|A Demon in Disguise
Author: Incognito Mode PM
AU. Kurt had been taken in by his father, Azazel, as a baby. 16 years later, Prof. X picks up on him with Cerebro and sends Wolverine to find him. Can he convince Kurt that he's more than just an evil demon? Or will they end up at each other's throats?Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Horror - Nightcrawler/Kurt W. & Wolverine/Logan - Chapters: 5 - Words: 8,936 - Reviews: 46 - Favs: 39 - Follows: 70 - Updated: 04-23-13 - Published: 01-23-12 - id: 7767750
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Feeling sick to his stomach, Kurt teleported back to the bunker. He could still feel the acid churning, looking for a way out.
How dare he?
Biting roughly on the inside of his cheek, Kurt's hands shook slightly as he shed off the layers of coats and jackets cocooning him. Now, only in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a Sex Pistols t-shirt of which he had no idea as to how it ever came under his possession in the first place, the young mutant collapsed on the sofa and curled in on himself.
While he would have much rather preferred his bed, exhaustion had crept in when his guards were down and took captive of his body. He had barely made the trip to the underground bunker when he realized he could barely keep his eyes open.
Said he wanted to help me.
He would have to leave first thing he woke up, perhaps rejoin his father back in Turkey or simply go to another one of their hideouts in a different country. Rio was supposed to be rather nice this time of the year. Either way, he couldn't stay here.
Not if that westerner was going to be around.
Why should he help me? I don't need it.
Groaning, Kurt rolled over onto his back and brought a hand up to press against his forehead. He took deep, even breaths in an attempt to control his unusually fast heartbeat. He had no words nor an idea with what was wrong with him, just that he simply felt ill.
He had once heard the English phrase "going into shock" which seemed to accurately describe his current state. What was he going into shock from?
Meeting a decent person, perhaps.He thought wryly. Or someone that had at least acted decent towards him.
His father was tolerable enough. They respected and understood each other in a way that only a son and a father could, albeit some tenseness between them. The only other people that Kurt had ever met were his father's acquaintances and the occasional sibling who would simply acknowledge him obligingly.
There were of course his victims. Whose eyes would well with hate and fear at the very sight of him, fear that he relished and almost craved.
So why did he find that man's genuine concern so appealing?
Because you're acting like a damned fool! Just go to bed and forget this ever happened. Taking his own advice to heart, Kurt finally allowed for himself to embrace the enticing siren call of sleep as his mind and body calmed into a condition of tranquility.
Kurt liked sleeping. It was good for both him and the safety of his own sanity. Nothing made him more content then getting eight or more hours of sleep, which was simply divine for him.
So having been woken up from a fitful slumber that couldn't have been more than a couple hours long was, in his opinion at least, almost sinful. It took him a while to finally find out where the ringing was coming from, and when he did his sleep-lazy fingers fumbled with the small phone before he finally managed to properly answer it. He had forgotten about the thing.
He was greeted with a smooth, all too recognizable chuckle on the other end.
"I didn't wake you, did I? Surely it isn't that late." His father would often call just to check up on him when they were apart. Unfortunately, Kurt wasn't always the best at keeping his phone on him at all times like he was supposed to.
"No, father. I've just had a long night is all," Kurt replied, he was in a sitting position and leaned against the wall for comfort.
"Oh? Why don't you tell me?"
So he did. Kurt liked talking almost as much as he did sleeping. Unfortunately, this did not go too well with the whole "not knowing anyone" to talk to. So Azazel always ended up being the ears for Kurt's ramblings.
He told him about his visit to the bar and how he always had to order a beer from there because it was the only drink on the menu that wasn't ever kept too warm. He told him about the impressive play he had witnessed of the men playing tablă in the corner. He also complained about the bartender's attitude and gossiped about the rumors of his supposed affair with the woman that owned the bakery two streets over.
Then he got to the mutant.
"He followed me after I've left the bar so I confronted him. I was going to kill him, but I didn't because I have to admit, he… intrigued me. He claimed that he wanted to bring me over to the States where an entire school of mutants learned…"
For a while, Kurt heard nothing from the other end of the line. A second stretched into a minute so finally the blue half-demon piped up, "Father...?"
"Yes, yes. I'm still here," the red man assured, sounding somewhat rushed in his response, "This man, what was he like again?" He asked almost excitedly, an emotion practically unheard of when it came to the many-year old demon mutant.
Hesitantly and unsure, Kurt began describing him as best as he could, all the while wondering why his father was so interested in the matter.
"He was a large man, very muscular, and he had very unkempt hair," Kurt said almost disdainfully. His own body was entirely covered in fur and even he managed to find the time to make sure his appearance was acceptable. That man could have at least ran a comb through that dreadfully styled mane.
"And he mentioned his name was Logan," Kurt said suddenly, figuring that piece of information would be helpful. It was quiet again, as Azazel processed this information. This time, Kurt didn't interrupt and simply waited for a reply.
"... Go back. Take up his offer," Azazel finally said, his tone betraying the fact that his mind was elsewhere. Kurt's world just sort of froze, and as the sudden reality of what those words entailed sunk in, the seconds began sludging forward once again. Quickly regaining his wits about him, the young teleporter shot back with heavy rebuttals.
"I'm sorry, vhat?" his accent always seemed to thicken considerably when he was flustered. "Vhy would I do zhat?" Ok, so his accent became painfully obvious. But he couldn't help feeling insulted and maybe even hurt. Did his father want to be rid of him? Azazel laughed off Kurt's worries on the other end of the line, clearly sensing his distress.
"Because," he replied reassuringly, "if you attended that school, it would give us a certain leverage."
"Leverage against what?"
"Well, we can discuss that later. Has that man already left?"
"... No. He said he would give me three days in case I wanted to change my mind."
"Perfect. Kurt, I'll call you back. As soon as I talk to a certain acquaintance of mine and have everything set up, I expect you to do as I say. Expect my call and keep your phone on you."
They exchanged good-bye's and Kurt lowered the phone from his ear and simply stared at the small device in his hand disbelievingly. When on Earth did his day go from escaping boredom at a cheap bar to making arrangements so as to attend a school in America? And exactly what kind of plans did his father have in store for him anyway?
"A goddamned teleporter. Can ya' believe it?" Logan huffed into the receiver. He was currently situated in the cockpit of the Blackbird, parked just outside of town and hidden among the leaves of the forest and the semi-darkness of the very early dawn. On the other end, the Professor chuckled, clearly amused by these new developments and eager to learn more.
"No, I don't. Although that would certainly explain why I had so much trouble pinpointing his location. And you say he has expressed his wishes against joining us?" Charles inquired, his tone taking a much more troubled note to it.
"Yeah. I gave 'im three days to change his mind. Even if he doesn't, I'm still haulin' his ass back," Logan grumbled, taking a swig out of the half empty bottle of whiskey in his other hand.
"Now, now. We certainly don't want to compromise his free will. But perhaps if you could persuade him otherwise..." Charles chimed and then trailed off, leaving it up to Logan to interpret his words in whatever way he wanted.
"As long as y'er definition of persuasion falls under the same category as blackmail 'nd threats, then you can bet that I'll find ways to 'persuade him otherwise'", the feral mutant replied in the exact way that Charles guessed he would. Pushing back regretful thoughts that he himself should have gone after the teleporter, Charles simply put his trust into his friend. Surely Logan wouldn't do anything too rash...
"Just make sure you take your cigars outside," Charles advised for the umpteenth time, just as Logan raised a lit match to the opposing end of the accused cigar in his mouth, "I certainly don't want you stinking up the place with your smoke."
Logan sighed and tossed the match aside, watching as its flame went out on its descent to the floor. He really wasn't supposed to smoke or drink around the kids and he hardly ever had the chance to escape to a bar when he was constantly training the younger generation of mutants or just doing work around the mansion in general. Another thing that he missed about being on his own.
But even if going without his tobacco and alcohol wouldn't kill him, going without the X-Men just might. Of course though, that didn't mean he couldn't have both.
"Yeah, fine. I'll call you back if there are any new developments."
"Very well. Good night then, Logan. Or is it morning? What time is it there, anyhow? Have you been getting any sleep?"
"Good night, Charles."
Before the Professor had the chance to pester him about his sleeping habits anymore, Logan hung up and took one last swig of whiskey before going to bed. The Professor was right, it was indeed morning, the time just barely reaching five. But seeing as he had nothing to do but wait until the kid decided to show up, if he decided to show up, at their rendezvous point then he decided there was nothing more he'd rather do than sleep.
The frustrations of his encounter with the kid was starting to get to him. Unfortunately, these frustrations couldn't be drowned away in whiskey or slept off. Logan hated to admit that he couldn't rest until he was sure that the kid was safe in their custody, and hated himself even more for letting the blue mutant get to him so easily.
There was something about him that reminded Logan so much of... well, himself.
AN: I'm bad at updating consistently and I should feel bad.