A Bottle Can't Hold You
folder
X-Men - Animated Series (all) › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
2,822
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
X-Men - Animated Series (all) › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
2,822
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Disclaimer Haiku: Kurt and the X-Men/ I own nothing related/ I make no money.
Extra Blue
AN: Thanks to Nightcrawler’s Shadow for being a great beta and loads of fun, and thanks to my first reviewer on this site! Eventually I’ll be putting some light at the end of the tunnel, as well as explaining the situation with Amanda a bit more and why Kurt is taking it so badly, but I can’t do more than hint while Kurt is still trying to escape from thinking about all of that. Thanks to Spade for correcting the German here.
Special Author’s Note: Good critiques are even more valuable than positive reviews. I will respond personally to every review, and more thoroughly to good critiques.
Chapter 4: Extra Blue
Darkness dominated the room, fully drawn curtains admitting almost none of the evening’s waning light. Immediately following his departure from the Danger Room, Kurt had locked his door, and had so far refused all visitors.
Evan had attempted to congratulate him (through the door) on standing up to Scott, only to find the “K-Man” completely silent where he would normally have been devouring the praise with the air of a born performer.
Jean had come by and demanded that Kurt apologize to Scott, and had been answered with a rather inventive list of places Scott might find that apology, along with an even more creative list of things he might do with it after finding it. The telepath had walked away from the door nearly as red as her hair.
Hours passed silently in the bedroom, at least outwardly. Kurt’s mind was a blur of activity; thoughts and feelings and memories whirled about in no semblance of order. Thankfully, finishing off most of the second bottle of vodka had done wonders for his concentration: he was blissfully unable to focus on any one thing for more than a few seconds, rendering him immune to the crushing depression that would have otherwise plagued him. The plastic bottle was back in his drawer now, just a quick reach away from being put to further use.
His sheets were in a jumble, and he had burrowed underneath them sideways across the bed, leaving only his head and tail exposed. The latter swished back and forth lazily, having navigated its way out of the confining linens to seek freedom.
Two golden eyes stared blankly, almost unblinking, the only parts of him that were visible in the darkness; his tail, as with the rest of him, became all but invisible in the absence of light.
A ponytail-bearing head with angelic features slowly peeked its way in through the door, and Kurt sighed. Kätzchen was here. As glad as he was that it was Kitty and not someone else, he really wasn’t in the mood for company, even hers.
“Kurt? Are you in here? I just wanted to say you really shouldn’t worry about Scott. He’s, like, being a total jerk lately, and I’m glad you told him off. I was, like, this close to doing it myself.”
Despite himself, Kurt smiled a bit. The image of Kitty, who barely came up to his chin, standing toe to toe with Cyclops, who towered over him, was priceless.
Shadowcat phased fully through the door, every bit as silent and graceful as her codename implied, and wasted no time sitting on the bed, right next to Kurt but not touching him. There was never any sort of casual contact between them; she saw to that. No one on the team touched him, really, but Kätzchen seemed especially good at avoiding it.
In America, it seemed, no one was particularly interested in touching a blue, furry demon. In Germany, however, there had been some who were all too eager…
Kurt sobbed in terror and rage as two men held him down while another tore away the ragged remains of his pants.
He was bloodied and bruised, but they hadn’t broken any of his bones… so far. Given their intent, however, Kurt found himself wishing for the simple beatings of the usual mobs. A broken bone healed faster than what they were going to do to him.
He knew it was going to happen again. And he knew that no matter what he did, how he fought or screamed or pleaded, nothing would stop them.
Some oddly objective part of him wondered how many months it would be this time before he could let Mutti or Vati hold him again without screaming.
As one man began pulling Kurt’s hips up and back, a last “bitte nicht” escaped from his mouth, every bit as futile as the prayers he and Mutti said each night to keep him safe…
“Fuzzy?”
Kurt opened his eyes to find Kätzchen kneeling in front of him, beautiful blue eyes staring at him in concern. She was finally looking him in the eye… but why now, why now of all possible times?
“Ja?” He managed to croak out, still shaky from the memory.
“Are you all right, Fuzzy? You seem a little blue.” Catching the irony in her own comment, Kitty looked away, flustered. “Well, like, not that you’re not blue all the time, but, like, y’know, more so than usual. Extra blue.”
Extra blue.
With those two words, Kurt’s mind instantly became a minefield in a tornado. Memories swirled around, mixing in unthinkable combinations.
Amanda raised the bloodied knife again, smiling sweetly as she said, “Did you know blue is my favorite color?”
The rosary-wrapped fist connected with his jaw, cutting off his attempt to speak. “You’re so beautiful, Kurt. You could never be a demon.”
Flames licked at his feet, so terribly hot, but they did not seem to burn him nearly so much as the gazes of the villagers who were watching him die as they chanted, “I love you… Always.”
Amanda lay at his side, naked and beautiful in the light of early morning, hand drawing gentle circles on his chest as she whispered in his ear, “Ungeheuer. Missgebildet. Unheilig. Teufel.”
A strangled sob came unbidden to Kurt’s throat, and he tried desperately to burrow into his sheets.
He felt a hand upon his back, touching him through the sheets, and he thrashed about in an attempt to escape it, whimpering, “Lass mich los! Ich bin kein Teufel!”
“Kurt? Kurt, what’s wrong?” Kitty’s voice came to his ears, bringing him a bit closer to reality, but it did nothing for the pain. He had to get her out; he couldn’t let her see him like this, couldn’t let her see him weak.
“Bitte, Kätzchen, please go. Please. Ich kann nicht… I… I need you to go now.”
Kurt felt Kitty stiffen next to him, then rise off the bed.
“All right, Fuzzy. I don’t know what’s wrong, but if you’re sure you want me not to be here…”
Had his heart not been completely occupied with gushing out anguish by the gallon, it would surely have melted at the hurt in her voice. He was hurting Kätzchen.
“I am sorry, Kitty. I wish… I just need to be alone. Please. It’s not you… I… just…” Kurt made a frustrated sound and slammed his head into the bed.
Her weight lifted off of the bed, and soft footsteps headed for the door. It never opened, but the footsteps retreated farther and farther away nonetheless.
She was gone.
Kurt buried his face in the bed, biting his lip till the blood flowed again, trying to regain control of his own thoughts.
Respite did not come for hours.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The telltale rumble of a familiar motorcycle brought Kurt back to wakefulness. It was just past midnight.
His tail twitched idly, still wrapped around the bottle that had found its way out of the drawer and up to his lips. Kurt took a farewell swig and quickly capped it, putting it as deep into the drawer as it would go. The last thing he needed was the Wolverine walking in and finding him with alcohol.
With a creak of protest, the large double doors opened. Scott never saw fit to take care of anything about the mansion outside of the extensive and often obsessive list of chores he had composed.
Kurt’s sensitive ears picked up footsteps stopping at the room at the end of the hall, followed by a quick snikt and a few pieces of metal being sheared away. Logan was removing the extra locks he had placed on his room to keep out snoopers.
The door opened and closed, and a few minutes later, Logan came out and began walking down the hall, sniffing with every step and at every door. Wolverine was making his rounds, as always.
He stopped in front of Kurt’s door, sniffing for longer than usual. The knob turned just slightly before it was stopped by the lock. Kurt froze, trying not to breathe.
“Elf, give it up,” Wolverine growled, voice muffled slightly by the door but still audible to Kurt. “I can hear your tail moving, and you’re not asleep. I can smell what’s going on from all the way out here.”
Logan sighed. “I ain’t gonna ask why, I ain’t gonna ask how long. Not my business. But you’ve got twenty-four hours to cut it out, and if I smell it on you after that, you do rehab my way. You don’t want that. Got it?”
Kurt was dumbstruck. He scrambled to think of some excuse, some way out of the situation, but Logan had him cold.
“Jawohl,” he replied finally, dropping his head and tail back onto the bed in defeat.
“Good. Now get some sleep, kid. Tomorrow’s gonna come earlier than anybody here’s expecting.”
Booted feet continued down the hall, and the sniffing resumed. Kurt burrowed into his bed and hoped that he would wake in the morning to find this had been a dream.
Glossary
Ungeheuer: Monster/monstrous.
Missgebildet: Misshapen.
Unheilig: Unholy.
Teufel: Devil.
Lassen Sie mich! Ich bin keine Teufel!: Let me go! I’m not a demon/devil!
Ich kann nicht…: I can’t…
Jawohl: Yes, sir.
If anyone who speaks German finds an error in here, please let me know. I’ve tried my best, but I would prefer not to mangle such an interesting language.
Special Author’s Note: Good critiques are even more valuable than positive reviews. I will respond personally to every review, and more thoroughly to good critiques.
Chapter 4: Extra Blue
Darkness dominated the room, fully drawn curtains admitting almost none of the evening’s waning light. Immediately following his departure from the Danger Room, Kurt had locked his door, and had so far refused all visitors.
Evan had attempted to congratulate him (through the door) on standing up to Scott, only to find the “K-Man” completely silent where he would normally have been devouring the praise with the air of a born performer.
Jean had come by and demanded that Kurt apologize to Scott, and had been answered with a rather inventive list of places Scott might find that apology, along with an even more creative list of things he might do with it after finding it. The telepath had walked away from the door nearly as red as her hair.
Hours passed silently in the bedroom, at least outwardly. Kurt’s mind was a blur of activity; thoughts and feelings and memories whirled about in no semblance of order. Thankfully, finishing off most of the second bottle of vodka had done wonders for his concentration: he was blissfully unable to focus on any one thing for more than a few seconds, rendering him immune to the crushing depression that would have otherwise plagued him. The plastic bottle was back in his drawer now, just a quick reach away from being put to further use.
His sheets were in a jumble, and he had burrowed underneath them sideways across the bed, leaving only his head and tail exposed. The latter swished back and forth lazily, having navigated its way out of the confining linens to seek freedom.
Two golden eyes stared blankly, almost unblinking, the only parts of him that were visible in the darkness; his tail, as with the rest of him, became all but invisible in the absence of light.
A ponytail-bearing head with angelic features slowly peeked its way in through the door, and Kurt sighed. Kätzchen was here. As glad as he was that it was Kitty and not someone else, he really wasn’t in the mood for company, even hers.
“Kurt? Are you in here? I just wanted to say you really shouldn’t worry about Scott. He’s, like, being a total jerk lately, and I’m glad you told him off. I was, like, this close to doing it myself.”
Despite himself, Kurt smiled a bit. The image of Kitty, who barely came up to his chin, standing toe to toe with Cyclops, who towered over him, was priceless.
Shadowcat phased fully through the door, every bit as silent and graceful as her codename implied, and wasted no time sitting on the bed, right next to Kurt but not touching him. There was never any sort of casual contact between them; she saw to that. No one on the team touched him, really, but Kätzchen seemed especially good at avoiding it.
In America, it seemed, no one was particularly interested in touching a blue, furry demon. In Germany, however, there had been some who were all too eager…
Kurt sobbed in terror and rage as two men held him down while another tore away the ragged remains of his pants.
He was bloodied and bruised, but they hadn’t broken any of his bones… so far. Given their intent, however, Kurt found himself wishing for the simple beatings of the usual mobs. A broken bone healed faster than what they were going to do to him.
He knew it was going to happen again. And he knew that no matter what he did, how he fought or screamed or pleaded, nothing would stop them.
Some oddly objective part of him wondered how many months it would be this time before he could let Mutti or Vati hold him again without screaming.
As one man began pulling Kurt’s hips up and back, a last “bitte nicht” escaped from his mouth, every bit as futile as the prayers he and Mutti said each night to keep him safe…
“Fuzzy?”
Kurt opened his eyes to find Kätzchen kneeling in front of him, beautiful blue eyes staring at him in concern. She was finally looking him in the eye… but why now, why now of all possible times?
“Ja?” He managed to croak out, still shaky from the memory.
“Are you all right, Fuzzy? You seem a little blue.” Catching the irony in her own comment, Kitty looked away, flustered. “Well, like, not that you’re not blue all the time, but, like, y’know, more so than usual. Extra blue.”
Extra blue.
With those two words, Kurt’s mind instantly became a minefield in a tornado. Memories swirled around, mixing in unthinkable combinations.
Amanda raised the bloodied knife again, smiling sweetly as she said, “Did you know blue is my favorite color?”
The rosary-wrapped fist connected with his jaw, cutting off his attempt to speak. “You’re so beautiful, Kurt. You could never be a demon.”
Flames licked at his feet, so terribly hot, but they did not seem to burn him nearly so much as the gazes of the villagers who were watching him die as they chanted, “I love you… Always.”
Amanda lay at his side, naked and beautiful in the light of early morning, hand drawing gentle circles on his chest as she whispered in his ear, “Ungeheuer. Missgebildet. Unheilig. Teufel.”
A strangled sob came unbidden to Kurt’s throat, and he tried desperately to burrow into his sheets.
He felt a hand upon his back, touching him through the sheets, and he thrashed about in an attempt to escape it, whimpering, “Lass mich los! Ich bin kein Teufel!”
“Kurt? Kurt, what’s wrong?” Kitty’s voice came to his ears, bringing him a bit closer to reality, but it did nothing for the pain. He had to get her out; he couldn’t let her see him like this, couldn’t let her see him weak.
“Bitte, Kätzchen, please go. Please. Ich kann nicht… I… I need you to go now.”
Kurt felt Kitty stiffen next to him, then rise off the bed.
“All right, Fuzzy. I don’t know what’s wrong, but if you’re sure you want me not to be here…”
Had his heart not been completely occupied with gushing out anguish by the gallon, it would surely have melted at the hurt in her voice. He was hurting Kätzchen.
“I am sorry, Kitty. I wish… I just need to be alone. Please. It’s not you… I… just…” Kurt made a frustrated sound and slammed his head into the bed.
Her weight lifted off of the bed, and soft footsteps headed for the door. It never opened, but the footsteps retreated farther and farther away nonetheless.
She was gone.
Kurt buried his face in the bed, biting his lip till the blood flowed again, trying to regain control of his own thoughts.
Respite did not come for hours.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The telltale rumble of a familiar motorcycle brought Kurt back to wakefulness. It was just past midnight.
His tail twitched idly, still wrapped around the bottle that had found its way out of the drawer and up to his lips. Kurt took a farewell swig and quickly capped it, putting it as deep into the drawer as it would go. The last thing he needed was the Wolverine walking in and finding him with alcohol.
With a creak of protest, the large double doors opened. Scott never saw fit to take care of anything about the mansion outside of the extensive and often obsessive list of chores he had composed.
Kurt’s sensitive ears picked up footsteps stopping at the room at the end of the hall, followed by a quick snikt and a few pieces of metal being sheared away. Logan was removing the extra locks he had placed on his room to keep out snoopers.
The door opened and closed, and a few minutes later, Logan came out and began walking down the hall, sniffing with every step and at every door. Wolverine was making his rounds, as always.
He stopped in front of Kurt’s door, sniffing for longer than usual. The knob turned just slightly before it was stopped by the lock. Kurt froze, trying not to breathe.
“Elf, give it up,” Wolverine growled, voice muffled slightly by the door but still audible to Kurt. “I can hear your tail moving, and you’re not asleep. I can smell what’s going on from all the way out here.”
Logan sighed. “I ain’t gonna ask why, I ain’t gonna ask how long. Not my business. But you’ve got twenty-four hours to cut it out, and if I smell it on you after that, you do rehab my way. You don’t want that. Got it?”
Kurt was dumbstruck. He scrambled to think of some excuse, some way out of the situation, but Logan had him cold.
“Jawohl,” he replied finally, dropping his head and tail back onto the bed in defeat.
“Good. Now get some sleep, kid. Tomorrow’s gonna come earlier than anybody here’s expecting.”
Booted feet continued down the hall, and the sniffing resumed. Kurt burrowed into his bed and hoped that he would wake in the morning to find this had been a dream.
Glossary
Ungeheuer: Monster/monstrous.
Missgebildet: Misshapen.
Unheilig: Unholy.
Teufel: Devil.
Lassen Sie mich! Ich bin keine Teufel!: Let me go! I’m not a demon/devil!
Ich kann nicht…: I can’t…
Jawohl: Yes, sir.
If anyone who speaks German finds an error in here, please let me know. I’ve tried my best, but I would prefer not to mangle such an interesting language.