from this place,” Kurt muttered, forcing his thoughts to the basic joy that would appease anyone who glanced into his mind, “taste freedom.”

“I do not approve of her.”

“Who I choose to bed has no bearing on our agreement,” Kurt picked at the scraps of food that remained, popping a cherry into his mouth and focusing his thoughts onto the richness of the flavour, “and you have yet to tell me how you will give me this freedom you promise.”

“You will have to trust me as your mother.” Kurt couldn’t help but laugh, spitting the pit of the fruit onto the grass. “No one here will let you leave.”

“So you keep saying,” lying back down, he lay an arm over his eyes to block the sunlight, “what is your plan?”

“Integrate, earn their trust,” Raven hummed, “The lapdog is attending a formal conference, one of the posh kind, if she invites you it could be an opportunity to spirit her away.”

“She has not told me of this.”

“She doesn’t know of the invitation yet, it arrived by mail. If I mistakenly opened it thinking it was addressed to me, well I can’t be faulted for that.” Though his eyes were closed, he could hear the shrug and grin on her voice, an almost childlike lilt at the idea of getting away with something.

“Then our plan is set.” chewing the inside of his cheek, Kurt strained his ears. Keety was not walking back, not yet, her scent wasn’t on the breeze. “I will ask for one answer to prove you wish to help me.”

“I assume it is who your father is.”

“Yes.”

“Then I will tell you tonight, such information is best kept from the light.” The light crunch of Keety’s footsteps on the grass urged Kurt to sit back up, and by the time his eyes had adjusted to the glare of the sun his mother had already nodded her goodbye and begun walking.

“Everything okay?” Keety asked, setting down a small plate with sandwiches. A letter was jammed under her armpit, held precariously with the edge neatly sliced open. 

“I am well,” Kurt replied, “a letter?”

“Oh, yeah, I applied to present at this conference,” she shrugged, “I’m expecting a rejection to be honest.”

“I would not be so sure,” Kurt said, gently kissing her neck, “you are very smart after all.”