Disclaimer:  Characters and environments are the property of Marvel. I do not own the X-Men and I make nothing from this. 
This is a story set in Germany, approximately 5-6 years before Kurt Wagner joined the X-Men. It should be assumed that the language spoken through the bulk of the story is German. 
I was unhappy with the muddle of Nightcrawler's ( Read more... )

Chapter Two

The following year

"Parry!  No, not like that, like this..."  Stefan demonstrated the move once more to Kurt.  "Try again."

Their blunted metal swords clanged together, echoing in the small clearing where they practiced.  Stefan was an accomplished swordsman, and was trying to teach his younger foster-brother the art. The plan was to ( Read more... )

Chapter Three

Kurt was dying.  He knew he was -- well, at least it felt that way.  He groaned and tried to will the room to stop spinning.  It refused to comply and he lurched up, vomiting into the bucket next to his bed.  He was sick again, for the third time this week.  The nauseating headaches that sent flashing lights sizzling through his brain ( Read more... )

Chapter Four

Kurt trudged through the woods, his large feet crunching in the snow.  It was freezing out, and the landscape was painted white.  The sky promised more snow to come, but it didn't make much difference to him. There were advantages to having fur, though he was still bundled against the cold.

He had escaped for the afternoon from der ( Read more... )

Chapter Five
"No, like this, Blue." Jutta swung Kurt around in time to the music.

He tried to execute the dance move gracefully, but his tail tangled around their legs again, nearly toppling them both.

"Ach, I'll never get this!" Kurt muttered, underneath the sound of laughter.

"Sure you'll get it. You can walk a tightrope with your eyes closed, ( Read more... )

Chapter Six
For the next several months, Kurt kept very much to himself. He felt alone and begin to wonder about his place at der Jahrmarkt for the first time. Was this really where he wanted to spend the rest of his life? Was there something else for him out there other than the cheering of the crowd? It all seemed so superficial, somehow.

His ( Read more... )

Chapter Seven
I'm not an animal.

The cold iron bars don't seem to care.  The filthy straw underneath me and my own stench suggest that statement might not be entirely true. My sharp, jagged fingernails and matted fur refute it entirely.

"Ich bin kein Tier!"  I shriek into the still night air.

The poor, deformed goat in the cage next to mine -- ( Read more... )