Chapter Text
The sun had just cleared the mountains, signaling the day was in full swing. Birds chirped and flew around playfully, felling the wind beneath their wings. Deer grazed just beyond the tree line of a large clearing, one buck keeping watch for danger. A warren of rabbits rose up from the grass to stretch and play.
Suddenly, a giant black jet roared through the sky. It swerved around dangerously, as if the driver was drunk. Even from below, where the animals had now scattered, one could hear a man’s voice roar out, “KURT, EVEN OUT! EVEN OUT!”
Inside the jet sat only two beings. Both were mutants—humans that had been born with the x-gene, which gave them their mutations. Both were blue and covered in fur. But neither of them shared blood.
One was Hank McCoy, codenamed Beast. His mutation was extremely physical; he resembled something between a lion and an ape, with blue fur and golden cats’ eyes. His claws dug into the leather of his seat desperately. He roared in fear as the jet did a barrel roll. His long fur was fluffed out in alarm, and if he had a tail, it would probably be in between his legs.
The other mutant was currently driving said jet. He was Kurt Wagner, codenamed Nightcrawler. His mutation was also physical, but instead of long, light blue fur, Kurt had short, fuzzy indigo fur that grew close to his skin. His short hair—styled with most of the bangs swept to one side and covering one of his amber eyes—was an inky black with blue highlights. He grinned, fangs glistening in the sunlight, as he evened out the jet’s flight, pressing all the needed buttons and pulling all the required levers with his three-fingered hands. His tail, long and prehensile with a sharp spade, wagged back and forth in excitement.
The jet found a straight path. Hank, through gritted teeth, growled, “Kurt, for God’s sake, land this plane right now!”
Kurt did as he was told, switching the plane from horizontal flight to vertical landing mode. He held the jet hovering in the air above a large flat plain as he brought out the landing gear.
“Okay now, Kurt,” Hank said nervously. “Just ease the bird down gently. Gently, Kurt—GENTLY!”
The jet nearly slammed down onto the ground, bouncing on its landing gear. Inside the jet, unsecured items hopped out of their places, already loosened from the rough ride.
“Okay,” Hank exhaled. “Kurt…”
Kurt was beaming, as if he’d just won the lottery. “How did I do, Herr McCoy?” he asked gleefully, his soft German accent rising up as he spoke.
“Well…” Hank used the palm of his hand to flatten down the fur that was still standing up on his neck. “You, uh…You’ve definitely learned a lot since your first lesson. And your enthusiasm is certainly not lacking.”
Kurt’s tail wagged again.
“However, maybe try reeling it back some?”
The tail drooped, as did the smile.
Hank placed his hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “You’re still learning, Kurt. There’s no shame in taking things slow while you’re learning. You don’t have to try to impress me with tricks every time we do a lesson.”
Kurt looked down, as if ashamed. His tail curled around his seat, showing his agitation.
Hank sighed. “You know, as much as I hate to say it, you did have excellent control of the jet most of the time. I believe, given time, you’ll be an excellent pilot.”
Kurt smiled again, less proud than before, but much better than just a moment prior. “You think so?”
“I know so.” Hank returned the smile with one of his own. “You’re very good at it. You just need to take things a bit slower. Now, shift the control back to me. It’s time we headed back.”
“Aww,” Kurt whined. “Already?”
Hank took control of the jet and took off, steering the jet back upstate toward the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters with expertise. Kurt sat back and watched as the trees and roads below flew by faster than he could register.
They reached the school in no time and soon enough the basketball court opened up beneath them. Hank lowered the jet down below the court, into the school’s basement level. Once they were landed and everything was secure, Hank and Kurt left the jet. Someone was already waiting for them in the hangar bay.
“How’d you do, Kurt?” Scott—a boy around Kurt’s age with laser vision—asked.
Kurt smiled. “Perfectly,” he lied.
Hank snorted, ruffling Kurt’s hair. “Always room for improvement, Kurt,” he reminded the boy. “Scott, you’re up next. Why don’t you do the pre-flight checks while I go get something from my lab?”
Scott rushed away, eager to do better than Kurt, even though they weren’t graded on flight lessons.
“Kurt,” Hank called. “Come with me, please? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”
Kurt inwardly groaned. Was he going to get an actual reprimanding for his flight lesson today? He’d only done three barrel rolls this time!
Tail nearly dragging the floor in defeat, Kurt followed Hank McCoy through the basement level halls. Everything about this level was shiny and silver, as if the walls and floors were polished and waxed daily with chrome finish. Sometimes it hurt Kurt’s eyes, but he tended to ignore it.
Soon they arrived at the laboratory. Hank’s lab was messy and disorganized, like a college dorm room. Vials and beakers were everywhere, as were the tubes and lines connecting them.
“Wait here.” Hank dodged the electric wires strewn about and disappeared into the back.
Kurt explored the immediate vicinity, afraid of getting too lost in the lab. There were piles of papers on a desk, next to a coffee mug with a kitten on the side.
Kurt’s curiosity got the better of him. He flipped gently through the papers, wishing he knew more English to understand the garble that was science.
He stopped on a file labeled Azazel. A grainy grayscale picture was clipped to the front of the file, displaying a headshot of some sort of mutant with a scarred face and pointed ears.
Kurt’s own ears pricked in interest. He opened the file, surprised to see nearly nothing inside other than some basic information:
Mutant File: Azazel
Real Name: Unknown
DOB: Unknown
Age: Unknown
Country of Birth: Russia
Skin Color: Red
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Black
Associations: Hellfire Club (former), Brotherhood of Mutants (former), KGB
Last Known Location: Siberia
Status: Deceased
Date of Death: Unknown; before 1973
Cause of Death: Unknown; possibly Trask experimentations
Mutant Abilities: Teleportation, special awareness, prehensile tail
Skills: Sword fighting, hand-to-hand combat, multilingual (English, Russian, German, Polish, Finnish)
Relations: Unknown (?)
Kurt cocked his head as he read the last line. Someone had written in the question mark after the Unknown in the Relations section. And the whole Mutant Abilities section was circled multiple times in red pen.
“Teleportation,” he read softly. “Like me?”
Another picture was pinned inside the file. It was another grayscale of Azazel, surrounded by smoke and holding swords. Kurt instantly realized the man was mid-teleport in the photo.
“Like me,” he confirmed.
One other page was in the file. Kurt flipped it and read something about a DNA test between Azazel and…Kurt Wagner?
Instantly his curiosity was heightened. Someone had done a DNA test on him? When? How?
Most of the words were unknown to Kurt’s limited English vocabulary, but he didn’t really want to know the specifics. All he could see and understand were two words at the bottom of the page, under some sort of graph:
Positive Match
“Aha! I found it!”
Hank’s exclamation startled Kurt, which sent the papers around him flying. He cursed in German, attempting to pick up the pages. His tail knocked over some vials on the adjacent tables as he bent down, and more curses flew from his mouth. He found the photos easily enough, but he’d lost the file and its two pages of information.
“Kurt? What are you doing?”
Kurt immediately stuffed the photos into his uniform pocket, quickly turning around and standing as Hank made his way over.
“You scared me,” Kurt admitted honestly. “I…my tail…”
Hank smiled. “No harm done. I’ll clean that mess up later. Now, on to why I brought you here.”
He held up something that resembled a lighter. “This is my latest invention. I was designing it for myself originally, but I figured you’d want it more.”
Kurt took the lighter, confused. “Vhat is it?” he asked.
“Press the button on the side,” Hank instructed, clearly containing his excitement.
Kurt did as he was told. The air around his arm shimmered. Suddenly, he wasn’t staring at a blue, three-fingered hand; he was looking at a pale human hand with five fingers! Sans his thumb, his fingers were constantly in two-digit groups that never separated.
Hank shuffled around and found a mirror in his organized mess. “Have a look!”
Kurt gasped. He had seen his own reflection many times: a dark blue, elf-eared demon with religious scars on his face and inky black hair. Now, however, that was no longer the case: he was a regular teen with pale, unscarred skin, blue eyes, and windswept brown hair.
“Was ist…?” Kurt could barely contain his surprise. “Warum? I-Ich bin…”
“It’s an image inducer. Do you like it?” Hank asked, suddenly nervous.
Kurt grinned, happy to see flat teeth instead of fangs. “I love it! How did you do this? Why?”
“Well…” Hank placed a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “When I was younger, I wasn’t very proud of my mutation. When it became more noticeable, I tried everything to make it disappear. For a while, I just used a special serum to help me hide it, and I could control it pretty easily unless I got angry. I was developing this for myself, but after the whole thing with Apocalypse, I’ve decided to embrace this shape. I’ve gotten a lot more comfortable in my own skin since then.”
He gestured to Kurt. “But I’ve noticed you like to go and hang out at the mall a lot with Jubilee, Scott, Ororo, and Jean. I’ve been told you’re rather nervous around judgmental crowds, so I figured…perhaps you’d like this to help you when you feel the need to fit in amongst the more, shall we say, problematic people?”
Kurt stared at his disguised reflection in the mirror. He could still feel his normal three-fingered hand grabbing the mirror from Hank. His eyes told him he had five fingers, but his brain and touch told him three. It was an odd sensation.
“I…” His voice was small and shaky. He coughed and tried again: “I like it. Truly, I do!”
Hank beamed, obviously glad his invention was liked. “Great! Now, Kurt, I just ask that you don’t start wearing it all the time. It should be used for emergencies and problematic situations, not every minute you’re in the mall. And certainly not around the mansion. Hiding your true self doesn’t solve anything.” He looked at his own large, ape-like hands. “It just hinders you more.”
Kurt nodded. “Jawohl,” he agreed. “I vill not abuse it. I promise.”
“Good. Now, why don’t you run upstairs? I’m sure you’ve got class soon.”
Kurt’s eyes widened. “J-Ja, I do! I’m going to be late!”
He ‘ported away before Hank could say more. Right after landing in his room, Kurt turned off the image inducer and placed it gently on his dresser. Immediately his image flickered back to normal.
As he rushed to take off his uniform and put on more comfortable civilian attire, the two photographs from Azazel’s file fluttered to the ground. Kurt paused to look at them as he buckled his jeans. He was instantly reminded of the DNA test results, and of the fact he’d had a father that looked just like him.
He picked up the pictures with his tail, grabbed some tape, walked over to his standing mirror, and taped the photos on it delicately. He spent a few minutes comparing his face with the headshot of Azazel. Were they similar? Did he have Azazel’s nose? His jaw? He certainly got the man’s ears…
Kurt’s eyes drifted to the reflection of his clock and he cursed again. He’d have to sit and compare later. Right now it was class time!